Deck The Halls With Love: Lost Lords Of Pembrook Novella Read Online Free PDF

feeling quite the fool. “All right.”
    She began to straighten.
    “No, stay as you are.”
    She stilled as his arms came around her. Litton certainly hadn’t taken this intimate approach to teaching her. He’d not touched her at all. He merely explained the rules in a serious, endearing manner as though he were preparing to submit them to Hoyle’s to be included in an upcoming edition since the publication had yet to explain how billiards should be played.
    As the length of his body nudged against hers, she became acutely aware of the fact that she was wearing little more than her chemise and drawers beneath the dress. After her maid had prepared her for bed and she’d had difficulty finding sleep, she’d wanted to slip into something that she could manage on her own. At home, she would have simply gathered her wrap about her, but one didn’t traipse through a guest’s home in her nightdress, although now she was questioning the wisdom of doing it with so little to separate her from Chetwyn. His warmth seeped through her clothing to heat her flesh. His large hands closed over hers, and she realized how capable they appeared. He possessed strong, thick fingers with blunt-tipped nails. His roughened jaw teased her neck. His hair tickled her temple. She had been correct with her earlier assessment. It was curling with wild abandon, and she ached to slip her fingers through the feathery strands.
    “Relax,” he murmured into her ear, and within her slippers her toes curled as though he were giving attention to them.
    “I am relaxed.” Liar, liar.
    “You’re as stiff as a poker. I’m going to position your hands, your stance.”
    “I think you’re wrong. I think they are exactly as they need to be.”
    “Not if you wish to beat me.”
    Turning her head to the side, she met and held his gaze. “Why would you assist me in giving you a sound thrashing and miss out on your kiss? If you truly wanted it—”
    “Oh, I truly want it,” he said in a silken voice. “And I intend to have it.”
    Suddenly, one of his hands was cupping her cheek, while his fingers plowed through her hair. He somehow managed to twist and bend her slightly so she was cradled in his other arm. He lowered his head, and his mouth plundered. No soft taking this, but an urgency. He ravished with his tongue as though he would die if he didn’t taste her, as though he would cease to exist if he left anything unexplored.
    This was exactly what she had imagined kissing him would be like during the months when they had flirted, danced, and strolled about. She had expected heat and passion. She had instinctually known that within him was a smoldering fire that once set ablaze would be difficult to extinguish. Working one hand beneath his waistcoat, she felt the solidness of his muscles beneath the fine linen of his shirt. Wanton that she was, she wanted his coat, waistcoat, and shirt gone. She wanted the feel of his skin against her palms. She wanted to scrape her nails over his bare back.
    Guilt slammed into her. She felt none of these things when Litton had kissed her. His had been pleasant, tame, proper. Nothing about Chetwyn was proper at that moment.
    His guttural groans reverberated through his chest, vibrated into her. She ran her free hand through his golden locks, felt them wrapping around her fingers as though they intended to hold her captive as easily as his mouth did.
    He dragged his lips along her throat, and she found herself arching up toward him, offering him more.
    “You haven’t won,” she said breathlessly. They hadn’t even started to play.
    Raising his head, he gave her a dark grin. “Oh, but I have.”
    With as little effort as though she weighed no more than a pillow, he lifted her up and laid her on the billiards table. She was vaguely aware of the balls scattering. Leaning over her, he braced his arms on either side of her head, his gaze intent.
    “Don’t marry him,” he urged, his voice low and sensual until it