An Affair To Remember: A Ludlow Hall Christmas (5 page)

Marc knew as soon as he saw her pale face and the way her shoulders hunched as if ready for a blow that Elena remembered the night before. She was bound to have regrets because she'd no idea that he wanted her just as badly as she (if what she'd said and how she'd behaved last night was true and he hoped it was) wanted him. However, that didn't mean he was going to let her off the hook. After all he couldn't be certain she wanted him right now after what had happened between them last night. And he couldn't help having the sneaking suspicion that after a couple of After Shocks what any man might have done for Elena.

After all Odin was up for it with Elena, and from what he'd seen, so was Elena with Odin.

So basically, what Marc needed to know this morning was where he stood with Elena.

Her eyes couldn't meet his, he noticed, with a mixture of annoyance and anxiety pooling low in his gut. She didn't ask him in, but opened the door wide and stepped back. So he supposed that meant enter.

His heavy hiking boots were thick with snow. He tugged the laces, toed them off, thumped them against the wall under her porch to remove hard packed snow from the soles and placed them on the mat to dry inside the door. Still not speaking, Elena closed the door and moved past him into the sitting room. He raised his brows, but said nothing as he stripped off his gloves and stuffed them in the pocket of his jacket, unwound his scarf, ski hat, hung them on a hook and moved to join her.

The sitting room looked different in daylight, bigger, but still warm and cozy.

There was a scent of cinnamon in the air, of Christmas and of yo-ho-ho.

Marc hadn't had a lot of yo-ho-ho in his life lately.

And he could only hope that Elena might provide some.

He was tired after a filthy sleepless night filled with a burning frustration that had eventually led him to down a couple of brandies.

They hadn't helped.

Nothing had helped.

His eyes scanned the room.

She'd tidied and dusted and the log burner was blazing away, throwing out welcome heat.

"Would you like a coffee, toast?" she asked in a soft voice that wobbled a little.

For some reason her demeanour, the heat flushing her cheeks, her neck, and way she was biting her bottom lip, made him feel a hell of a lot better.

She was a nervous wreck.

Well, that made two of them.

He couldn't remember feeling this nervous around a woman in his life.

When it came to seduction, normally he was the one in charge of the setting and of the end result.

But today Marc was on her turf, in her personal space.

Elena made the rules.

He took a steadying breath.

Okay, he could live with that.

And where was the confident, demanding girl from the night before?

The ache in his groin was still making its presence felt, but the tension in his belly, his shoulders, eased away.

He studied her as she reached up into the cupboard for an oversized mug with the little lilac flowers.

She was dressed from head to toe in black.

The colour of mourning.

God, she was beautiful.

Not all skin and bone like some women and a couple of the girls on reception or many who worked for the Ferranti Group.

Elena was tall, with a long line from head to toe, but under that huge sweatshirt she had breasts and hips and a stunning ass. Elena was a real woman. And in that dress she'd worn last night, she'd looked sensational.

But today it was as if there were two Elena's. The one who ran the busy reception of a first class hotel with humour and panache. The one last night who was mouthy with a hard-ass attitude. The one who knew what she wanted and how to get it. He liked that Elena. He liked her a lot.

And then there was this one, a little shy of herself and of him. A little unsure of herself and especially of him. He liked this Elena, too.

She turned to look at him, raised brows over wary eyes, and he realised he hadn't responded to her question if he wanted a drink.

"Yes, thanks. Black is fine. And I'll have toast if you're making it. Did you sleep well? No hangover?"

Her response to the little digs, (even though he'd asked nicely btw. After all, he was a
very nice
guy) was a tiny jerk of her chin that told him he'd scored a hit.

The mug was placed on the bump of a breakfast bar, which held two high stools. He slid onto one, settled himself, and picked up his coffee. He took a sip. Working for Nico Ferranti, Marc was used to nothing but the best. The coffee was very good. The girl had serious skills. A large bowl, same pattern as the mug, was filled with a selection of sliced fresh fruit and placed between them. Without a word, and without meeting his eye, she handed him a side plate, a knife and a large napkin of white cotton. No paper napkins for her. It seemed Elena had standards. Then she took a platter with a selection of cheeses from the fridge, placed it on the counter top between them, sat opposite him and dug in.

They ate in silence.

It wasn't a companionable silence, the air was too think with tension for that.

And all the while she focused on her food, her coffee.

And all the while Marc focused on her.

On how young she looked now she was outside her work environment. On the sprinkle of freckles on her nose. On how astoundingly long her thick lashes were. How sweet her mouth looked. How gorgeous her clear skin was. How her ears hugged her skull. How her brows arched over wide eyes. On her pixie hair above a pixie face. He liked the whole package. He liked it a lot.

Now his gaze focused on the pulse beating like crazy wings beneath her ear.

And Marc decided to put her out of her misery.

"How are you feeling?"

Her insides churning, Elena placed her knife on top of her empty plate.

She needed to do something with her hands so she reached for her coffee, brought the mug to her mouth and watched him carefully over the rim.

Marc Atelier in his work uniform of Savile Row suit, crisp shirt of white cotton, fabulous silk tie and without a hair out of place, was something special. In a work environment, he had a reputation for fairness and straight talking. And for taking no prisoners.

Elena decided the Marc Atelier sitting opposite her was an unknown quantity.

With his dark brown hair all tousled after wearing his ski cap, he looked younger. The pale grey thermal sweater worn over a white T-shirt, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, brought out the blue of his eyes. She couldn't take her eyes off his spiky lashes as he studied her face the way she was studying his. He hadn't shaved and the dark shadow of his strong jaw only made him appear too handsome, if that was possible. On his wrist he wore a Breitling watch, black face, black leather strap. Unpretentious. Outrageously expensive. His blue jeans, ancient, comfortable, were slung low on his hips even as they hugged long and muscled thighs. She couldn't see the bulge between his legs since the breakfast bar blocked the view, but she knew it was there. Hard. Aroused. Ever ready.

It didn't matter what he wore, at the end of the day the man who sat opposite her was, to put it bluntly, a warrior. She came from a family of warriors herself, so Elena knew what she was talking about. He'd been in the military. She could see it in the steadiness of his eyes. In the strength of his wide jaw. In the way he sat, shoulders back and relaxed and comfortable in his own skin. He was a man at ease with himself and his surroundings. It pleased her that he could be at home in her home. And it felt right he was here, now, with her. Especially after the night before.

So, how
was
she feeling?

Good question.

It deserved an honest answer.

And something told her, his firm mouth perhaps, that Marc was not in the mood to be jerked around. The time had come for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

"I feel embarrassed and mortified that I might have put you in an uncomfortable situation last night. One not of your choosing. To be perfectly honest, I'm not used to hard liquor..."

His eyes stayed on her face as she took a break, took a tiny sip of coffee. She needed to take a breath or she'd be babbling like a fool. But she couldn't help the heat staining her cheeks.

"Perfectly understandable that you felt you needed a stiff drink. You'd had an upsetting evening. You had to deal with a very sick young man in front of everyone in a busy restaurant. Your boyfriend had been... unkind. Do you love him?"

Too right she'd had an upsetting evening.

Too right Tom had been unkind, he'd been horrible and he'd hurt her.

She'd no idea he'd had the power to hurt her.

The last question shocked her and she didn't know why.

It was a perfectly reasonable question.

So she gave it a perfectly reasonable answer.

"No. After last night I don't even like him. Usually, I stay friends with ex-boyfriends, but that's not going to happen with him."

"Good," Marc said. "But you must have seen something in him to go out with him in the first place."

Now Elena frowned into her coffee.

God, the man didn't know when to give up.

Oh well, she'd already made a complete ass of herself, what was one more humiliating moment?

"My brother set us up. He works with Tom. Thought we'd gel."

"Does your brother often organise your dates?"

Thinking of her big brothers, she had to smile.

And right there his blue eyes went dark as pitch, hungry.

The smile slid from her face as her mouth went too dry and her heart rate kicked.

"I have six brothers, all older than me. I'm the baby."

He blinked and the look in his eyes slid away as his brows rose into his hairline.

Elena had the distinct feeling she'd just dodged a speeding bullet.

"Six?"

"Yep."

He ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek.

A habit, she realised, something he did when he was trying hard not to smile.

"And what do your brothers do?"

She didn't miss the searching question in the question.

It was, should I be afraid?

Oh yeah, buddy.

Be very afraid.

It cost her, but she kept her face straight.

"Two policemen. An E.R. surgeon. Three in the military."

His face didn't exactly go pale, but she spotted the way he drew back, just a little.

"And every one very protective of their little sister."

It was a rhetorical question.

But she answered it anyway.

Elena leaned over the breakfast bar and all the while her eyes stayed on his.

"Better believe it, big boy."

The big boy tag had been a mistake, she knew it as soon as the words had left her stupid mouth. She knew it by the way he leaned back in the chair, by the way he folded strong arms, and by the way he spread his legs and especially by the way his eyes narrowed on hers.

Shit.

"You said a lot of things to me last night, Elena. A lot of things." He paused. Oh God, she loved the way he called her Elena, all growly and deep. But what did that mean? That he was angry with her? While she was sitting here with her mind spinning out of control, he just sat there and studied the way her face went nuclear, the way her breath was panting too fast, and the way she was chewing her bottom lip.

Now he moved to lean his elbows on the counter top as his eyes pinned her to the spot.

"So what I want to know. No, strike that. What I
need
to know right now, is do you still feel the same way about me this morning?"

Hell, yeah!

Elena wanted to scream the words.

But a belated sense of self-preservation held her back.

What would happen if she said yes?

What if he walked away once she'd admitted her feelings?

But how likely was that, really?

Her whole body went on tingle alert, inside and out.

What was that old saying again? Nothing lost, nothing gained?

"Well," she said, and licked parched lips. Her eyes flew to his when he growled in his throat. And she took it as a clear warning to get on with it. "I did say that you make me tingle. And I can say, quite truthfully, that I'm tingling now."

The pupils in his eyes fully dilated, but his hard mouth went soft in a way that made her lick her lips again. His response was to stand and make his way around to her side. There was a hot rock lodged in her throat making it very hard for her to swallow. Very slowly, still sitting in her stool, she turned around to face him. His hands reached for her, cupped her face. And as soon as he touched her, her whole body went up in flames.

The outside world was eerily quiet as thick flakes of snow steadily drifted down from a heavy sky. All that could be heard was the crackle and hiss from the log burner and the frantic beat of her heart against her ribs.

Eventually Elena took a deep breath, she had to or she would have passed out.

He smelled amazing.

Shampoo, peppery cologne and aroused male.

Now his breath was on her mouth.

"Look at me."

Definitely a command.

She obeyed.

And her eyes rammed into his.

At that moment Elena felt as if she was falling into him, a sensation that was not only wonderful but terrifying, too. His eyes stayed on hers as he kissed her and she kissed him right back. His mouth was hard and soft and firm and smooth. When the tip of his tongue ran along her bottom lip and then her top lip, she opened her mouth and let him slide all the way inside. His tongue danced with hers, tempting, tasting, tantalising her senses. God, he was really, really good at this. And then his teeth tugged so, so gently on her bottom lip, pulling it before letting go. And then his tongue soothed the sting. She reciprocated the move, heard and felt his groan shudder through his big body. And now his hands pulled her close so that she was sitting right on the edge of the stool and set between his legs, his hard length pressing like steel into her belly. His head eased back, although his body stayed connected to hers. Now his hand slid up her shoulder, past her neck, to cup her face. His thumb rubbing her bottom lip as his eyes held hers in thrall.

"Touch me," he whispered. "Like you did last night."

Her breasts were heavy now, the nipples aching and throbbing with a need that matched the heavy liquid beat between her thighs. She knew she was slick and hot and swollen and scared stupid. And it would only get worse for her if she touched him. Nevertheless, her hand slid between them and she cupped him, pressed the flat of her hand against steel that her touch made grow. Now he was pulsing under her searching fingers. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark as his big body shuddered once, twice.

"Tell me," he whispered in a throat that was hoarse with need. "Do you still want me to do all those things to you?"

Elena hesitated to respond, and for a split second a flash of vulnerability entered those blue eyes. If she hadn't been staring right into them, she'd have missed it. As it was, it was gone so fast, she wondered if she'd imagined it. But that flash made her brave, made her take a risk, made her believe what she was doing was not wrong but so very right.

"I want you to do all those things, and more.... but..."

He kissed her hard, once.

And then he was staring into her eyes again.

"But, what, Sweetheart?"

Her eyes filled and she blinked frantically.

Now was so not the time to fall apart.

"I'm scared."

"That makes two of us," he admitted.

She read the sincerity in his denim blue eyes, in the husky tone of his voice.

"What's happening to us?"

His eyes searched hers as his thumb stroked her hot cheek.

"I think it's called a chemistry that's off the charts."

That made sense.

It was certainly something very special and very scary.

"Have you ever experienced anything like this before?"

She had to ask, if for no other reason than to try to understand.

He shook his head.

"Never. Will you trust me not to hurt you?"

Her lids fell, hiding her eyes.

"Last night," she said. "You must have been terribly frustrated, hurting. I'm so sorry, Marc."

"Look at me." Her lids rose and she saw a raw and ravaging need that almost took her breath. "I can't lie. I didn't sleep a wink last night. But you were under the influence of an alcohol you'd never had before. What sort of man would I be to take advantage of that?"

Now her hands rose to cup his face, to let her thumbs rub along the stubble of that strong jaw, that determined mouth.

"A good man." She kissed him on the mouth and then she pressed her body into his, relaxed, and surrendered to this good man.

Marc felt her yield to him.

Now her mouth was hungry on his as her desperate hands were tugging his thermal up. He dragged his mouth from hers to whip off his tops and then he moved to strip her. As her body was revealed, his breath caught in his throat. She wasn't wearing a bra. His hands were shaking as he reached out to gently cup her swollen breasts. They were so firm, the skin so soft, like velvet wrapped in silk, as he tested their weight. Perfect. His thumbs stroked and flicked rosy nipples that beaded and pulsed. She threw her head back with a moan that vibrated through his body and arrowed right to his dick. The sting in his loins had him hiss out a breath. He'd never had a woman so responsive to his touch like this woman. Now her hands were at the buttons on his jeans, her eyes wide as she released him. He wasn't wearing underwear and was so fucking glad.

He helped her shove his pants past his knees and then he toed off his socks and tugged down her pants and panties as she kicked off her boots, her own socks.

And then they were standing in front of each other, their hands linked as they stared at each other, bare naked, for the very first time. She was beyond his wildest dreams. Her eyes were too wide, filled with a desire that made him want to weep with something like joy. Her mouth was trembling with each breath in and out. The hectic beat of her heart was fluttering in the pulse beneath her ear, against her ribs. He could see it and feel it as he held her hands tight. Her breasts were high, the tips reaching towards heaven. Her waist dipped and then flowed into lean hips, boyish. And then his gaze explored the swollen heat of her slick womanhood, tucked safely between the cut of her lean and long thighs right down past her calves to slim ankles and narrow feet. He knew she was doing the same thing to him. Checking him out. Her wide eyes spent a long, long time on his package. And his dick pulsed as it reached out searching relentlessly for its mate, her. His body seemed magnetised as it tilted towards hers.

He'd never felt anything like it.

At the edges of his mind, of his consciousness, he acknowledged the fluttering wings of fear. No fucking wonder. Because he knew instinctively that if he took her the way he wanted to, the way she wanted him to, both of them ran the risk of losing something that they might never get back.

The human heart was an organ that in some ways was stronger than titanium. But only if it gave love and received love freely and unconditionally. And in other ways the human heart was as vulnerable as dragonfly wings. Hard words, feelings unspoken, or deception might shatter a heart into a thousand pieces and break a person apart emotionally and physically.

Marc knew this.

All the while his hands were learning, like Braille, every curve, every sensitive spot on that wondrous body that made her breath hitch, made her shudder, made her moan, his mind continued to debate, to give him a choice.

Give everything to this woman, without conditions.

Or take everything from her and give nothing back.

What was it to be?