Cruising With Miss Christmas (Cruisin’ With Curves)

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

“ H ere, let me.”

I watch in the vanity mirror as my husband ties the straps of my dress carefully at each shoulder. The brush of his fingers against my skin sends shivers of pleasure rolling down my spine.

My husband. I’m still not used to it. It seems like a fairy-tale, like any moment I will wake up back in our farmhouse on the mountain, surrounded by pine trees swaying in the wind. And it will all have been the most wonderful dream.

But the ring glinting on my left hand tells me that it is real.

What I have with Hector is real.

It always was.

He loves me.

And he is mine, forever.

“Penny for them,” Hector says gently, his blue eyes catching mine in the mirror.

I put my hand over his where it rests on my shoulder.

“Just thinking how lucky I am,” I reply.

He pulls me to him, pressing my back against the solid expanse of his chest, wrapping me into his bear-like arms.

“Oh no, lass, I’m the lucky one.”

Hector’s hand brushes over my shoulder, his calloused palm rough against my skin. My nerve-endings prickle in delicious anticipation. His fingers pluck at the ties of the bows he has just tied. They offer little resistance and yield easily under my mountain man’s searching touch.

“Are we not supposed to be having breakfast with Captain McClelland?” I remind him.

“I’m sure he’ll understand, given the, uh, circumstances.”

My eyes widen and Hector chuckles.

“That’s what happens when you invite newlyweds to breakfast,” he shrugs. Hector’s voice is a low growl. My body reacts to the deep need in his tone. I press myself harder against him.

“Indeed,” I agree.

The thin cotton ties of my dress give up the ghost and fall down, tickling my skin. Hector rubs his thumb over the freshly exposed skin of my shoulder and down over my collarbone. I sigh and melt against his chest, the curves of my body melding into the hard planes of his.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this,” I groan as his fingers find my aching breasts.

“Cruising?” my husband asks, giving me a sly grin over my shoulder in the mirror.

“Yeah.”

My eyes cloud.

“What’s wrong, lass?”

“Nothing.” I try to shrug it off, but thoughts of the trouble I’m going to be in when I get home roll over my mind like clouds on the horizon of the most perfect blue sky.

“Elspeth…”

His eyebrows knit together in puzzlement for a moment, then he nods slowly and folds me deeply into his arms.

“We’ll handle it together”, he says gently. “You won’t be alone in it. I’ve got you. I’m not going to hide it, Elspeth. I love you and I want the world to know it.”

“Even Lennox?”

“Including Lennox.”

“So, no Secret Santa?”

“No Secret Santa.”

I’m Mrs Christmas-Daigh now, and with Hector by my side, I know I can face anything.

“Good,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “Because I’m quite fond of this, you know,” I declare, holding out my left hand and letting my wedding ring flash in the morning light. “And I have no intention of taking it off.”

“I should think not,” my husband growls against my ear. “Although I do have some ideas about what else you could take off…”

“Hmm, well, we are under the mistletoe, so I do think at least a kiss is in order, don’t you think?”

Hector looks up at the sprig of greenery hanging from the ceiling above us.

“Well, I wouldn’t like to break with tradition,” he replies. He pushes me back against the wall and lowers his mouth to mine. His tongue invades my mouth as his hand continues its earlier work of removing my clothing.

I groan as his thigh presses between my legs.

“Are you sore?” he asks gently.

“A bit,” I admit. “But nothing I can’t handle.”

The need coursing through me right now would be enough to dull any amount of pain.

As I feared, he frowns.

“I won’t hurt you. We won’t…do anything until you feel better…”

“But Hector, please, I need…”

He looks down at me, his eyes gleaming as he watches me writhing under his bear-paw hand, which thankfully has not stopped its ministrations on my breast. I arch my back, trying to tempt him with the soft swell of my flesh.

But the man has a will of iron.

He moves his leg and I groan.

“Tease,” I grumble, panting.

I press my thighs together, hoping for some relief from the throbbing, but it is not enough.

He takes pity on me.

“I have an idea,” he says. “Something that will take the, uh, ache away.”

He slides my dress down over my hips. I step out of it, kicking it to the side as Hector kneels on the floor before me. He slides his thumbs under the elastic of my knickers.

“These too,” he instructs.

I shiver as his big hands slide my knickers down my thighs. He moves slowly, almost torturously so. I press my back against the wall and bite my lip to avoid crying out in frustration. He looks up, his blue eyes glinting impishly.

“Look at you, so hot for me, Mrs Christmas-Daigh.”

“Hector,” I groan.

Knickers despatched, he slides his hands back up my legs, trailing his fingers lazily over the curve of my calves. He licks his lips as he reaches the soft skin of my inner thigh.

“Now, “ he says, “what seems to be the problem? You seem a little flushed, a little flustered…” He pauses, drawing his fingers through the curls of my pubic hair.

“I need you,” I moan.

I can’t bear it. The still smouldering embers of last night’s pleasure are burning my insides to cinders. I feel like I’m about to combust.

“Are you feeling a little…tight…right about here?” he asks, pressing his thumb into a spot on my lower belly, just above my pubic bone.

I nod, my cheeks reddening.

“There’s a strange pull in there that’s making everything feel a little strange, a little uncomfortable, isn’t there? Like you can’t concentrate on anything and you don’t know why.”

I nod again.

He replaces his thumb with his mouth, nibbling at my flesh. The muscles south of my waist contract and my knees weaken.

“Oh, Hector, ah,” I gasp, struggling to stay upright.

“You are hot indeed,” he confirms, sitting back on his heels and admiring the gently blooming mark he has left. The sight of his mark on my skin makes the embers inside me flare into fully fledged flames.

“Hector, I can’t…I can’t bear it, please…”

“Well,” he says slowly, nudging my thighs further apart. “I’m not going to see my woman suffer.”

He slides his huge frame between my legs, supporting my bum cheeks in his huge palms. My thighs rest against his shoulders.

“You are mine, Elspeth Christmas-Daigh. Mine. Always.” His blue eyes hold mine as he parts my folds with his tongue, spreading me, lapping me like a mountain lion taking water from a fresh mountain stream.

I cry out as my body reacts. I’m glad for the support of his body because mine isn’t under my control anymore. My legs are trembling so hard there’s no way I can hold myself up. The fire raging in my core flares hard, sending heat coursing through every vessel in my body.

The combination of his skilful tongue and the frisson of his coarse beard on my most tender skin sends me toppling over the edge. I twine my hands in Hector’s ginger mop of hair, folding over him.

“Hector,” I cry as pleasure crashes through me like a storm surge.

“Come for me,” he breathes against my skin.

With a long, low moan, my body convulses as I find my release under his mouth.

When the shuddering stills and my thighs relax their grip on Hector’s shoulders, he stands and takes me in his arms. I sag into the comfort of his embrace, my legs trembling with the aftershocks rippling through my body.

“Well,” I murmur. “I’ve never been kissed like that under the mistletoe before.”

Hector laughs. “First time for everything.” He wraps me in his arms. “I think we might enjoy exploring quite a few ‘firsts’ on this trip, Mrs Christmas-Daigh.”

“Oh, I certainly hope so, Mr Christmas-Daigh.”

Hector smiles and brushes his thumb along my cheekbone.

“I love you, Elspeth.”

I stand on my tiptoes, stretching my body along his and pressing my lips against his earlobe as my hands unbuckle his belt. “I love you too, Hector. Always.”