Matthew told her. He hefted her up again. Then they were moving. He carried her through the house. He knew where they were going—his old room. If he didn’t get all these clothes off them and bury himself in her body soon, he might just explode. She wasn’t helping. True, she didn’t weigh very much and, since he was carrying her, she didn’t trip or stumble into him. But the way she busied herself by scraping her teeth over his earlobe? He was going to lose it. Him, who was always in control of the situation. Of himself. She’d stripped that control away from him the moment she’d walked into his life. “This is my old room,” he told her when they got to her door. He managed to get the door open. Then he kicked it shut. Then he laid her out on the bed. Normally, he took his time with women. He was able to keep a part of himself back—keep a certain distance from what he was doing, what they were trying to do to him.
What do You think about A Beaumont Christmas Wedding?
