“No—yes—I don’t bloody know! I can’t stop thinking about you. Dreaming about you. You’re everywhere. All the time. And you’re out there convinced I’m a murderous monster. How am I supposed to feel?”
“I didn’t know.” The hand brushed my chest through the thin fabric of my shirt, immediately igniting the fire within. Her delicate fingers rose and fell with my ragged breath.
“Of course not. Regardless, it doesn’t matter how I feel. You clearly find me repugnant.”
“I don’t…”
“Don’t what?”
“Find you repugnant. I never did.” The way she said it, softly with wide, earnest eyes… as though repugnant was the opposite of how she felt.
The sight had me clutching at the hand that sat like a brand over my heart. I pressed it tighter, preventing escape.
“How do you feel then?” I breathed.
“I… I don’t know either. I was so sure. But you were so… And I couldn’t believe that someone could be that… Would do that to him.”
“That didn’t make a lick of sense.”
She took a deep breath, held it, and released. “I don’t know how I feel. I think it’s fair to say that I’ve thought of nothing but you since that night.”
“So where does that leave this?”
“Two people, who feel something other than hatred.”
“And what do two people who feel something other than hatred do?”
Her tongue darted out, brushing between parted lips, and I could not be held responsible for my answering groan.
“I think they kiss. They definitely kiss.”
And so they did.
Thirteen
WILLIAM’S APARTMENT, LONDON - JUNE 12, 1816
CELINE
A revelation.That was what he had called our last kiss. If that was a revelation, this was earth shattering.
All the eagerness and enthusiasm from the balcony, now with an added confidence. And, oh he had been paying attention. Somehow, some way, he had learned every single thing I loved. Memorized them. Things I hadn’t even known myself. And he was trying them all. He used every bit of knowledge he had gleaned to take me apart, piece by piece, until all that was left was a puddle of desperation at his feet.
William’s groans caressed my neck, sure as his lips. There was something heady in it—the knowledge that he took so much pleasure in the taste of my skin. His breathing was harsh and ragged, whispering along in a sensuous glide along my flesh.
His hand knotted in my hair, tugging enough to feel but not hurt. His other arm wrapped completely around my waist, solid and steady andthere. He nipped my lip gently and soothed it with his tongue. Before I could accustom myself to a sensation, he had moved on to the next mind-blowingly sweet torture.
Breathlessly, I slipped one hand up to cup his cheek and trace the sharp corner of the bone. The one I hadn’t been able to appreciate fully under the mask. The muscles beneath my fingers worked with each kiss.
His groan was sharp and needy when I wrapped my other hand behind his neck to pull him to me tighter, closer, harder.
I never wanted his kisses to stop. At the same time, other parts of me were crying for attention. If he could do this to my lips, what could he do with my neck and breasts and the space between my legs? The effect would be devastating.
As if sensing my thoughts, his lips slipped from mine, traveling along my jaw and finding a space just below my ear to ravish. Bolstered by the warm reception his lips received, the arm still wrapped around my waist made a brave dip to grip my bottom. A moan ripped from him at the touch.
He hitched my leg up around his waist and dragged his hand along my skirt-covered thigh. Even through far too many layers of skirts and breeches, there was no mistaking his appreciation.
With a reluctant groan, he pulled away, setting me back on two feet before stepping back. His lips were swollen from my attentions and his eyes hazy with lust.
