Montana Sky

“Merry Christmas, Nate.”
    “You got me a present?” He narrowed his eyes at the package, expecting a slam.
    “Just a little one. You’ve been a good friend, and counselor.” She smiled over the last word. “Do you want to open it now, or wait till Christmas morning?” She touched her tongue to her top lip, and all the blood drained out of his brain into his lap. “I can come back.”
    “I’m a sucker for presents,” he told her, and ripped the paper off. When he saw the book he teetered between beingfaintly embarrassed and gently moved. “I’m a sucker for Keats, too,” he murmured.
    “So I hear. I thought when you read it, you might think of me.”
    He lifted his eyes to hers. “I manage to think of you without visual aids.”
    “Do you?” She inched closer, leaning down so that she could take hold of his loosened tie. “And what do you think?”
    “I think, at the moment, you’re trying to seduce me.”
    “You’re so quick, so smart.” She laughed and slid into his lap. “And so right.” One quick tug on the tie and she had his mouth on hers.
    Like the house, like the man, the hunger was simple and without pretense. His hands closed over her breasts, the warm, full weight of them. And when she shifted to straddle him, his hands moved around to cup her bottom.
    She had already tossed his tie aside and was working on his shirt before he’d taken the first breath.
    “If I’d had to go another week without your hands on me, I’d have screamed.” She fastened her teeth low on his neck. “I’d rather scream with them on me.”
    He still hadn’t managed to breathe, but his hands were busy enough, pushing that short, snug skirt of the dress up her hips, finding the delight of firm bare skin over the lacy tops of stockings. “We can’t—here.” He went back to her breasts, unable to decide where he needed to touch first. “Upstairs,” he managed as he savaged her mouth. “I’ll take you upstairs.”
    “Here.” She threw back her head as his lips ran down her throat. He had a wonderful mouth. She’d been sure of it. “Right here, right now.” On the verge of exploding already, she dragged at his belt. “Hurry. The first time fast. We’ll worry about finesse later.”
    He was with her there. Hard as steel, aching, desperate. He struggled with the zipper in the back of her dress as she struggled with his. “I haven’t got any . . . Christ, you’re built.” He dragged the dress down far enough to find those lovely, full breasts spilling over the top of a low-cut blackbra. He nipped the bra down with his teeth, then used them on her.
    It was a shock. She’d always considered herself healthily sexual. But when that busy mouth on her flesh shot her over the edge without a net, her body bucked, her mind spun. “God. Oh, my God.” Letting her head fall back, she absorbed that first, delightful orgasm. “More. Now.”
    She’d exploded over him—wildly, gorgeously—and dazed him. With his hands full of her, he pressed his lips to hers and tried to think. “We have to go upstairs, Tess. I don’t generally have sex at my desk. I’m not prepared for it.”
    “That’s okay.” She let her brow rest against his, drew three deep breaths. Lord, she was quaking like a schoolgirl. “I am.”
    Reaching back, she fumbled over the surface of the desk, knocking a number of things to the floor as he took advantage of the thrust of her breast and suckled. She heard her breath wheeze, swore she could feel her eyes cross as she groped behind her for her bag. She opened it, tossed it aside, and let a trail of condoms spill out.
    He blinked. A quick guess told him there were at least a dozen. So Nate cleared his throat. “I don’t know whether to be afraid or flattered.”
    It made her laugh. Sitting there, half naked and aroused to hell and back, she let loose a low, rocking laugh. “Consider it a challenge.”
    “Good call.” But when he reached for them, she drew them teasingly out of reach.
    “Oh, no. Allow me.”
    With her eyes on his, she ripped a packet off, tore it open. Mozart continued to play with grace and dignity as she freed Nate from his slacks, gave a feline hum of anticipation, and slowly, torturously protected them both.
    His lungs clogged, his fingers dug into the arms of the chair. Her hands were clever, delicate as a rose. And he was suddenly terrified that he would disgrace himself like a teenage virgin. “Goddamn, you’re good.”
    She smiled,