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You don’t float away because his strong hands clamp around your waist. Hands like heavy wooden stocks closing around you, immobilizing you. You’re being punished for having so many dreams about him, for fantasizing about this moment so many times.
A softening in his eyes now, almost a smile hidden in their depths. She smiled against his lips and he nipped at her lower lip with his teeth.
Did lovers do that? Nip each other? She tried it, nibbling on his lip. He tasted like brandy and smoke and forbidden pleasures.
She pressed her body against him and his hands tightened around her waist, pulling her against his hips. His hands shaped the small of her back and her hands wandered to his sculptural buttocks.
Learning his shape, the muscles like marble, the deep fissure down the center of his back, hillocks of muscle on either side.
For some reason the feel of all that solid maleness drove her nearly mad. He was a cliff wall and she must find handholds and footholds to climb him, scale his heights.
His lips never left hers. They kissed and kissed, needing nothing so prosaic as air.
They would live on kisses for the rest of their lives.
They might kiss for an eternity. They might turn to stone and be delivered to the British Museum:The Rivals’ Embrace, a study in marble.
He cupped her bum with his hands, squeezing gently, and she moaned, just like in her dreams; she moaned out loud, unable to stop herself.
They kissed and he took the lead, pressing into her mouth, opening her wider with his lips, diving into her and then she, not wanting to be outdone, took control. Raising her hands to the nape of his neck, playing across the corded tendons, and dragging him deeper into the kiss.
She’d wanted this for so long.
No thought for what this meant or what would happen afterward, only:yes, there, fill me and I’ll fill you.
She was a historian, an archaeologist, it was her job to hypothesize about long-dead passions and court intrigues.
Let’s write some history of our own. Inscribe this kiss in the record books.
“Ahem.”
The throat clearing noise came from somewhere far away. A cold, cruel world where kissing Ravenwood was the absolute worst possible thing she could do, and where beingcaughtkissing him meant certain annihilation.
“Ravenwood. India.” An irritated voice. A gruff voice.
Edgar.
India wrenched away from Ravenwood. The look on his face nearly made her erupt into hysterical laughter. His eyes were frozen wide in the quintessential I’ve-been-caught-kissing-your-sister expression of sheer and utter panic.
This was a disaster.
Indy took a deep, steadying breath and turned toward the door.
Great mounds of steaming shite.
Had she thought this was a disaster? It was far worse than that. It was the blasted Apocalypse. The Four Horsemen would come galloping into the room any moment now, signaling the end of days.
Because it wasn’t just Edgar gaping at them from the doorway. The odious Mr. Peabody, of theObserver, bobbed beside her brother with barely contained glee, no doubt already composing tomorrow’s lurid headlines.
Victory Declared for Mankind: Lady Danger Tamed at Last by Rogue Duke’s Kiss.
Bollocks!
What had it looked like to Edgar and Mr. Peabody?
What do you think it looked like, you flibbering ninny? You were mauling each other like wild beasts.
His hands gripping her bum, her arms tangled around his neck, lips locked.
