Her gaze dropped to his lips, and he heard the words she didn’t say about a stolen kiss in the vineyard. It had been his fault, all of it. He’d been the one to press the food on her—and the kiss and everything else.
“I’m sorry, Abby,” he said, wracked with shame.
“Why areyousorry?” she asked, looking truly puzzled.
“For making you do th—”
“Makingme?” Abby put down the glass and moved toward him, her eyes not even close to accusatory. “Don’t you understand what I’m saying? I want more, Luc, now that I’ve had a taste. I know that I shouldn’t, but it’s all I can think about, and I do.I do.”
8
Luc swallowed, his eyes glazing over.
“We shouldn’t have kissed,” he said, looking angry.
“No. We shouldn’t have.”
“You’ve never done it before?”
“Not really,” she whispered, knowing full well it was time to walk away.But I don’t want to.“I want another one, Luc.”
“Another what?” he asked, looking truly puzzled for a few seconds.
“Another kiss.”
He shook his head, only instead of the refusal she expected, he said, “I can’t stop thinking of your mouth.”
She pressed her lips together subconsciously. Her body was glued in place, but her mind raced ahead. How would it feel, in here, with no eyes to see them? No weather to disrupt them? Would the wrath of God reach in through that enormous window and strike her down?
What if it didn’t? What if…
It didn’t matter. Let Him punish her. It was too late anyway. What was a little kiss after the thoughts she’d denied since the first time she’d seen this man?
Slowly, she stepped forward, eyes on Luc.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, full of the knowledge that this could well be the end.What if he doesn’t want this?
She watched as he reached out to graze her dress with his fingers. Just the fabric, not the body beneath, but even that was heady, different.New.
“You want this.” It wasn’t a question. If anything, the words came out disbelieving.
“I wantyou.”
That did it. Whatever it was. Like they’d busted through their shell, only it was more like a dam had blown, and the man she’d known until this moment—quiet, contained, restrained—transformed into something wild. Unleashed.
A couple feet away one moment, the next, they collided. It was like falling, inside and out, a fatalistic succumbing. She could barely contain a sob when his skin finally touched hers, his lips moved to her neck, his hands on her shoulders. One hand went to her nape, cupping, cradling, but firm as well. And his face, as it made its way from the hollow beneath her ear, up and over her jaw, her cheek, to her mouth… Gracious, the man was drinking her in, learning her, smelling her.
And she wanted to do the same to him.
By the time his lips made it to hers, she thought she’d be ready for it. She was wet between her legs like she’d never been in her life, and heavy, too heavy to move. Only somehow, her hips were doing a dance all on their own, tilting toward him.
He stopped right before her mouth. “You want this, Abby?” His whispered words felt wrenched from his massive frame, each one a small, hot brand against her face.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered in his ear.
He stilled. “Of me?”
“Goodness, no.” She almost laughed. “I’m afraid of what God’ll think.”
