The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,79

he murmured to himself, trying to regain control of his body before it spiralled out of control.

“King?”

He jolted, scrambling to sit up and snatch at the bedclothes at once as Livvy’s soft voice pierced the silvered darkness of his room. King couldn’t breathe, let alone demand what the bloody hell she was playing at, coming to his room alone in the middle of the night. Though now, judging from the fact she’d just undone the ribbon tie on her nightrail and allowed it to fall to the floor… her intentions needed no explanation whatsoever.

King’s mind was a blank. He simply could not think. At all. His vision was filled with the sight of Livvy, all glorious curves and soft skin, her hair loose, tumbled curls about her shoulders. The moonlight shone upon her skin, a pearlescent glow, shimmering silver, her golden hair a shining mass of platinum now as the moon transformed her into a creature of myth, a succubus come to drive him to madness.

“King,” she said again, a tremor audible in her voice.

She was nervous, as well she might be, a lamb trotting willingly into the lion’s den.

“Livvy,” he said, struggling to find breath enough to say that much, striving to find the will to command her to leave, now, at once, before any hold he had on his sanity snapped once and for all. He gave a soft bark of laughter, realising that moment had long since been lost. She was hereof her own volition, willingly offering herself to him.

Still, he didn’t move, giving her the chance to come to her senses, torn between desperation that she stay and wanting her to take that chance and run from him, to find the strength that he lacked to deny her, and to save herself. She did not run. Livvy came closer and his heart thudded so hard he felt giddy and light-headed. Was he still not recovered? Was this an echo of his night sweats and terrifying visions of strange creatures with horns and tails come to take him down into the darkness? For he had never felt this out of control. He’d bedded women enough to know objectively that Livvy was no great beauty. She was lovely, yes, but not exceptional, not the kind of woman for whom men fought duels and drove themselves to madness. Except his heart disagreed vehemently, crashing about behind his ribs like it fought to get free, like it might stutter to a halt and die if he didn’t touch her. His heart recognised a goddess, a queen, a woman he might spend his entire life worshipping, trying to be worthy of, if he were only given the chance.

“Say something,” she said, close enough to him now that he could reach out and touch her.

He wanted to so badly, but hardly dared, in case he’d dreamed the whole thing and would wake the moment he tried to put his hands on her.

“Can’t,” he said, his voice husky. “Forgotten how.”

Livvy laughed, and the sound rioted through him. “Are you quite certain you’re a libertine? I mean, aren’t you supposed to be eloquent and full of seductive teasing?”

“Not with you, Livvy,” he said helplessly. “It’s all smoke and mirrors, love. Haven’t you understood that yet? I can’t pretend with you. You saw behind the mask from the first, you broke the illusion. So you just get me, I’m afraid. Sorry to disappoint you.”

It was her that reached for him, of course. Brave, beautiful Livvy, undaunted, facing the world head on. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw and he shivered beneath her touch, shaken by the depth of his desire, at the force of his own need.

“If you think that disappoints me, you are sadly mistaken, King. I could never live a lie. I have only ever wanted honesty. That’s why I like you so much.”

“I should send you away,” he said, even as he reached for her.

“Perhaps,” she said, a crooked smile at her lips. “But you wouldn’t be so cruel to me. I want you, King. I want you so much I feel like I might die if you don’t touch me.”

“Oh, God,” he said, and pulled her down onto the bed.

Livvy fell with a stunned gasp, the touch of King’s skin against her own so explicit, the feel of his body against hers so shocking her brain simply refused to function. She stared down at him, her hair falling about her face, her hands braced on his chest. On his

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