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Back Just for December Save as PDF
Chapters (54)
  1. Cover
  2. PRAISE FOR LAURA JANE WILLIAMS
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. Acknowledgements
  50. Publishing Credits
  51. Keep Reading …
  52. About the Author
  53. Fiction by the same author
  54. About the Publisher

Before she knows what’s happening, he’s pushed her up against the wall behind her, one hand steadying her at the waist, the other snaked up under her hair to the nape of her neck, where he tugs, just enough to force her chin up so that their mouths can meet. It’s been days since they were last together alone, days since he muttered her name into her mouth between kisses, and she’s missed him too.

‘Take me back to the hotel,’ Evie tells him, and he goes one better, lifting her up in his arms so that she squeals. ‘What are you doing!’ She wraps her arms around his neck, and he carries her back the way they came, putting on a caveman voice to say: ‘Me, Tarzan Duke. You, Evie Jane. We, have sex in my room, right now.’

Neither of them even care that the photographer is having a field day. Evie just wants to be upstairs, in his bed, naked – and as soon as possible.

Duke Carlisle is an exquisite lover. As soon as they are in his suite, he has her pressed halfway up the door, and Evie’s legs are wrapped around him, her ankles locked under his ass so she can pull him in. He grinds against her, the bulge in his trousers obvious and delightful. His mouth is on her cheek, her neck. He appears to have set his own personal challenge to let no inch of her décolletage go unkissed.

‘Yes,’ sighs Evie. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

He carries her across to the bed, depositing her with such ease it’s like he’s placing down a bag of feathers. He’s strong. Really strong. Evie lies back and he climbs on top of her, and what comes next is carnal, filthy, and long overdue.

‘Yes,’ Evie says again, when she’s come so hard she thinks she might have pulled a muscle in her back.

Duke grins, and credit to him: he’s panting.

‘God, that was …’ starts Duke, and in between her own panting Evie agrees.

‘It was,’ she agrees.

He looks at her. He’s golden and chiselled. No man should look that good.

‘Shall we go again?’ he asks, his hand rubbing her thigh lightly, threatening to slip between her legs.

Evie hoots an involuntary laugh. ‘Absolutely not,’ she shrieks.

He looks at her, eyebrows raised.

‘At least not until we’ve ordered some food. I need to recuperate.’

He comes closer, rubbing his nose to hers, almost – but not quite – having his lips meet hers.

‘Lightweight,’ he teases, and Evie laughs.

30

Duke