“Are you comfortable?” she asked, her hand already reaching for the pillows behind his neck.
The motion brought her that much closer to him.
She rose to her knees and pulled on a pillow or two, as if moving so close to him were an utterly natural thing. The heady scent of her perfume engulfed him.
Alex nearly forgot how to breathe.
She froze at eye-level.
Her hand slid from the pillow behind his head to rest on the crook of his neck, the weight of her palm searing even through his neckcloth and shirt.
She filled his vision.
It was too much, he realized.
Too much for him to assimilate.
Too much for him to resist.
She canted forward, leaning onto her hand, putting pressure on his shoulder.
And then . . .
. . . she kissed him.
Lottie had notmeant to kiss Cousin Alex.
Truly, she hadn’t.
It was just . . .
Her feelings for him were decidedly not cousin-ish. And talking with him was so effortless, so easy and natural.
He felt like the very best of bosom friends. The kind that would always listen without judging. The sort that knew all your faults and foibles and still adored you.
Sitting beside him had been the most natural thing at first—like all those afternoons spent talking with Cousin Gabriel—but the air between them had quickly turned spiky and charged.
And then, of course, the sensation was too delicious, too dangerous to want to move.
It was just . . .
He was thisbladeof a man—strong, keenly clever, and sharply attractive.
And eventually the weight of that attraction was simply too heavy, and she could no longer remain upright.
Pressing her mouth to his seemed the only way to support herself.
The fleeting touch of his lips jolted her. She should have jumped back. Leaned away. Pretended like the faint kiss had not happened.
But, no.
The sensation was too heady. Too astonishing.
She could no more pull away than she could cease breathing.
And so, she kissed him again, more earnestly this time.
She caught his surprised gasp in her mouth, thrilling at her sense of power.
