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Princes Waitress(8)

By´╝ÜSarah Morgan



‘Maybe we should slow this down,’ she gasped, sinking her fingers into the hard muscle of his shoulders to give extra support to her shaking knees.

‘Slow works for me,’ he murmured, sliding his hands over the curve of her bottom. ‘I’m more than happy to savour every moment of your utterly delectable body, and the game hasn’t started yet. Why rush?’

‘I didn’t exactly mean—oh—’ her head fell back as his mouth trailed a hot, sensuous path down her throat ‘I can’t concentrate on anything when you do that—’

‘Concentrate on me,’ he advised, and then he lifted his head and his stunning dark eyes narrowed. ‘You’re shivering. Are you nervous?’

Terrified. Desperate. Weak with longing.

‘I—I haven’t actually done this before.’ Her whispered confession caused him to still.

‘Exactly what,’ he said carefully, ‘Haven’t you done before?’ He released his hold on her bottom and slid his fingers under her chin, forcing her to look at him, his sharply intelligent eyes suddenly searching.

Holly swallowed.

Oh God, he was going to walk away from her . If she told him the truth, this experienced, sophisticated, gorgeous man would let her go and she’d spend the rest of her life regretting it.

Was she really going to let that happen?

No longer questioning herself, she slid her arms back round his neck. She didn’t know what was going on here, she had no idea why she was feeling this way, but she knew she didn’t want it to stop. ‘I meant that I’ve never done anything like this in such a public place.’

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘We’re alone.’

‘But anyone could walk in.’ She wished he’d kiss her again. Would he think she was forward if she kissed him? ‘What would happen then?’

‘They’d be arrested,’ he said dryly, ‘And carted off to jail.’

‘Oh—’ Reminded of exactly with whom she was dealing, Holly felt suddenly intimidated. Please, please, let him kiss her again. When he’d kissed her she’d forgotten he was a prince. She’d forgotten everything. Feeling as though she were standing on the edge of a life-changing moment, Holly gazed up at him and he gave a low laugh.

‘You talk too much, do you know that? So—now what? Yes, or no?’ He smoothed a rebellious strand of hair away from her flushed cheeks in a slow, sensual movement, and that meaningful touch was enough to raise her temperature several degrees.

He was giving her the choice.

He was telling her that, if he kissed her again, he was going all the way.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, knowing that there would be a price to pay, but more than willing to pay it. ‘Oh, yes.’

If she’d expected her shaky encouragement to be met with a kiss, she was disappointed.

‘If you want to slow things down,’ he murmured against her throat, ‘I suppose I could always eat the dessert that’s waiting for me on the table.’

Holly gave a faint whimper of frustration, and then he lifted his head and she saw the wicked gleam in his eyes. ‘You’re teasing me again.’

‘You asked me to slow down, tesoro.’

She was finding it hard to breathe. ‘I’ve definitely changed my mind about that.’

‘Then why don’t you tell me what you want?’ He gave a sexy, knowing smile that sent her body into meltdown.

‘I want you to kiss me again.’ And not to stop.

‘Do you?’ His head lowered to hers, thick lashes partially shielding the mockery in his beautiful eyes. ‘You’re not supposed to give me orders.’

‘Are you going to arrest me?’

‘Now, there’s a thought.’ He breathed the words against her mouth. ‘I could clap you in handcuffs and chain you to my bed until I’m bored.’

Her last coherent thought was Please don’t let him ever be bored, and then he lifted her, and the demands of his hands on her thighs made it impossible for her not to wrap her legs around his waist. There was the faint rattle of fine bone-china as he positioned her on the table, and only when she felt the roughness of his zip against the soft flesh of her inner thigh did she realise that he’d somehow manoeuvred her skirt up round her waist.

With a gasp of embarrassment, she grabbed at the skirt, but she felt the hard thrust of his body against hers.

‘I love the stockings,’ he groaned, his dark eyes ablaze with sexual heat as he scanned the lacy suspender-belt transecting her milky-white thighs.

Thighs that definitely weren’t skinny.

The fragile shoots of her self-confidence withered and died under his blatant scrutiny, and Holly tugged ineffectually at the hem of her skirt, trying to cover herself. ‘Sylvia insists on stockings,’ she muttered, and then, ‘Do you think you could stop looking at me?’

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