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Her hands explored lower, reaching for the hem of his T-shirt and pulling until she encountered warm skin.
‘Don’t stop,’ Rufus gasped and she leaned in and dropped a kiss on his lips, and Jess moaned as his hands found her arse again. She’d meant to give him a playful peck before getting back to the looking. But she was drawn in by the heat of it, and couldn’t drag herself away.
Rufus’s hands went higher, to her waist, his fingers tightening and pulling her closer, until she wanted to climb inside his skin.
‘God, it’s amazing kissing you,’ Rufus said, pausing to draw breath. ‘You taste of mince pies. Like Christmas. I want to unwrap you.’
She laughed at the cheesy line, but she was with him on the sentiment. She lifted her arms above her head and welcomed the touch of cooler air on the band of skin exposed around her midriff. He grabbed the three layers of sweaters and lifted them over her head, leaving her in the silky slip that she had put closest to her skin that morning. Under the thermal layer that Rufus had found so funny yesterday.
Not so funny now that it was the only thing between her and the slight chill in the air that the fire hadn’t banished.
Rufus’s fingertips trailed down her arms, skimming the goose bumps, and then left her breathless as he flipped her back on the sofa, covering her with his body and pulling a blanket over the pair of them, creating a cocoon of warmth around them, a bubble of heat inside the old, isolated house.
She froze for a second at the sudden change of pace, and Rufus drew back, looking at her carefully.
‘Is this okay?’ Rufus asked.
‘I...uh...’ It was a struggle to form a coherent thought, never mind string words together, and the truth was, she wasn’t sure what she wanted right now. Rufus sat up though, putting a little space between them. ‘Maybe we need a breather,’ he said. ‘Christmas Eve is meant to be all about anticipation, and if we’re not careful we’re going to have torn through all our gifts before we even make it to Christmas Day.’
‘Anticipation,’ Jess said, pleased that Rufus had read the situation, read her so well. ‘Got it. Good idea.’
* * *
Rufus felt as though he’d barely breathed for the past day, anticipating these moments when he was close enough to breathe Jess in, and now he was tearing himself away for the promise of more anticipation.
But really he needed to get his head together. They’d talked about what this was—or what it wasn’t, as
Jess had been so keen to specify. But she obviously still had her reservations, and there was no way that he was steamrolling them into something that she might regret. He didn’t want to rush this. He wanted to savour it. Savour her.
‘Where are you going?’ Jess asked, propping herself up on her elbows to watch him as he drew the curtains and chucked a couple of logs on the fire before he sat down and pulled Jess into his lap.
‘We said a breather; I didn’t know you meant you were going to leave,’ Jess murmured, turning her head and pressing a kiss to his throat.
CHAPTER SIX
‘YOU CAN’T SEND THAT,’ Rufus said with a grunt, looking at the photo on his phone screen.
‘Why not?’
‘Because you can see what I’m thinking.’
‘Really? What were you thinking?’ But she was only asking to tease him. He looked hot. Heated. He was looking at her as if he was counting the minutes until he could peel away her layers of soft, cosy knitwear to get to what was underneath.
It was undoubtedly a very good look on him.
And one that she wanted to keep for herself.
Just for the next few days.
After that she would give him back to the universe and have no claim on that particular expression. Jess pinged the photo to her own phone, and then deleted it, trying not to think too hard about the stab of regret she felt at the thought that soon—way too soon—she would be giving up the right to make him feel that way.
But she didn’t have to do it yet.
She put the phone down, curled her hands into the front of Rufus’s sweater and pulled him down for a kiss. And before she closed her eyes, she got another glimpse of it. That look that said he was going to burn her alive and make her thank him for it. She would. She would thank him and repay the favour and then he’d look at her like that again, and the house would become a black hole, pulling the emotion out of her. Making her spill more and more of herself.
She couldn’t allow that to happen.
This was just a kiss. It might—she hoped, desperately—lead to just sex.
