Prognosis Christmas Baby - Amy Andrews Page 0,13

have been mortified that they were necking like teenagers but she was so utterly caught up in his heat and his smell and the sexual squall lashing her insides and scrambling her thought processes, she couldn’t have cared less.

She wanted to feel his lips on her so badly she turned her face towards him, her mouth seeking his as she clutched at his shirt, fisting it. ‘Nash,’ she whimpered as his lips brushed lightly against hers. Soft, teasing. She clutched his thigh, trying to anchor herself in the maelstrom.

Nash felt her desperate whimper right down to his toes and knew her torment. He wanted to tear her clothes off right here and now, push her back against the seat and have his way with her, audience or not.

And if he deepened the kiss that’s exactly what would happen. ‘Shh, Maggie,’ he whispered, kissing her forehead, her eyes, her cheek. ‘Nearly there.’

Maggie made a sound of protest deep in her throat. How could he be so controlled when she was practically blind with lust? His thigh felt thick and powerful beneath her hand and she massaged it convulsively, trying to claw back her breath, her sanity.

Nash clasped his hand over hers as it moved higher. God, didn’t she know he was holding on by a thread? He placed his forehead against her cheekbone, forcing himself to slow down, to think practically for a moment while he still had the chance.

‘Have you got condoms at your place?’ He had two in his wallet but no way was that ever going to be enough - they were going to go at it all night long. They might have to ask the driver to stop somewhere for supplies.

Maggie only just heard the question over the thrumming of the pulse in her ears. She shut her eyes, desperately trying to gather her thoughts. Protection, Maggie, protection — think!

It had been too many years since it had been an issue.

‘Oh...er...yes.’ Think. Think. She did have some somewhere. ‘I have a...a box...’ Where. Where? ‘In...in my bedside drawer.’

Nash pressed a kiss to her temple and moved his hand further up her leg. ‘I hope it’s full.’

Maggie strained to think again. ‘Well, it’s been a while since I’ve used any but I’m pretty sure they’ve barely been touched.’

Nash felt strangely satisfied by the admission. ‘Good. The way I feel right now, we’re going to need every one.’ And he kissed her full on the mouth.

Maggie’s head spun as she clung to his chest and opened her mouth to his deep, wet kiss, moaning low in her throat.

‘Er...’ the driver, who had been studiously discrete, coughed. ‘We’re, uh, here.’

Nash pulled his mouth away, thanked the driver and practically dragged Maggie out of the car. ‘Keys.’

Maggie, too lust-drugged to coordinate herself, handed him her purse and clung to his hand as his long legs strode up the path. They reached the front door and she leaned her hip against it watching through a sexual haze as Nash sorted through her keys.

The subdued light from a sensor light spilled across his profile and down the tanned column of his neck as the keys jingled. She leaned forward, the flutter at the base of his neck too tempting to resist. She pressed her lips to it, his stubble grating against them. The smell of man enveloped her and she inhaled deeply, his aroma making her dizzy. She moved her lips higher to the ridge of his windpipe.

Nash, having trouble finding the right key, shut his eyes as her tongue caressed the path of his carotid pulse. He reached for her hip, the contours beneath moulded perfectly by the tightness of denim. ‘Maggie,’ he moaned.

Their lips sought and met and opened and he backed her against the door, his body covering hers wanting to feel every inch of her against him, the keys forgotten. Her mouth was warm and wet and inviting, and when she moaned and shoved her fingers into his hair he pushed his thigh between her legs and ground it against her.

Maggie gasped at the surge of pure desire that scorched her, and rubbed herself against the thick wedge of hard muscle sandwiched at her centre. She grabbed his shirt, faint from need. Her fingers brushed the contours of his chest and he felt warm and vibrant and very, very male.

‘Inside,’ she croaked as his lips left hers to nibble down her neck and his hand stroked a sinful tattoo on her hip.

Nash hauled himself away with difficulty, his breath