Falling for Mr. December by Kate Hardy

sofa, she was lying on top of him, and his hands were splayed against her back, underneath her T-shirt.
    Her skin was so soft, so warm. Touching wasn’t enough. He wanted to see, too.
    Which was crazy. He never behaved like this, so out of control. He didn’t do love. And he didn’t want to hurt Sammy. He should back off. Now.
    Except he couldn’t.
    He blew out a breath. ‘Sorry. I’m taking this a bit too fast again.’
    Her face was flushed and her eyes were sparkling. ‘You and me both.’
    â€˜I’m sorry. I don’t normally behave like this,’ he said.
    â€˜Neither do I.’ Her face was rueful. ‘I might say outrageous things, but I don’t tend to walk the talk,’ she admitted.
    â€˜There’s just something about you that makes me want more than I should ask for,’ he said softly, holding her closer because he wasn’t quite ready yet to relinquish the feel of her skin against his fingertips.
    â€˜Me, too. But, Nick, this probably isn’t a good idea. Our lifestyles are too different.’
    â€˜Actually, they’re probably too similar,’ he corrected. ‘We’re both workaholics.’
    â€˜I guess so.’
    He stole a kiss. ‘So maybe it could work between us. But I agree. We need to cool this very slightly. Much as I’d really like to scoop you up and take you to your bed right this very minute—and believe me I’ve wanted to do that all evening—I can’t do that, because I don’t actually carry condoms around with me.’
    â€˜I don’t have any either.’
    His heart skipped a beat. Was she saying that, if she’d had condoms, she would’ve been fine with him taking her to her bed? For a second, he couldn’t breathe.
    â€˜Rain check,’ she whispered, and climbed off him.
    The sensible thing, Nick thought, would be for them to sit at opposite ends of her sofa. Except her sofa was so compact that even when they tried it in tacit agreement, they were still close enough to touch.
    Take it down a notch, he told himself, and took her hand instead.
    â€˜I’m trying to take it slower,’ he said by way of explanation.
    She smiled. ‘OK. Let’s pick a safe subject. We did something on my bucket list this evening. What’s on yours, apart from polar bears, whale-watching, the Northern Lights and some places that are too dangerous for tourists?’
    Making love with you.
    Not that he was going to say that out loud.
    And he was still a bit stunned that she’d actually remembered what he’d told her.
    He thought about it for a while. ‘A proper afternoon tea in a very posh hotel,’ he said. ‘With a cake stand and a silver teapot and someone playing the piano in the lobby.’
    â€˜Oh, come off it,’ she scoffed. ‘You’re a barrister and you work in the middle of London. You must’ve done that before.’
    â€˜Actually, no. My clients don’t generally tend to take me to tea at a posh hotel,’ he said mildly, ‘and in the afternoons if I’m not in court then I’m in my chambers, up to my eyes in paperwork. If I’m
very
lucky I might be able to sweet-talk my clerk Gary into making me a mug of tea—but usually we take turns, so whoever puts the kettle on in the kitchen usually checks to see who else wants a cuppa.’
    â€˜Seriously? You don’t have a secretary?’
    â€˜Barristers have clerks,’ he said. ‘The clerks are responsible for the admin and business activities of the chambers. So Gary would do some secretarial things, like arranging meetings, invoicing solicitors for fees and planning case timetables in detail, but he also looks after three more barristers as well as me. He doesn’t have time to wait on my every whim—and he wouldn’t do that anyway,’ he admitted with a grin. ‘If I asked him to go and put the kettle on, he’d tell me