“It’s the life I know. I know it as well as I’ve memorized each dip and curve on your face,” I say, holding her gaze. While I regret not being there when my wife died, I don’t regret being an auditor for the mafia. True, I haven’t returned to that life either, but that’s more from guilt than anything else. “It’s what I will turn to if my back is ever against the wall.”
“I understand.” Her gaze lowers to my mouth, awakening something primal. Possessive. Protective.
She had this infectious way about her as if she sees the world through rose colored lenses. Positive, kind, and full of cheer. I won’t be responsible for dimming that light.
“Do you?”
In answer, she stretched onto her toes, pressing her lips against mine. “Despite what that organization represents to the rest of us, they’re the people you trust to have your back.”
Her tongue sweeps into my mouth and I groan from the rightness of her arms circling my neck and the warm tantalizing press of her small frame against my body. The world slows to a crawl. And i become drunk on her sweetness and her gentle exploration of my mouth.
I tremble with need that’s a volcano ready to erupt from the inside. When her hands creep up my nape to get lost in the thick grands of my hair and her manicured nails scratch my scalp, my restraint shatters. That possessive voice at the back of my head roars to life and suddenly Zeva’s in my arms and her legs instinctively wrap around my waist as I brace her back against the wall.
“Zeva…” Her name is honey on my tongue and only drives my desire.
“Aren’t you afraid?” I can’t handle it if she looks at me one day and the softest in her eyes is replaced by fear or worse, regret.
“My only fear is that you’ll stop touching me — “ She nibbles on my earlobe and my breathing labors. “ — and I’ll combust the moment you do.” She leans against the wall to look at me from underneath lowered lashes. Her hips roll just a fraction in an attempt to relieve the ache tormenting both of us. But all it does is ignite mine.
This seductive side of her is hot enough to melt a snowman — not that I plan to tell her that. While her smile pushes my boundaries, when she stares at me with such heat in her eyes, I would drag Santa and all his reindeers from the North Pole to give Zeva Christmas.
Holding her close, I take her up the flight of stairs to my room, setting her on her feet at the foot of the bed. She crosses her arms and lifts the knitted dress and my breath catches in my throat as the soft material crosses her smooth thighs. I envy the damnable fabric and its closeness to perfection. Its proximity to what’s mine. Her red lace panties come into view, cupping the heart-shaped vee at the juncture of her thighs. The dip in her belly button is little more than a dimple, tempting me to run my tongue into its hollow cocoon. A tentative tremor quivers on the gentle curve of her stomach before she tosses the dress onto the floor.
She reaches for her bra, but I stop her. “Let me.”
I avoid her lips because feasting on them again is dangerous. Instead, I kiss her throat, delighted in the gentle arch of her back as she leans into me. Her body silently beckons for more.
My tongue falls under the spell of her skin and the subtle traces of salt as I reach the curve of her full breast still held captive. As I kiss her, moving lower to capture her throbbing nipples between my teeth, lost in the sounds of her husky breaths, I unhook her bra, marveling as her generous breasts fill my hands. I moved lower still and dipped my tongue intoher belly button as I shred the last of her clothing, tossing her panties to join the rest of her clothes.
“Your turn,” she says, laying back onto the bed on her elbows, her curly hair falling over her shoulders. “Andreas, are you afraid?”
The question took me by surprise, but I settled on the truth. “Yes.” I guarded my heart for a long time until now.
“Why are you afraid?”
I shrug out of my clothes until I’m naked and vulnerable, my heart a gift to Zeva. “I’m afraid that I might not deserve this second chance at love. Or the way you look at me.” I crawl onto the bed and shudder when she welcomes me between her thighs.
Her legs and arms encircle me, and every fear slips away.
“Do you know what I think?” Her nails caress and gently scrape my back, and I tremble. When she holds me like I’m deserving of something other than these empty walls that surround me, believing in love again is almost easy. “I think my editor sending me to Magnolia is a Christmas miracle. I came to stop you from being a scrooge.”
I chuckle, then suck in a sharp breath when her hands move up my inner things to cup my balls, then to cradle my cock into her warm hand. She strokes me until my breathing becomes as labored as hers and my body as feverish for release. It takes all my restraint not to trust forward when she guides my shaft to her slick entrance.
“I may be your second chance, Andreas. But I knew you were going to be my first love the moment you indulged my tradition, kissing me under the mistletoe.” Her hips tilt in invitations and I bury myself to the hilt.
Zeva gasps and shudders and a storm of desire rips apart the control I tried to keep on my passion. But I should have knownthat’s impossible when she moans, “Yes.” And cries out my name in a desperate, greedy whisper that makes me weak.
Her hips gyrate. Wild passion unleashes, sizzling the air with our frenzy need for release. My thrusts increase, becoming longer and deep. I’m lost. Pulled into a blinding maelstrom of pleasure. Even as volts of electricity snap along my skin and Zeva’s nails leave half moons on my ass as we are tossed over the cliff of our impending orgasms, I hear her chant my name. I thrust forward and tense, my cum pouring into her quivering channel.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ANDREA
Itilt my neck to each side in exhaustion, cracking it, but my anxiousness doesn’t ease. It’s ten P.M on Christmas eve and I long to be home with Zeva instead of at the restaurant. For the first time since Amber’s passing, I don’t envy the couples sitting at my tables making googly eyes at each other, because I have a woman at home that will give me the same look when I walk through the doors.
“You look happy,” Liam says, coming to stand beside me and I swipe through the table reservations on the tablet. There are only a few stragglers, but nearly every reservation is accounted for.
I wipe the smile off my face and grunt, but he isn’t fooled.
