“Modern?”
He grimaced. And he still looked gorgeous. Painfully so. It was like staring into the sun. “I mean, American. I apologize, I am still finding these newer words cumbersome.”
She smiled, partly because he was moving his thumb against the hand he held, hypnotically on her skin, and partly because it was so charming how he spoke as if he had come from some long ago time, and not just a far away place. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here to help.”
It was just a touch, just a connection formed by two hands held, and yet Lily felt a sense of rightness about this, a wonderment that she had never experienced before.
His voice was husky. “Then I ask your aid in telling me, how would an American male tell an American female that he would worship her if she wouldst but allow it?”
Did he just say—
His words flew into her, and burst into butterflies that fluttered about within, lifting her up as if gravity no longer applied.
“I—I imagine that would be the perfect way,” she whispered.
“And does she?”
God, those eyes. How had she ever thought them cold? The gold flecks in the hazel seemed molten. Standing less than a foot apart, she felt as if she could be enveloped easily within those muscled arms. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
The butterflies fluttered, furiously batting their wings inside.
“Wh-what?” She had forgotten the question.
“Does she allow him to worship her?”
She wasn’t dreaming it, then. The earnestness in his voice, the warmth spreading throughout her body from a single point of connection in their clasped hands, the unexpected desire that leapt up to experience his arms around her…
“Yes,” she breathed.
“And how would he best show that he worshipped her?’
She was as stunned as he was by her next words.
“He would kiss her.”
* * *
For a second Col wondered if his senses were running pell-mell again, particularly his hearing. But no, her head was tilted upwards towards his, her small, delicate hand still within his own, allowing his compulsive, rhythmic sweeps of his thumb over that silky smooth skin. That lower lip, plump in its ripeness like a berry begging to be tasted.
Col’s instincts took over, his free hand lifting to gently slide under her jaw. His fingers brushed against the softness of her skin, as he lowered his mouth onto hers. As their lips made contact, a wave swept through him, a song whose silent tune reverberated in the very depths of his soul.
She moved beneath him, parting those lips, inviting him in, and he was lost. She tasted of nectar, and honey, and dreams, and sunlight. A rich scent rose from her, earthy arousal that summoned his own.
When the kiss ended, it was as if slowly rousing from a sublime dream. She looked at him, her eyes filled with wonderment. He felt he would give anything to always have her look at him that way. She lightly placed two fingertips, slightly trembling, on her lips.
“That was…I’ve never…”
He took her hand again, the one that was against her lips, and placed it against his own, kissing the palm tenderly as she shivered. He gently pulled her against him, and held her, marveling in the feel of her body within his own.
Col had never felt this way before, this urge to protect, to cherish, to possess another. He had lain with women, but never had he experienced joy simply in their presence, in their look upon him with favor, in the quiet resting of their cheek against his heart.
“Tell me,” he said. He wished to know if she felt the same. And if not, he wished to know how he could change that.
“I’ve never been kissed like that before.”
A glow filled him from within, along with possessiveness. He did not want to think of another male tasting those lips, or holding her as he did now.
“I am glad of it,” his voice was gruff. But then a thought occurred to him. “Unless you found it wanting in some way?”
