The Billionaire's Christmas Baby(35)

She plunged her fingers into his soft hair as his head trailed the length of her torso, down to her stomach, and then back up until he reached her breasts. She arched her back when she felt his hands circle around to unclasp her bra. When she felt his mouth move from her earlobe and trace her collarbone with kisses she shivered. But when he found her breasts, his lips tasting and then suckling her nipple, she cried out. Hannah threaded her fingers through his thick hair, pressing his head against her breasts.

“God, you’re so beautiful, more beautiful than I dreamed,” he said before he moved his sweet torture to the other breast. She felt swollen, heady with an insistent sort of desire.

He was strong and powerful, but she felt no fear. Firelight made his tanned skin seem more touchable, more alluring. The reality of what she was doing started trickling into her mind, like a stream at the first thaw of spring, but there would be no spring with Jackson. There would be one night.

“Jackson,” she whispered, his name sounding more like a moan as his lips tormented her skin.

“Mm-hmm,” he answered, clearly not listening. She sucked in her breath as his tongue circled her nipple decadently.

“I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean?” he said, his head lifting. She couldn’t quite make his expression.

She could feel the cold air send goose bumps over her bare skin, despite the blush that she knew began to engulf her as Jackson stared at her, bracing himself on his forearms.

“I mean, this,” she said waving her hand between them, searching for some words to explain her sudden change of heart, something that could make him understand.

Her voice trailed off as he lifted himself off her slowly. She felt for her shirt with her hands, keeping her eyes glued to him. The most profound, intimate, unbelievable experience she’d ever had with anyone and she’d ruined it. Jackson exhaled raggedly and ran his hands down his face.

“I’m sorry,” she said reaching out to touch him but stopping herself, not really knowing whether or not he’d pull away. Why couldn’t she just let herself go? Let Jackson take her to that place of sweet oblivion? As she stared at his muscular back, her eyes wandering over what her hands had worshipped, she knew why. If she slept with him she would fall in love with him, and loving Jackson would be impossible. Loving anyone, giving anyone that kind of trust, that kind of power over her was inconceivable. She had spent her entire life trying to gain freedom and to give it up was unthinkable.#p#分页标题#e#

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again as she stared at his back. As much as she was sure she’d made the only decision she could, this never should have gone this far. He reached a part of her no one ever had.

“I, I need a second.”

“I feel really, really stupid right now,” Hannah said, drawing her knees up to her chest and wishing the couch would swallow her whole. She wrapped her arms more tightly around herself, wishing she’d found her shirt. Jackson leaned down and picked up his shirt, then gently drew it over her head. She pulled her arms through, inhaling his scent, feeling the soft cotton envelop her like a blanket. The firelight cast a warm hue over his muscular physique, making him appear more powerful, more beautiful than she ever thought a man could be.

“You’re okay?”

Hannah nodded, unable to speak past the cowardly lump in her throat. Explain to him why. Tell him you want nothing more than to let go of the past and spend tonight in his arms…tell him you want him to be the first man to touch you and hold you and love you. Hannah stared at Jackson, her thoughts screaming through her mind, but nothing came out of her mouth. Jackson’s jaw clenched, almost as though he sensed her battle. But still she couldn’t open her mouth.

“Goodnight then,” he said and turned away slowly. He gave her more than enough time to call after him. More than enough time to admit she made a mistake.

…

Jackson stared at the ceiling. It had been an hour since he left Hannah in the living room. Right now he felt more like punching his fist through the window and braving the storm outside than trying figure out the woman across the hall from him. He was mad at himself for even giving in and allowing himself to touch her and kiss her. In just a few hours he’d gone from shaking with rage at her high-handed speech, to the humbling realization that she was correct, to gut-wrenching fear that she was lost in a blizzard, to inexplicable gratitude and relief when he found her, to the height of a desire that he’d never felt with anyone, to being completely left out in the cold. He’d thought there was some kind of connection that they were sharing more than a physical encounter. And then she’d ended it.