Just a Kiss

By Lucia Bruels

Sweeping across Europe in Napoleon's wake, Lord Greysteel's spying for England's Home Office proves invaluable. Involved in mapmaking, he works his way into a gypsy camp to avoid capture. The young girl he meets there almost causes his death. Part gypsy, Rebekka is herself hiding, and for a far different reason. Her innocence against Greysteel's charm and experience seems no match. As the battle heats up between England and France and sides are taken emotions burn deep, passion deeper. Rebekka's birth and connections canbe disastrous to the cause. Has she been planted in the path of British ambition? Country and honor or desire and betrayal? The French Eagle or the British Lion? War is made by men, destinyby women andit only takes a kiss, just a kiss, to turnchance meeting into a game of sensual pursuit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 6, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467822299

Lucia Bruels

History, tall ships, travel, books - all vie for first love with Lucia Bruels.  Retired from an information technology career she enjoys all things French, all things historical, especially if set in the 1700’s. She became interested in writing while doing family genealogy. After all, nothing is as intriguing as real life; add a bit of sugar and spice and you have a tantalizing tale.  Her heros are always alpha males -  though they may have wounds to heal. Her ladies are  ready to love and be loved - and usually not so proper. Duels, sizzling affairs, tidbits of history, all intertwined for tales you won’t want to put down. Lucia lives in South Carolina with her physicist husband.

Book preview

Just A Kiss

Lucia Bruels

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AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2007 Lucia Bruels. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 7/2/2007

ISBN: 978-1-4343-1215-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-2229-9(ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

CHAPTER ONE –

somewhere in Europe, 1802

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY –

1807

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Notes:

About the Author

To Jan Z., my most loyal fan, and to all the Dames who support my writing (as long as it’s historical). I love you all.

Just a kiss? –

His lips are a mirror of his soul –

That full, muscular, lower lip reveals what he may give a woman,

if you’re very, very, lucky –

Sensuous love as he shares desire, emotion –

Laughter with the curve of his mouth, the crinkles at its corners –

Strength to protect you, to hold you tight, to make decisions –

Ability to make you lose all reason as he nibbles, controls –

Warmth to keep you close, to make you his –

A mere brush of his lips will start you to dream -

Full contact, properly applied, will destroy any doubts.

Is it meant to entice – to seduce – to control – to surrender?

No, a kiss is never just a kiss – never –never - beware!

CHAPTER ONE –

somewhere in Europe, 1802

Soft. She hadn’t expected soft; or pliant, or hypnotizing. ‘Lizbeth Rebekka D’Orcy tilted her head back to better see the outlines of his face. The lantern light flickered over a very male countenance, his cheeks and chin now bearing a dusting of beard from the late hour. Thick, dark lashes made half-moons on high cheekbones but she knew he was watching her beneath the appeared nonchalance.

The lips moved, slightly pursing, drawing her eyes once again to her problem. His tongue peeked out, moistening, tempting, before disappearing. She thought she saw the corners of his mouth edge upward into a satisfied smile before she blinked the image away.

She leaned downward again, her lips barely brushing against his. The touch made her heart race, made her blood sing. How foolish that such a small thing could affect her so. She felt his warm breath against her cheek.

Again, Kitten. No kiss is a simple touch of lips. How are you to become a tigress? Marcus Greysteel held himself still. She was skittish, innocent, but he had succeeded in tweaking her curiosity. He could feel her suppressed excitement, the untried passion. He need now only put it to use to free himself.

A quick glance to his extended arms and legs reassured her he was still securely bound to the four corners of the small gypsy wagon. The men in their camp had not decided what to do about his sudden appearance in their midst. Taking him by surprise, they had spread-eagled him thus until morning.

It was only a rough jest that had ended with herself thrust into the wagon for the night also. Refusing Raoul’s teasing advances for the tenth time had been the last straw. He’d tumbled her onto the stranger’s restrained body and locked the door.

Raoul’s departing words brought a flush to her cheeks. Enough of innocence, Kitten. He’s harmless as a tabby and he’s yours for the night. Take him. Touch him, play with him, enjoy what a man is about. I’ll expect a tigress by morn. He’d roared with laughter as he departed.

There wasn’t room in the small space to not touch him. She’d tried to curl away from the masculine presence but it was impossible. Then he’d begun to talk to her.

What does he expect, Kitten? Have you never felt of a man? Kissed a man?

When she hadn’t answered, her body aware of his every slight movement, he’d continued. At least allow me to be your first true kiss. I cannot escape the bonds, you know, so you are completely safe. He’d sighed at her lack of words. You cannot sleep as you are. Lie down beside me, against me, relax. Then all you need do, if you so wish, is lean forward and place your lips against mine. I’m not so bad. Other ladies rather fancy me. It’s just a kiss.

And here she was as in a dream, wanting to wantonly possess those wonderful lips of his again. What was wrong with her? Her tongue had touched his mouth and his lips parted just a bit. Somehow – had he stretched upward or had she accomplished the act on her own – they met. He drank her in, nibbling, cajoling her to give more. Oh, God in heaven, how sweet!

Before she knew it her hand had cupped his cheek; then her fingers were in his thick dark hair. She broke the contact, needing to breathe. He kissed the corners of her mouth, pulling her lower lip with his teeth.

She felt her breasts swell against his chest – how had she gotten in that position? An ache centered low in her belly and spread to where his maleness had hardened and now pressed against her.

Belatedly she realized she was nestled between his spread legs. With a gasp she retreated, staring down at him.

Kiss me again. I need you to kiss me again. He shifted somehow and she felt her nipples tighten even more.

With a soft moan her mouth sought his again. He devoured her, seducing, savoring her soft mews of need. When he was able, he turned his head to run his tongue into the tiny swirls of her ear. His voice a rough rasp, he whispered what he’d like to do to her, how beautiful she was.

If you’d cut me free I could love you properly. I want to show you the wonders of a man and a woman. His hips thrust upward and felt her natural instinct fit her closer against him. Loosen my hands.

Rebekka came back to her senses. Free him? That was all he wanted? Were all men alike – selfish in their needs – thinking only of themselves? Her body trembling with both unfulfilled desire and now anger she pushed away from what promised her heaven.

Kitten, you are all afire. You know you want me too. I didn’t mean to anger you. I won’t hurt you. He would have said more but her finger against his mouth stopped him.

My name is Rebekka. I am not Kitten. That fool, Raoul, calls me that; the annoying sod! Ever since I joined the group he’s thought he could claim me. It won’t happen. Her declaration sounded breathless. Oh, she wanted to do as he wished. She did. She’d not meant to say as much but the words had just spilled out.

Her prisoner gave her a bow of his head – as much a bow as his bindings would allow. Well now, at your service, Rebekka. I’m known as Greysteel, Marcus Greysteel. I certainly mean your camp no harm. I’m sure in the morning we can all come to some agreement. I only wanted escort through the woods.

He grinned crookedly at her causing a deep dimple to appear in one cheek. And I do want to make love with you, whatever you may think.

Her heart gave a wild thump but she looked away. He shifted his hips and her eyes fell to the large bulge that strained his tight pants. Her mouth went dry. If she were sure, absolutely sure, he would disappear in the morning – how did a man look – a man with no clothing?

She’d felt the muscles rippling beneath his shirt and the horseman’s thighs pressed against her. Surely he would be beautiful. Gently reared, she’d never seen a gentleman disrobed and probably never would unless – until – she married.

You will be leaving in the morning?

If I am allowed. I don’t think your particular band of gypsies cares much for strangers. To himself, Greysteel added, - and if they don’t murder me. He had a pretty good idea this Raoul had already divided his belongings, especially his purse.

Raoul won’t kill you if that’s what you’re thinking. About your things, I don’t know. I don’t know this troupe very well myself.

Oh? You’re not one of them then? He’d thought the girl’s hands too soft, her look too innocent.

She’d said too much. Rebekka nibbled at her bottom lip and shook her head. Not of this band. I, uh, I ran away from my father and my half-brother. They wished me to marry someone I did not want.

He smiled again and her heart melted. It happens. But, you know, if a lass knows love once then marriage to an undesirable may not be so bad. She would have memories. He shifted his body, ostentatiously to allow her more room but of course there was no room to be had. Instead his move drew her attention to his very maleness; that which filled the tiny wagon.

Heat seemed to fill the space. It’s very warm in here. Could you open my shirt? The dimples were there again.

She swallowed. Her naughty fingers eagerly fumbled with the buttons. Her hands spread the fabric open, skimming over the flat male nipples. They tightened beneath her touch and her eyes widened, met his.

Holding her attention, his words softened. If you pulled the shirt from my trousers I would be more comfortable.

Dumbfounded, as in a daze, her hands ran down his rib cage until they met his trouser band. His chest rippled with muscle. Unaware her lips were parted, she devoured his maleness as her fingers tugged at the hem until it pulled free. She’d reached around to smooth the back also, beneath his waist, before she sat back.

A sprinkling of dark hair covered most of his chest. A band led downward to disappear beneath his trousers. Her fingers lightly touched the top button there, toying with the disgraceful idea of releasing it. She looked up, meeting his twinkling eyes, grey eyes, eyes as mysterious as a distant land.

Kiss me, Bekka, once again. Just a kiss.

Bekka; she liked that. No one had ever called her that. She leaned into him, feeling the heat of his exposed skin. Her lips met his and she knew. She wanted this man; to love, to keep, to wed. But how? Surely, not to give herself like this – no manner how much she wanted it to happen.

She didn’t release that fateful button. She would be lost if she did. She did savor his kiss, allowing her passion to flow into him, over him. He would not forget her. He would not. He would want her and he would come back for her.

Greysteel groaned, thrusting upward where his erection was centered in the vee of her long legs. Confound the girl. He was being tortured to his limit – not at all what he’d planned. Her young but lush body molded against him, her mouth enticing, surrendering, promising more than she was giving. How had this gotten out of hand?

When their mouths parted for air they were both gasping. They stared at each other. He cleared his throat.

I think it best if you turn your back to me now. Try to sleep. Unless you’ve changed your mind - ? He pulled at his bonds, one brow cocked in question. She shook her head. He grunted acknowledgement. He was burning, his shaft heavy with need; damn uncomfortable.

She moved, rubbing against him as she rolled away and he jerked against her. Her eyes widened but she didn’t speak. He muttered beneath his breath. She lay with her head on his chest, one leg across his for anchor. There was so little room. Neither of them spoke. She extinguished the lantern.

He awoke with a start. In her sleep she had snuggled closer in the cooling night and her mouth now nestled against the pulse in his throat. One leg lay between his and her every movement was torture. She twisted and he could feel her nipples tighten against his chest.

Bloody hell! His words exploded against her soft hair. He jerked at his bound wrists but they held fast. Bekka, wake up. Either turn away or finish what you’ve started.

He knew he’d awakened her by her stillness but she said not a word. Then her soft hand slid down his chest; fingers tucked into the top of his trousers. The material, already stretched beyond its designed intention, loosened as the buttons were slipped open and it peeled away. Breath caught in his throat as cool air hit him. Just the thought of her hand touching him and his entire body reacted like a youth with his first whore. But she didn’t touch him. He ached, breathing deeply, waiting.

Tell me what to do, Greysteel. Tell me. Her voice sounded different; unsure and very young.

He was sweating in the cool night. Her breath tickled his chest and she kissed him there. Would she? She was almost certainly a virgin. Surely a man couldn’t take a virgin while tied to the four corners. It wasn’t done. He groaned.

She kissed him full on the mouth, using all he’d taught her earlier. His tongue invaded, dancing with hers. Her breathing was ragged as she pulled back.

The heat of her hand resting on his belly seemed to steam. Touch me there. Just touch me while you kiss me. His voice was a raw plea. He thought for a moment she would ask more but she seemed to change her mind. He couldn’t see her face in the dark but the heat of her emotions scorched him. He shivered as her hair tickled his chest. The feather light strokes as her hand moved downward were driving him crazy. Not enough, not near enough. He wanted to curse but instead he groaned into her mouth. He couldn’t. He needed his hands, his entire body. He broke his lips from hers with a curse.

Enough. Get away from me. When you know what you’re doing you’ll be heaven to some man. Right now you’re pure hell.

She jerked from him as though burned. In the silence both of them were thinking of the other way to complete the act. But Rebekka didn’t know how and wasn’t sure she wanted to know just yet. Greysteel was feeling remorse for ever starting anything, of awakening her from her innocence.

With a sigh she refastened his trousers, pulled his shirt over the broad chest. As primly as possible under the circumstances, she lay down beside him. No other word was spoken.

Morning came with the shrill crowing of a rooster.

Greysteel awoke first. The girl was curled against his side, her hair spread over his shoulder and chest. It was a soft brown in color, almost blond, the color of pale leaves in the autumn, streaked with unruly shades of lighter gold. It curled gently at the tips. Thick lashes curled darkly against high cheekbones. She was beautiful. He’d known, even in the gloom, that she was.

Remorse ate at him. He’d been an ass. He was not a womanizer but he was known for his bedroom technique. There wasn’t a woman in England or in most of Europe that would not have been pleased to grace his bed when he took the time to dally. Why, then, must he feel responsible for this gypsy lass?

It must be the bondage thing. It was something he’d never tried. Perhaps it did have its merits if being her prisoner could produce his near submission to anything she desired. Innocence had never interested him before. What had started out as a means to gain his freedom was fast becoming an obsession to possess the girl, to feel her beneath him, to -. What was the matter with him?

She awoke to the loud knocking and, as the door opened, sat up and stretched. Her blouse pulled tight against perfect breasts. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

Slowly he became aware of the large man blocking the doorway. There was a gruff laugh and he extended both arms to the girl. She scrambled up and fell into them, laughing. A stab of jealousy hit Greysteel. Ah, but surely it wasn’t jealousy, just annoyance.

Jacob, you’re back! Her arms about the big man’s neck, she laughed as he swung her around before depositing her on the ground.

Greysteel’s fists clenched as the man Raoul climbed into the wagon and loosened his bindings. He followed him outside, his eyes moving from Bekka to the new man. Her face flushed with rosy color as she met his eyes and she looked quickly away but not before Jacob caught the look. His bushy eyebrow peaked as he took in Greysteel’s appearance.

Dress yourself, did you?

Greysteel looked down to see what had prompted this remark. His trousers were buttoned askew. With a shrug he corrected the girl’s error. From the corner of his eye he saw her backing away, her face gone from red to pale.

Freshen up at the river. Then come to my house. We talk. Jacob motioned Greysteel toward the sound of water then stalked toward a much larger wagon. He turned once, jabbing a finger at Raoul. You. Come.

Rebekka had disappeared when he came back. He ignored the stares of several younger women and went straight to the head wagon. A woman thrust a plate of steaming food at him and he shoveled several spoonfuls into his mouth before continuing. He smiled his thanks as she beamed at him, her head cocked to one side. He hadn’t eaten since noon the preceding day and the sudden meal made him almost dizzy.

Jacob was waiting, drumming a large-knuckled hand upon an old table. He looked up, frowning.

What do you want here?

Well, so much for polite conversation. Greysteel sat on the wagon’s top step, his long legs relaxed before him. I entered your camp to ask for escort through the pass up ahead. I understand there are roaming bandits and twisting trails. I meant to pay to ride with you. Your man, Raoul, gave me no chance to explain.

Jacob nodded, flexing his fingers. Raoul is an impatient man. He knows to beware strangers. I was gone overlong, trading stock.

Greysteel glanced toward the new string of horses. I noticed. You have some fine mares. And probably half of them stolen, he thought to himself. His thoughts must have flickered over his face for his host’s expression grew less friendly.

They were gotten in fair exchange. We are honest traders. There was a lull while his eyes followed Rebekka as she crossed the clearing. She slept with you. It was a statement, not a question.

Greysteel compressed his laughter into a smile. One might say that. Of course, I was hog-tied to the four corners of your supply wagon at the time.

Yes, well, the girl is a handful. She also enjoys my full protection. She is like family, you understand. When Greysteel nodded slightly he rose and extended his hand. It’ll take perhaps a week to gain safe territory. We’re in hunting land now so beware any sounds of dogs or riders. Trouble cannot be far behind. Jacob watched as the man’s eyes slid to Rebekka who’d just come again into sight. Had he made a mistake?

Greysteel started to walk away when Jacob’s voice stopped him. Raoul will return your belongings. You are British, are you not? An officer?

Was it so plain for all to see? Greysteel turned back to his host. I am, but I don’t wish it to be public knowledge. We may be at peace but -. I’m simply returning home from a diplomatic mission. He walked several yards then returned.

Who is she, your Rebekka? She’s not one of you, is she?

Jacob’s chest rumbled with amusement. Got to you, did she? Don’t suppose it will hurt for you to know. Her mother was of gypsy royalty but she was raised with her father who did marry her mother. He’s a very important man hereabouts. Her mother died when she was ten or so. Her half-brother rules the family in all but name. It is his dictates she rebels against although I believe he has her best interests at heart. It is simply that they do not see eye to eye. She will return home in time; when her temper cools. Until then, she is safe with us.

So, this is not the first time she’s come to you?

The first time since she was a child. It will cause trouble if they think to look for her here but I cannot turn her out.

And has she said why she left home this time?

Jacob shook his head. It is better that I do not know. Ignorance is wise – and safer.

Greysteel continued his path back down the slight incline. So, she had not confided in Jacob about the escaped marriage; or she was lying to him. Either way, she was trouble. Just how highly placed was her father?

He noted that Raoul lounged against one of the wagons, his dark eyes boring into him. When Greysteel nodded, the man straightened and turned to work on some harness.

Raoul was fuming. Not only had Jacob chastised him for shutting the girl in with the stranger but he had agreed that the man accompany them through the bandit-riddled woods. Rebekka was a spoiled brat, grown though she was. He hoped her half-brother caught up with her soon. He was tired of her antics. His scowl turned to a flirtatious grin when the buxom Maxine brushed against his arm.

Decided to use your skills on someone who can please a man, eh, Raoul? Jacob warn you off, huh? She cut dancing black eyes up at him as he patted her backside.

He growled playfully. Play is play, woman. A man knows where to lay his head at night. He gave her lips a quick kiss.

Maxine tossed her head of long straight hair. Well, we’ll be passing near the family hunting chateau soon. Wouldn’t be surprised if her brother hears she’s with us – knowing she’s part Roma. She smiled broadly, her teeth flashing white against her dusky skin. She sashayed off, hips swinging. She was willing to get rid of her rival any way she could.

CHAPTER TWO

The days slid one into another and Greysteel saw little of the girl, Rebekka. They’d broken camp and were deep into the forest by now. Overhead the virgin trees shielded them from much of the rain and any warming sunshine. They’d reached an open meadow when he heard a rider behind him and turned.

Rebekka, riding astride, brought her mare up beside him. She didn’t look at him but she was smiling. Her mouth looked lush, inviting.

Boring, isn’t it? I never before thought traveling could be so boring. She straightened her shoulders and tilted her head back to look up at him. She pointed to the small stream below the hill where they’d slowed. Race?

He grinned, the deep dimples cutting into his cheeks. I’ll give you a head start. No need; she was already a length out ahead of him.

Her laughter flowed back to him on the breeze. Her skirts bared her legs to where her knees clasped the mare’s sides; tawny hair streamed behind her.

Lust struck him in the gut. He reined his mount to steady just a half length behind as he enjoyed the view. She reached the stream and slid to the ground, laughing. He’d passed her only at the last moment in order to win.

Greysteel dismounted close enough that his body slid down hers. She looked startled but did not move away. Breathless, her chest rose and fell, brushing against him. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement.

He couldn’t help himself. His head dipped and he kissed her. It was a light kiss, a mere brush of lips. The sensation that shot through him was anything but light. The grey of his eyes darkened as one arm reached about her waist and drew her to him. His mouth descended again.

Rebekka trembled as his lips claimed hers. Her mouth opened to his intrusion, allowing him whatever he wished to take. She could feel his muscular arm slide from her waist to press her bottom tight against him. She curved her back to rub her suddenly sensitive breasts against his broad chest. The kiss seemed to drink her in, to dissolve her very bones. She would have fallen upon the thick grass if he had not held her. A moan – was that her? She pulled away; regretting that his arms loosened.

You take too much liberty, Sir. Of a sudden her voice was haughty, that of a lady. Amused, Greysteel took a step back, giving her a slight bow of his head.

To the victor go the spoils, my lady. But since we’ve known each other in a more intimate setting perhaps you could call me simply Grey.

She tilted her head to one side, biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing. Grey – like your eyes. I should like that. And I am -.

Bekka; I will know you as Bekka. His dimpled grin was contagious and they both laughed. He gathered both their reins in one large hand, holding the other out to her.

She slipped her small hand in his and together they walked slowly to meet the caravan as it descended into the valley. Her heart was singing. Just his kiss, his touch, and the world was a new place. How had she grown to a young adult and never known a man could be such a source of happiness? She looked up at him and their eyes met.

She’d watched him all week, helping with the campfires, chatting with the men. Whenever his eyes had met hers she’d looked away, unsure just what she wanted. This morning she’d decided. This was a new life, a new her. She wanted him. So what if he thought her wanton; she was Roma, was she not? She would learn to be a tigress.

Grey watched the flicker of emotions on her face. He no longer needed anything from her but her presence pleased him; nay, more than pleased him. It was a shame she was not of noble blood His earldom would need an heir in the near future. When he returned to England he would pursue the issue. He thought of the lovely widow, Lady Jacquilyn DeBiers. All blond and golden, she was pursued by half the bachelors in England. Had he been gone too long? Had she wed? She’d not been pleased when he’d told her he would be gone nigh onto a year – nor had he asked her to wait.

Without meaning to he found he was comparing Rebekka to Jacquilyn. The girl before him was so full of life – like some wild nymph. Beautiful, serene, Jacquilyn was named for her French aunt but there the resemblance stopped. She’d been wed too young and widowed soon after. Her hair a pale blond that stood out in any gathering, her golden brown eyes bewitching; yes, Jacqui was the perfect duchess, would be his perfect wife. He smiled.

But then Jacqui had been trained from childhood to be the perfect wife, dutiful, obedient. The sparks he’d triggered in those golden eyes were quickly extinguished even in his presence. He had taken more than a few kisses but she’d been hesitant and he’d retreated. He had full faith that he could bring them back once they were wed. If not, well, he wouldn’t be the first man to keep a mistress for his needs.

He had been introduced to Jacquilyn as a cover for the Foreign Office. She had useful acquaintances on the continent, some kin, some not. He’d always thought she’d been chafing at the bit of proper society even then. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so dull after all. She just needed the proper man; she needed him.

Bekka drew the fresh air deep into her lungs. Life just now was so beautiful. The meadow was abloom with fragrant flowers, a rainbow of colors. She leaned to pluck a handful of white daisies, then added another color, and another, until her arms were full of them.

His eyes followed her, all thoughts of home gone. Each retrieval afforded him a brief glimpse of what he’d so far only felt pressed against him. His reaction to this chit was anything but boring. Perhaps after he bedded her she would lose her appeal. It couldn’t take much longer to produce the desired result.

He tugged them both to a halt to await the others. His back to the caravan, he allowed his fingers to cup her chin, trail down her slender throat. She raised one brow in question but didn’t stop him. He could feel the pounding of her pulse and excitement shot through him. He wanted her now, here. If only -.

Rebekka’s breath caught as his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs roughing the thin material against her nipples. They pebbled into aching points as the flowers fell to the ground, covering their feet with color. Liquid fire pooled low in her belly. Thick lashes drifted downward to hide her eyes as her lips quivered. She leaned into him, her lips parted in anticipation.

His kiss was different; not just a kiss anymore. It demanded, possessed, and she swayed as he held her. His tongue tasted of her, plunged in and out as the fire in her belly moved lower, dampening her nether curls with wet heat. She clutched at his shirt, her hands fisted, hanging on to reality.

And then he released her mouth, her breasts. Those long fingers cradled her shoulders. She took