A Stockingful of Joy by Susan King Justine Dare Mary Jo Putney Jill Barnett

hesitated. Then she sighed, and her lips softened beneath his, as if she had struggled within herself, and found the strength to surrender.
    She circled her arms around his neck and tilted her head beneath his, framing his jaw with her slender hands, kissing him with a trembling joyfulness that made him want to weep suddenly, not for what he had lost, but for what he had found.
    He slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her deep and certain, and let his hands skim the curving contours of her body. A wealth of thick wool separated them, but he felt her graceful, willing undulations against him. That silent eloquence poured through him like fire, and the hardening strength in his body urged him onward.
    She slid her fingers through his hair, returning his kiss with a fervency that took his breath. He circled his hands around her waist, beneath the drape of her plaid, and moved upward to find the slope of her breasts. He caught her little glad cry between his lips, and knew that she shared his need.
    He hoped, ardently, desperately, that she also shared the love he felt. Like sunlight bursting through clouds, the feelings that burgeoned inside of him streamed through his blood and being, adding fire to his touch as he held her.
    If he let go of her, then and there—if he walked out into the cold and let the lust that flamed in his body cool to ice—he would still feel this fiery yearning that fueled his desire. She charmed him, nurtured him, filled the emptiness within him like light poured over shadow. Kin and feuds and promises aside, he loved her, simply, deeply. He could not do without her now.
    Kneeling with her as they kissed, he wanted more of her, more of this. He touched the incredible softness of her breast, warm and hidden beneath wool and linen, felt his own breath and blood pulse through him like wind-driven waves. He stood, lifting her as if she were made of no more than silk and a soul.
    Setting her down on the fur-covered, rumpled bed, he looked into her eyes, questioning, waiting. Silently she reached past him and drew the curtain shut. Her fingers closed around his arm, pulling him toward her in the darkness. He knelt, leaning over her, hands to either side of her, and kissed her gently.
    "Catriona," he whispered, "listen to me, now. I love you." He kissed her again, letting his mouth, his breath, linger and blend with hers. "Whether we have been together for days or years is not important. What has begun will only grow stronger."
    She closed her eyes, sighed, lifted her mouth to his. He caressed her lips, then lifted his head to gaze at her through the shadows. "I may be a Fraser, but I will be your luck, the whole soul of it," he murmured, "if you want me."
    She made a small sound, half sob, half laugh, and drew him down to lie beside her. He wrapped his arms around her, his heart pounding against the rhythm of hers.
    "I do want you," she answered. "Good omen or poor, you fell at my feet on New Year's Eve, and I want you for my own, so much," she whispered. "But you must not ask me to wed you."
    He opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but she laid a silencing finger against his lips. He felt a poignant tug of deep emotion in his chest, and sank his fingers into the silk of her hair as he kissed her gently. The hunger of her returned kiss surprised him, fired his craving for more. Meeting her lips again, he thought he tasted the salt of tears. But she smiled when he looked at her.
    He savored her mouth, and his hands traced over the graceful shape of her, impeded by wool and linen. She caressed his arms, his waist, and tugged at his plaid; he shifted, letting her divest him, while he pulled at her laces, slid wool gently away from her, until they lay bare together. The curves of her body were luscious in shadow, touched by tiny stars of daylight that fell through the curtain weave.
    He was aware that they hurtled fast toward a brink that would carry them forward, and change them both forever. Heart