< previous page page_80 next page >

Page 80
were full and firm, and the feel of them against his chest caused his breathing to tighten.
As did his trousers.
She had been traveling unchaperoned, and yet she had behaved as though she were a lady, with all apparent morality. He expected her to continue to struggle, to shove him away. But as he lowered his head toward hers, she grew very still.
"Oh, Thorn," she murmured. And he was lost.
His kiss was gentle at first, testing how receptive she was. How receptive he was. He could not recall the last time he had kissed a woman.
It no longer mattered.
His lips moved against hers, ever so softly rubbing her smooth lower lip with his own. He let his tongue caress her ever so gently, taste her. She was salty from her tears, yet sweet, very sweet, and the small sip made him yearn for more. The smoky scent of the fire she had tended clung to her dress and was somehow intoxicatingor was it her own sweet and wholly feminine scent that so affected him?
He was unsure who moved first to deepen the kiss, for she was far from shy, pressing her own mouth against him, letting her tongue search out his. He teased it back inside her mouth so his could follow it, playing small, darting, erotic games with it until he felt himself throb below.
More tightly he pressed against her until he was certain she, too, could feel the growing tautness of him. His hands strayed along her back, finding the sweet curve of her buttocks. He molded them in his fingers, pressing her ever closer until the pressure at his groin made him shudder. She moaned against his mouth, and he felt his knees weaken.
"Come," he whispered against her. Somehow, despite the craving that yearned for instant slaking, he would have to make it to his cabin. With her. His Mariah.
He grew suddenly still. His? She was not his. No woman could be, not ever.
He meant to pull away from her gently, but instead she was the one to draw quickly back. "What are you doing?"

 
< previous page page_80 next page >