He brushed her lips with his, back and forth, slowly, savoring, half afraid that she would pull away, half afraid that he would never find the strength to do so again.
"You taste so good... so damn good," he murmured against her mouth, tracing the crease of her lips with the tip of his tongue. "Ah... Ashleen..."
He clenched his eyes shut at her tiny gasp of surprise, of pleasure, every muscle in his body going rigid as her lips slid open, allowing his tongue entry into the mysteries within, her soft fingertips gliding uncertainly up the cords of his throat, to curve about his nape. Kissing her, still kissing her, he eased them both down upon the fragrant grasses, crushing her breasts against the thundering beat of his heart.
She felt so small, cradled there beneath him, felt so fragile he was almost afraid she would shatter like a thousand dreams long forgotten.
But her hands were smoothing over his shoulders, his back; her mouth was innocent, but so eager it turned his loins to flame.
Her nipples thrust impudently against his chest despite their shielding of fabric, a silent testimony that she was feeling the same dizzying need.
She wanted him. Damn it all, even if she didn't know it, she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
With a groan Garret eased his hand between their bodies, smoothing his palm up her rib cage to cup her breast in his hand. She whimpered, arching her back to press the mound deeper into his palm.
He could feel her shaking, sense the restlessness in her, the wanting. And he knew he would take her—here, now.
Fighting to hold raging passions in check, he rained kisses across her cheeks, her eyelids, blazing a path down the delicate skin of her throat to the patch of skin bared beneath. His fingers worked at the tiny buttons of her bodice, laying them open, kissing the fine lawn of her chemise.
He could already taste that pure coral crest he had dreamed of since that night in West Port, knew how infinitely sweet it would be to kiss it, suckle it, taunt it with his tongue.
He slid the fabric aside, skimming his thumb over the taut, delicate bud, lowering his lips to whisper against it.
"Ashleen... ah... you're so beautiful. Sweet God..."
The word slammed into Garret like a kick in the stomach, sending him reeling back, away from her, as if she'd turned to white-hot flame. Holy hell, what was he doing? Seducing a nun?
"Sonofabitch!" He yanked the cloth over her breast, but the image of her nipple, glistening wet from his kisses, seared itself into his mind.
She scrambled to a sitting position, grasping the edges of her bodice together, her hair a nimbus of gold framing eyes still hazed with passion, confusion.
"W-what... is it? Did I do... something wrong?"
Hell, she'd been doing everything too goddamn right!
She was the nun, damn it! Why the devil hadn't she stopped him?
He started to say so, roughly, but stopped as the lantern illuminated the vulnerable curves of her face. What the blazes did a woman like that know of a man's passions anyway? Of how far a single kiss could lead—how deep a single touch could carve into a man's body?
He dragged his hand through his hair, trying to quell the fire in his blood—a fire he knew now could be quenched only in the arms of this woman, with her dreams and her innocence. Dreams he could never share.
He sucked in a steadying breath, trying to force words through a constricted throat. "Ashleen...SisterAshleen." He emphasized the word as if to brand it indelibly in his mind. "I shouldn't have... have... well, what we were just..." He sounded like a stammering idiot. Furious with himself, he stormed on.
"Damn it, I had no right. To kiss you. Touch you. You're a nun, for Chrissakes, and I was pawing you like—"
"No." That single, tremulous word stopped him. He stared at her, confused.
"Hell, yes, I was. My hands were all over you." He clenched his fists to keep from reaching out to her again.
"I don't—don't mean you weren't... touching me," she said, her cheeks flushed crimson. Her gaze darted away from his, and she fumbled with one tiny jet button. "I mean"—she hesitated, her eyes flicking back to his—"I'm not a nun."
Garret felt as if she'd poleaxed him. "What the hell do you mean you're not a nun? The kids call you Sister. You lived in a convent."
"I was going to be a nun, but I never took my vows. I'm not really... really Sister Ash. The children just always called me that, no matter how much I tried to correct them. So I finally just... let them."
"All this time I've been thinking I've been on fire for a damn nun, you—"
She nodded, and he didn't know whether to yell at her or tumble her back to finish what they'd started. Instead he just sat there, frozen, staring into her face.
