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She sipped her champagne, a little too quickly too. She didn't drink, ever! Her father had been such a lush with the bottle and she swore she'd never drink. But she always said she'd never marry either, and here she was, married to a complete stranger. She sipped some more champagne. It bubbled at her nose and tasted delightful. It gave her kind of a heady feeling and a false sense of confidence.
When the man left Lance turned his attention back to her. "I'm sorry for the interruption. Well sweetheart, I hope you come to love Texas as much as Boston."
Boston?
Oh, was he ever in for a shock!
"Lance, I really need to tell you something." She began.
Her head was spinning, but when he suddenly kissed her again, she lost all thought. His lips moved over hers with such sweetness, she couldn't do anything but respond. Woe, he was a good kisser. She forgot she wasn't the right lady. She forgot everything except the exquisite taste of his lips on hers. She forgot he was her boss too!
Heads turned and she blushed when he moved his head away from her.
"Don't worry, they'll know we are just married by that dress. You must be tired from your trip."
"Yes, I guess I am." She murmured, her eyes staring into his now. He had such warm brown eyes, and lips that knew how to please a woman, and a smile sexier than sin.
For just an insane moment, she wished it was all true, she wished she could be his wife
After paying the bill, he took her up to their room. It was a luxurious suite with every kind of amenity. The bedspread was a beautiful quilt done in a peachy color, and the lamp beside the table matched it. He closed and locked the door behind them, and she shook her head. Wasn't there something she needed to tell him? Her mind was a flutter. Oh God, she shouldn't have drunk the champagne. What was she going to tell him?
"You're not used to Champagne, are you?"
"No, I'm not. There was something I wanted to tell you, though. It was important."
"Why don't you get ready for bed, you can tell me later."
He turned her toward the powder room where a small valise with her things awaited her. She looked in the mirror. What was she going to tell him? It was something important, but she couldn't think straight. She was exhausted from her trip, and with a full tummy, she could use some sleep, and she certainly shouldn't have had that second glass of champagne, but she'd been so nervous, and she'd gulped it down instead of sipping it. He'd told her to sip it. She ignored his good advice and gulped it down, thinking she'd find the courage to tell him with a drink.
In fact, the only thing she could think about was how good a kisser he was. She swooned and slumped against the door. Oh, how he could kiss. Her lips still felt the tingle of the sweet massage.
Putting on her cotton gown, and twirling the ends of her long dark hair, she came out.
The room seemed to spin.
He saw her and picked her up in his arms and kissed her again. Her insides melted, her mind reeled at the pleasure of his kiss. This kiss was so much different, this one spoke of needs, of more to come.
How could a woman think when a man kissed her like he did! She suddenly didn't want to think, she began to respond to his kiss, and he pulled his head up to stare into her light blue eyes, "I sure as hell didn't make a mistake marrying you."
That was it! It was a mistake! Oh no!
Why did she have to wake up, it was such a pleasant dream?
She started to tell him again, but he kissed her again and this time she was almost eager for his kiss. This man was a master at it, and she was his pupil. He made her lose thought, made her giddy with strange and wonderful feelings, the kind of feelings she'd never experienced before.
He sat her on the edge of the bed, then sat beside her, unbuttoning the tiny buttons at her back.
"Don't be shy. I already want you so badly, but I promise not to be a beast."
Mistake, mistake, mistake!
She turned to him. And suddenly he was kissing her again, lost in another world, the words she needed were forgotten once more, drowning from the sensations he evoked in her, as the passion of the kiss swept her onward. Never in all her life had she met a man that could kiss like this. He tasted like what her Pa called a fine whiskey. He took her breath, melted her lips, and made her heart trip.
For long lingering moments nothing mattered but the sweet taste of his mouth on hers. She met him now with an eagerness she couldn't control. When his tongue pried her lips apart, he danced with her tongue. She moaned softly against him.
"Oh," she swooned. It was more than a swoon; it was a passionate response to his kiss.
The fire in her Irish blood stirred her to a point she never knew she possessed. The more he kissed her, the more she wanted those kisses.
