Christmas-Eve Baby Read Free Page A

the rippling surface of the sea. But he was unsettled, churned up inside by his encounter with Nick Tremayne and going over it all again and again, as if it would change the past.
    Stupid. It was over—finished. He put it out of his mind and turned to Lucy. The sun was about to slip below the horizon, a pale gold orb hovering just above the surface of the sea, the sky shot through with pink and gold, and he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her, easing her against him so her back was warm against his chest, and he held her there motionless as together they watched it flare, then sink into the sea and disappear.
    ‘I never get tired of watching it set,’ she said softly. ‘I can see it from my sitting-room window at this time of year, and I love it. I can quite see why people worship the sun.’
    She turned slowly and lifted her head, her eyes gazing up at him. They were beautiful, the softest brown, warm and generous. Windows on her soul. Such a cliché, but so, so true, and for the first time that day Ben felt she was really letting him in. He felt his pulse pick up, felt the slow, heavy beat of his heart against his ribs, the first stirrings of need.
    ‘Have I told you how lovely you look today?’ he said a little unevenly.
    She let her breath out in a little rush that could have been a laugh but might just have been a sigh. ‘No. No, you haven’t.’
    ‘Remiss of me. You look fabulous.’ He ran his eyes over her, over the soft gauzy dress that was cut on the cross andclung gently to those slender curves. It was sea-blue, not one colour but many, flowing into each other, and with the surf lapping at her ankles, she could have risen from the water.
    ‘You look like a siren,’ he said gruffly, and then without stopping to think, he leant forward, just a fraction, and lowered his mouth to hover over hers. ‘Luring me onto the rocks,’ he added, his words a sigh.
    And then he touched his lips to hers.
    For a moment, she just stood there, her eyes staring up into his, and then her lids fluttered down and she shut out everything except the feel of his lips and the sound of the sea and the warmth of his hands on her shoulders, urging her closer.
    She didn’t need urging. She was ready for this—had been ready for it for ever—and with a tiny cry, muffled by his lips, she leant into him and slipped her arms around his waist, resting her palms against the strong, broad columns of muscle that bracketed his spine.
    He shifted, just a fraction, but it brought their bodies into intimate alignment, and heat flared in her everywhere they touched. She felt the hot, urgent sweep of his tongue against her lips and she parted them for him, welcoming him in, her own tongue reaching out to his in greeting.
    He groaned, his fingers tunnelling through her hair, and steadying her head with his broad, strong hands, he plundered her mouth, his body rocking against hers, taut and urgent and, oh, so welcome. She heard herself whimper, felt him harden, felt his chest heave in response, and she thought, We can’t do this. Not here. But she couldn’t stop, couldn’t drag herself out of his arms, couldn’t walk away…
    ‘Lucy.’
    He’d lifted his head, resting his forehead against hers, hisbreath sawing in and out rapidly. ‘What the hell are we doing?’ he rasped softly.
    What we should have done years ago, she thought. She lifted her hand and cradled his jaw. ‘Your place or mine?’ she murmured, knowing it was stupid, knowing it was the last thing she ought to be doing but unable to stop herself.
    He lifted his head and stared down into her eyes, his own smouldering with a heat so intense she thought she’d burn up.
    Then the ghost of a smile flickered over his taut features. ‘Mine,’ he said gruffly. ‘It’s not in Penhally. And it’s closer. Come on.’
    And freeing her, he slid his hand down her arm, threaded his fingers through hers and led her back to the steps, pausing only to hand her his shoes before