A hundred sensations struck him at once. Soft, cold lips. Warm, wet curves. She tasted of lemonade, sweet and tart together. When was the last time lust had rushed him so hard? His pulse pounded. His groin tightened.
And she was kissing him back. Arching into him, she pressed closer. Sweet and warm, her lips yielded to his and when he ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth, she opened to him. Yes, she was his equal even in this, giving even as she took, her mouth soft and demanding at once. Sweet, merciful heaven, but it shook him, because it felt so . . . necessary. As if he’d been wandering, waiting for this moment, for this passion, for this touch. He’d been going through the days and months and years of his life alone, not even knowing he was reaching out for something or someone, until she reached back and grabbed him. With this kiss.
Something in the region of his chest, long asleep, suddenly sat up and took notice.Her?
Yes.
No.
He pulled away. She stared at him in shock.
He searched for something to say as his face hovered over hers.
“I believe that makes us even, now.”
She blinked.
And suddenly, the topiaries along the pier and near the boats lit up. Their dark refuge disappeared. They were caught, frozen, and bathed in light.
From the bank came a loud, theatrical gasp.
“Charlotte!”
It was the hateful cousin. She looked horrified, but triumph lived in her eyes. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
