Page 172 of Holidating
“If you say so. I asked you…” She lets out a nervous laugh. “…if you knew how I could become a whole lot more interesting in the next two hours. Kind of have the same question right now.”
“Buddy, that’s impossible.” He lifts her hand and leans forward, kissing her knuckles, and his whiskers tickle her skin. “There’s no way you could ever be more interesting than you are right now. I felt the same way fifteen years ago. You’re already all the Nicolette that I ever need you to be.”
When he lifts his brown eyes to hers, they’re full of the same warmth they’ve always held, plus a new and fascinating splash of heat.
Suddenly she’s perfectly ready to go upstairs.
Nicolette has never stayed in the hotel before, so she’s never seen room 702. It’s an exquisite suite done up in a Nordic style, with lots of blond wood, warm lighting, and pale linens. “Wow,” she says.
“Yeah, wow,” he says. “At least your father has killer taste. Nice decor.”
“Oh, he has people for that.” She crosses the room to stand at a floor-to-ceiling window that faces Lake Champlain in the distance. It's been dark for hours, so the view isn't spectacular. But she can pick out the lights of the ferry boat on its way back toward Vermont from New York State.
Damien arrives behind her. She can see his reflection in the glass, and he looks thoughtful. “Nic?”
“Mmm?” She turns around. Since he’s standing so close, she’s kind of trapped herself between the glass and the solid warmth of him. She inhales a whiff of his cologne, and it makes her heart whir.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
A giddy thought bubbles up inside her. “You really want to know?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
Her gaze flickers toward the king-sized bed and its regal white comforter. “I’m wondering how much small talk I have to make before you toss me on that bed.”
“Not much, actually.” He scoops her up into strong arms, andshe lets out a little squeak of surprise. “Gotta say, this is more fun than picking up your luggage.”
She laughs into his shirt collar for a second before he sets her down on the end of the bed. “Wait, these boots! I don’t want to kick you.”
“Yeah, Overland,” he says, catching one of her heels in his hand. “The boots were a rookie move.” He fiddles with the zipper.
“Told you I was rusty.” She pushes his hands out of the way and sheds one boot and then the other.
Damien aims his sport coat at a chair, and the moment her boots hit the floor, he’s already easing her onto the bed and covering her body with his.
She sucks in a breath, waiting for his kiss. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he pauses, forearms braced on the bed as he looks down at her. “You were wearing a tank top and a pink sweater.”
“What?” she gasps, her brain muddled by the proximity of his mouth and the delicious weight of his body against her hips.
“The day we met.” He smiles. “I wanted to kiss these freckles.” He drags a fingertip across the bridge of her nose. “You’re blowing my nineteen-year-old mind right now. Every time I ever saw your name on my schedule was like a gift.”
Her breath stutters in her chest. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“I was just a dumb kid, and you intimidated me.” His smile is wry.
“Do I still intimidate you?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “Not like that. Sorry for the long wait, but I’m kind of like that wine we drank at dinner—improved with age.”
Then, still smiling, he finally pounces. The first kiss steals her breath with its sweetness. He tastes like red wine and good times. His second kiss is hungrier, though. Almost as hungry as she is.
Her hands go straight to the buttons on his shirt. As she gets to work, he groans happily. “Love your hands on me.”
“Help me out, then,” she demands.
He sits up, straddling her body, his fingers finishing up on the buttons. The muscles in his chest flex as he struggles out of the shirt.
She’s been waiting too long for this view—miles of olive skinover a firm chest. A light dusting of hair between his pecs that gathers down the centerline of his abs before disappearing into his jeans.
