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He made the decision from some other part of his brain. Or maybe it wasn’t his brain. Maybe it was his body that made the decision, because she looked at him and said he was about to kiss her.
She’d read his mind.
He drew her deeper into the shadows. Pressed her up against a tree. Covered her with his body.
He wanted to show her what she was up against. A tree. His body.
She made him so aware of how short life could be. How alive he felt when she was in his arms.
He kissed her commandingly, one hand in her hair and one hand braced against the tree bark.
She kissed him back, moaning softly, a sound deep in her throat. She tilted her head and he kissed the column of her neck, her throat, her lips again.
Her tongue like warm, wet silk, her taste somewhere between Heaven and Hell, prayer and curse.
One of his hands closed around her generous bottom, the other held her head so that his tongue could do as it wished.
When he was kissing her, his mind dimmed like the sun fading behind a cliff.
“Drew,” she sighed against his lips, and it was the most soul-stirring, arousing sound he’d ever heard.
He knew he should stop, but what stopped was the rest of the world, unspinning, slowing, and finally grinding to a halt until the only motion was the two of them kissing, exploring.
Sap running through his veins.
He was a tree and she was ivy twining around him, climbing him. He was rooted and firm, his body one with the earth, his heart in the clouds.
“You want danger. You want excitement and adventure,” he whispered. “I’ll be your adventure. Explore me, Mina.”
Mina ran her hands over the angles of his face, the rough stubble defining his jaw, the roped muscles of his neck. He was a safe harbor and a perilous path.
She’d wanted to make him lose control enough to kiss her again, and she’d won.
She wanted to keep winning, over and over again.
His tongue inside her mouth—another victory.
Strong hands gripping her bottom, clasping her against the evidence of his arousal—give her a gold medal.
She’d imagined kissing a handsome gentleman at Vauxhall Gardens. There hadn’t been any of this rawness, a sensation as though she’d been rubbed with sandpaper and her nerves, her emotions, exposed.
Kissing him right here in the park, with people promenading so nearby and the threat of discovery ever present.
It was the sweetest, wildest thing she’d ever done, and she wanted more.
More of his lips, firm yet supple. More of his tongue, teasing and skillful.
More of his body, hard and huge.
Her back against the ridges of the tree. A knot in the tree, a gnarl pressing into her lower back, releasing the coiled tension there.
There was so much mystery to him. He wouldn’t open up to her with words and so she’d force his body to tell her things. She’d force his hands to speak all of the things she wanted to know.
There was a story behind the pain in his eyes. Strength in his arms.
Urgency and longing in his kiss.
Would she be able to unlock this guarded fortress of a man? She might find a way to open him, just a little at first, and she might find a way to make him admit that he needed her.
