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“Noon will be perfect,” Savannah said, just as the band began to play “Silent Night.” She slipped her hand into Trace’s and began to sing.
A sensation that felt a whole lot like contentment stole through Trace. Not that he was familiar with the concept. For all of his success, for all of the people who filled his life day in and day out, he’d never experienced a moment quite like this. Maybe there was something magical about the holidays after all.
Or maybe Mae had been even wiser than he’d realized. Maybe she’d known exactly how to grant wishes before they’d even been made.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The bright red front door closed softly behind Savannah, and she suddenly realized that she was all alone in the house with Trace. Her heart thundered in her chest as she met his gaze and saw the familiar heat slowly begin to stir.
As he had earlier, he reached for the toggle on her jacket zipper and slowly slid it down, his intense gaze never once straying from her face. His knuckles skimmed along the front of her sweater, barely touching it, yet provocative enough to have her breasts swelling, the peaks instantly sensitive.
“Tell me to stop now, if that’s what you want,” he said quietly.
“I…” Her voice quavered. She swallowed hard and kept her gaze level. “I don’t want you to stop.”
“Thank God,” he murmured, his mouth covering hers.
Savannah hadn’t expected the whirlwind of sensations that tore through her at his touch. Trace had kissed her before, each time more amazing than the last, but this was different somehow. Probably because of where it was destined to lead.
It had been so long since any man had wanted her, since she’d been open to feeling this reckless surge of desire. From the moment of her divorce, she had resolved never to let another man take away even one tiny bit of her control over her life or her body. In little more than a couple of days, Trace had made that resolve crumble. She’d wanted him almost from the moment he’d stepped into the kitchen on that first day.
The reaction then had been purely physical. Now it was so much more. She knew the kind of man he was, had seen for herself that the workaholic traits she despised covered a vulnerability spawned years ago. She knew he was kind and generous. Best of all, he’d had Aunt Mae’s apparently unwavering faith. That stamp of approval alone would have been enough to convince Savannah that Trace was someone to be respected and admired…maybe even loved.
In one corner of her brain, she wanted to apply reason to all of the feelings he stirred in her, wanted to dissect them with logic, but the rest of her mind was clamoring for something else entirely. Majority wins, she thought, barely containing a giddy desire to laugh with sheer exhilaration.
And then Trace’s tongue was teasing her lips, tasting her, and the last rational thought in her head fled. From that instant on, it was all about sensation, about dark, swirling heat and a racing heartbeat, about the brush of his hand over flesh, about the clean male scent of him and the way his eyes seemed to devour her as he gauged the effect of each lingering, provocative caress.
She felt a connection with this near-stranger that she hadn’t felt in years with her ex-husband. It was as if Trace could read her mind, as if he knew exactly which part of her was screaming for his touch. Savannah knew he believed that Mae had brought them together with something exactly like this in mind. And maybe that was how it had happened. It hardly mattered, because it felt right. It felt as if she was exactly where she belonged with exactly the right man. Fate or Aunt Mae—it hardly mattered which—had brought them to this moment.
She was breathing hard and barely able to stand when he finally paused to take a breath. “Come upstairs with me,” she said, then hesitated, suddenly uncertain. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”
“Darlin’, I’ve never wanted any woman more than I want you right this second,” he said with flattering sincerity. “Areyousure, though? I don’t ever want you to regret this.”
“I’ve made mistakes and I have my share of regrets, but this won’t be one of them,” she said with total conviction.
She held out her hand and Trace took it. Together they walked up the stairs, past the floor of guest rooms and on to the private quarters on the third floor. In recent years Mae had kept a small room for herself on the ground floor, but Savannah had opted for the privacy upstairs for herself and Hannah. She led Trace to her room, which had a panoramic view of the mountains lit by moonlight glistening on the snow.
She walked to the window and stood looking out. “Every time I look at this view, I feel this amazing sense of peace come over me. It’s so incredibly beautiful.”
She felt Trace come up behind her, his arms circling her waist.
“I think you’re more beautiful,” he said softly, his breath whispering against her cheek.
His hands slid up to her breasts, cupping them. As if the exquisite sensation weren’t enough, the reflection in the window of his hands exploring her so intimately doubled the sweet tug deep inside her.
She was already shivering when his fingers slid beneath her sweater to caress bare skin. Eyes closed, she leaned back against his chest as he made her body come alive. Her breasts were heavy and aching before he undid the zipper on her jeans and repeated the delicious torment between her legs. She shuddered at the deliberate touches, each more intimate than the last, each coming closer to sending her over the edge.
She could feel the press of his arousal against her backside, could feel the heat radiating from him in waves. When she risked another look into the glass, she saw the tension in his shoulders, the hooded look in his eyes as he pleasured her. She’d never known a man could give so much without demanding anything in return.
The complete lack of selfishness inflamed her even beyond the effect of Trace’s touch. Savannah turned in his arms, then slipped from his embrace. Her gaze locked with his, she stripped her sweater over her head, then let her already-unhooked bra fall to the floor. She knew the precise instant when he saw the reflection of her actions in the window, when that image merged with the one before him and deepened his desire.
She shimmied out of her jeans and panties, then reached for the hem of his sweater. She slid her hands over his chest, which felt like a furnace in the chilly room.
“One of us has way too many clothes on,” he said in a husky growl as he tried to push her hands aside to relieve her of the task of ridding him of his sweater.
“Oh, no, you don’t. I get to do this my way,” she challenged.
A smile curved his lips. “By all means,” he said. “Just hurry it up, will you?”
