Emeline pulled his coat tighter around her. “Unless someone gives me a reason not to.”
A reason not to?
He thought of her last night in his yard.
Is that what she’ d come for?
“What kind of reason?”
Her black eyes glittered. “You tell me, Hawthorne.”
Silence descended as he studied her, his gaze tracing everyline of her face: cheekbones, eyebrows, lip, jaw. Trying to force a memory. Any memory.
“I really should go,” she whispered, turning to do exactly that.
He grabbed her wrist, halting her.
She glanced back at him. Her gaze flickered to his mouth.
That was all it took to undo his resolve.
He had no reason for her to stay. He only had his longings. Longings he’d been trying to suppress for weeks now, afraid they’d make him do the very thing he’d sworn not to.
With his free hand, Hawthorne cupped her jaw. As his thumb brushed across her cheekbone, Emeline’s breath shuddered out of her. Telling him without words what she wanted.
This wasn’t the plan, said that voice inside him.You’re supposed to keep your distance.
But Hawthorne was caught in her spell, and he couldn’t listen even if he wanted to.
He pressed his mouth against hers.
It wasn’t a chaste kiss. Certainly not the kiss of a stranger. It was desperate and wild andpossessive. Hawthorne pulled out the comb in her hair, sending her dark hair tumbling down from its bun. He buried his hands in it, kissing her harder. Like he was starving.
Emeline didn’t hesitate. Her hands slid up his chest. Her arms looped around his shoulders. Just as hungry as he was.
The taste of her triggered things buried deep within Hawthorne. Things that surged upwards, flickering through him.
Flowers woven through guitar strings.
Tomato soup on a wooden spoon.
A white carpet before a roaring fire.
Like fractured light after a too-long darkness. The memories—more like splinters of memories—came and wentso quickly, he could barely decipher them. But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t dreaming; he wasawake. They were really in there. Pieces of his past.
They weren’t completely lost.
His mouth moved down her throat, wanting more. Losing control. His teeth scraped against her skin. A sound escaped her, and he liked it. Too much. This wasn’t what he’d come here for …
But when he captured her mouth again, Emeline went rigid. As if something was wrong. She pressed both hands to his chest and pushed, forcing space between them.
“You taste like magic,” she said, breathing hard.
He frowned at her. “What?”
“Did Nettle give you a drink?”
Nettle?
