Page 45 of Cruel Hearts

But the fucker sure knew how to kiss.

I told it to bugger off and continued letting him plunder my mouth. With the deftest of movements, Orlando had my feet off the ground, my back wedged against the hard wall, and his erection pressing between my legs.

“Lilah,” he murmured into the kiss. “You’re so sexy.”

“True,” I whispered back.

“Mr. Nevis,” said a deep voice.

Orlando jumped back, leaving me to slide down the wall.

Mr. Burgh stood a few feet away, his face as hard as granite. “It’s customary to kiss young ladies at Christmas, not devour their faces.”

“Of course.” Orlando gave the headmaster one of those standing-to-attention stances.

“My granddaughter is not a plaything. She is not to be passed from one reprobate to another and discarded.” Mr. Burgh loomed over us, seeming to expand with every step. “Is that understood?”

Orlando gulped. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t keep Mrs. Campbell waiting.”

“Yes, sir.” Orlando inclined his head. “Happy Christmas, sir.”

My gaze darted to Mr. Burgh, who still looked like he wanted to kick Orlando’s ass. “I’ll see him out.”

He grunted his approval, and I rushed up to the old man and pecked him on the cheek. If he hadn’t interrupted us, I might have let Orlando carry me upstairs for a Christmas fuck. Before he could give me an I’ll-deal-with-you-later glower, I rushed back to Orlando, who stood at the door.

“He must love you,” said Orlando. “I’ve never seen old Burgh looking so riled.”

My heart made a happy flutter. “He’s been great.”

He leaned down and gave me a peck on the lips. “Happy Christmas and congratulations on finding such an understanding grandparent.”

I grinned. “It’s like winning the lottery.”

Orlando stepped down from the doorstep and blew me a kiss. I waved back, resisting the urge to go all cheesy and snatch it out of the air. Not wanting to look like I’d forgiven him—which I hadn’t—I closed the door and walked back to the living room.

Mr. Burgh stood in front of the crackling fire, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Like winning the lottery, eh?”

“You were eavesdropping?”

He turned to me, his sapphire eyes grave. “Be careful with Mr. Nevis. He’s just as unruly and lewd as Maxwell Deloraine.”

Heat bloomed between my legs, and I placed both palms on my cheeks. If Orlando was as good a fuck as Maxwell...

The memory of Orlando scheming against me in the nightclub toilets pushed to the forefront of my mind, and the fires of my arousal flickered to dying embers.

I gave Mr. Burgh a sheepish smile. “You’re right. I don’t know what came over me.”

His head tilted to the side in one of those looks that told me he’d dealt with young scallywags for decades and knew the exact cause of my problems. “I’ve broken up enough canoodling couples to know what’s what.”

“Canoodling?”

“What do you call it these days, snogging?”

I stifled a laugh. “Come on. The hot chocolate’s getting cold.”

Later, we shared the best Christmas dinner of my life. We started with cock-a-leekie soup, made with chicken, leak, and bacon. Then Mr. Burgh served a roast pheasant, roast potatoes, and an array of winter vegetables. For pudding, custard and clootie dumpling, a steamed pudding of currants and apple prepared with gorgeous spices.