HOLIDAY ROYALE by Christine Rimmer Page A

and into him. Eager. And so very sweet.
    That time when he lifted his head, she took the lapels of his jacket and guided them over his shoulders. He allowed that, catching it as it fell, tossing it onto a far chair. She started on the buttons of his shirt.
    He caught her hands, kissed them, one and then the other. “Anticipation is a fine thing.”
    She tipped her head to the side and considered. And then she blushed again. “I’m rushing it, huh?”
    “I want you right now,” he whispered. “I want to bury myself in you and hear you moan beneath me.”
    Deeper color flooded upward over her throat, her chin, her plump cheeks. Her scent intensified. “Oh. Well. Okay...”
    He bent and scraped his teeth along the side of her throat.
    She let out a small rough little sound and clutched him closer. “Dami...” She made his name into a plea.
    He caught her earlobe between his teeth and worried it lightly. Then he whispered, “Will you be guided by me?”
    Another sound escaped her, more tender than rough. She shifted her fingers up into his hair, pulling his head down into the warm woman-scented curve of her throat. “Yes. Please. That’s what I want. For you to teach me.”
    He took her shoulders then and gently held her away from him—just enough that he could meet her wide, dazed eyes. “First of all...”
    “Yes?” Breathless. Hopeful. Impossibly sweet.
    “We don’t have to hurry.”
    She groaned and then pressed her lips together.
    He touched her hair. Like living silk. “Say it. Whatever you’re thinking. Don’t hold back.”
    She winced. “Well, it’s just that, um, yeah, we kind of do have to hurry. I mean, it’s already Saturday morning. I’m flying home tomorrow. We need to get this done.”
    He wanted to laugh at her total frankness, but he didn’t. He held her gaze. “As your friend, I must warn you against men who say ‘trust me.’ But trust me.”
    She laughed then. “Oh, Dami.”
    “Do you trust me?”
    She didn’t hesitate. “I do. Absolutely.”
    “Good.” He caught her hand. “Come with me.”
    * * *
    Dazed, amazed, excited and very nervous, Lucy went where he led her.
    To his bedroom.
    It was a large room with a high, coffered ceiling from which hung a giant iron chandelier. The bed had an intricately carved headboard and finials shaped like crowns. The turned-back sheets were cobalt-blue satin, the bedding in deep blue and gold and red.
    Unreality assailed her. Alone with Dami in his bedroom. Who knew?
    He turned on a torchère lamp beside the bed nice and low. The chandelier was on, too, but also low. She could see clearly enough, but everything was soft and shadowed. Which was great. The pleasant dimness eased her nerves.
    At least a little.
    He took her shoulders again, his long fingers warm and sure against her bare skin. Still, she shivered at the touch, scared and also excited for what was to come.
    “Second thoughts?” he asked.
    Her mouth went dust dry. She swallowed to try to get some moisture going. “No. Really. I want to do this, I truly do....”
    His smile was way too knowing as he stepped back from her and began to undress, first dropping to a chair to remove his shoes and socks, then sweeping upright again and getting rid of everything else. Quickly, so gracefully, all his beautiful clothes were gone in what felt to her like an instant, as she just stood there staring.
    At least the saliva had flooded back into her mouth.
    He was a magnificent man, honed and tanned, with a broad, deep chest and shoulders and a belly you could scrub your laundry on. Her gaze trailed down over hard, narrow hips. The muscles in his long thighs were sharply defined. Even his feet were beautiful, long and perfectly shaped.
    She did more absurd gulping as she let her glance stray upward again. This time, she allowed herself to look directly at the most private part of him. He definitely wanted her. His manhood curved up, thick and fully aroused, from the dark nest of hair between