Three Kisses Before Christmas, Wilde, Tanya [ebooks that read to you TXT] 📗

prepared her for the force that struck the breath from her lungs. It pulled at the very edges of the nerves that connected her spine. All reservations fled in the wake of the warmth fluttering in her belly. Rebecca found herself floating on a cloud—a space between the life she had always known and one completely foreign to her.

The kiss was not like the first kiss Rebecca had received from Wicke, which had been turbulent in nature. It certainly was not like the second, which had all but exploded in her body. No, this kiss was wrought with tenderness, aching in its regret, rewarding in its possibilities. A kiss meant to convey a depth of meaning, a depth Rebecca could not begin to grasp.

His mouth tore away from hers.

“You still want a man?” he growled against her lips.

“Yes,” she whispered, not sure why, only that she didn’t want him to stop kissing her.

“Christ, Rebecca.” The fan of his breath warmed the strip of her collarbone. “When are you going to fall out of love with my cousin?”

I’m not in love with your cousin.

But she did not say this. Could not. Dared not. He only thought he wanted her, but once he learned of Knightley’s he would be scandalized. Wicke would never want to touch her again. And she wanted him to touch her, even if only in this moment.

He suddenly bent and hooked his arm around her legs.

“What are you doing?” she cried as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

“What any man would do when a young, beautiful woman enters his bedchamber.”

“W-What is that?” Rebecca sputtered. His words were jumbled in her mind, a rattle of syllables refusing to make sense.

He dropped her onto the mattress. Followed her down. “You cannot kiss me and claim I am like a brother to you. Do you think a man would accept that?”

“Honestly, Wicke, I did not mean it like that.”

The devil danced in his eyes. “Then I am right, what you say and what you mean are polar opposites.”

Rebecca’s heart hammered in her breast like a herd of stampeding horses. The man was infuriating. She was lying in his bed with him leaning partially over her. A more shockingly inappropriate thing she had never done. “This is improper.”

His lips curved slowly, reaching all the way to his eyes. “Not when you have been in love for years, Rebecca. For years. With you.”

Rebecca couldn’t breathe.

Wicke was in love with her?

“Where is this coming from?” She clutched her throat. “This is all too much, too sudden.”

“Forgive me, Rebecca, but I have stood on the sidelines waiting for you to notice me as a man. I’m not waiting any longer. You have a choice to make. And I am not letting you leave this chamber until you know just how serious I am.”

“Does it get more serious than this?” Rebecca asked breathlessly. Her brain simply could not move farther than his confession. She inhaled deeply. He smelled of soap. Fresh. And droplets of water fell on the swell of her breast.

Wicke was in love with her.

“Let us find out,” he announced, lips capturing hers in a kiss again.

She twisted her face away. “You cannot ravish me!”

“Ravish you?” He grinned. “I do not plan to ravish you, Rebecca. I plan to show you how it could be between us without taking your virtue.”

“What if I’d rather not know?” Rebecca whispered.

“Then push me away.”

God help her, she could not. She found it impossible to avert her gaze from his blazing eyes. In them, she saw a man, perhaps for the first time, and one with powerful needs and unflinching resolve.

His hand dragged up her leg, and Rebecca gasped as cool air brushed against her exposed leg as her skirts bundled beneath his palm. His eyes never left hers, gauging for her reaction with each inch gained.

Rebecca held her breath, spellbound.

And when he lowered his mouth to the swell of her breast, when his hand reached the most forbidden part of her, Rebecca arched in a gasp.

WOLFSTAN DRAGGED IN a breath of wanton air. He had never touched a woman the way he touched Rebecca. He had been kissed by women, one or two, but never kissed a woman, not until his mouth had descended on Rebecca’s.

He had wanted her so long, dreamed of her so many times, he let instinct guide him. His mouth dropped over her breast and he kissed her there, like a parched man who had been deprived of water all his life.

His mouth trailed lower, leaving a wake of kisses over her body, the thin material of her gown the only guard against his desire. Her intoxicating scent urged him on, and he continued his quest lower. She did not object.

His teeth scraped the material of her gown over the tight bud of her nipple. Lord, she felt soft and pliant beneath his touch. He wanted the clothes gone. He wanted to strip her bare and ravish her. Instead, he cupped her breasts with his free hand gently, testing their fullness in his palm.

“Christ, you are beautiful.”

She moaned as he cupped her sex. Wolfstan let out a ragged breath. He slid his fingers over her folds.

“Wicke . . .”

The pleading note of his name nearly undid him. His mouth worked its way down her belly, over the soft indent of her bellybutton until he reached the crumpled material of her gown. His finger flexed over the most sensitive part of her and she arched into the mattress.

He lowered his mouth over her. He could scarcely breathe as he kissed her there. He half expected her to scramble away from him and kick him in the face because Wolfstan didn’t know what the hell he was doing, only that he had to touch the sweetest part of her.

He had been battle-ready when she first entered his chamber, set on using all of his natural weapons against her. Now he tasted the sweet nectar of victory on