Flustered, I point at a map of the Baltic Sea.
“I was talking to this nautical… naughty boy.”
I try to wink at the map before I remember I don’t know how. Instead, I squint.
“You make me lose control, map,” I whisper. “Your tides and currents drive me wild.”
Caspian pulls me against his chest.
I swear the room temperature rises by several degrees. I hope the parchments can handle the heat.
My cheeks are burning.
“Please ignore what I said,” I groan . “Please forget everything that happened during the last thirty seconds.”
He cups my jaw. My lashes flutter. I don’t look at him.
It’s too scary.
Gently, he tilts my chin so that our eyes meet.
He’s not laughing at me.
“I won’t ignore it.” He brings his lips closer. “Any of it. What you said goes straight into my archive.”
I shiver.
Is there anything hotter than Caspian saying “archive” in a museum? No, there cannot be.
“The archive of my heart,” he adds with a perfectly executed wink.
Well, that answered my earlier question. Caspian saying “the archive of my heart” is the hottest thing.
When we kiss, he holds me like he could carry me in his palm.
My knees buckle so fast the museum should install safety bars to prevent make-out injuries.
He backs me against the wall, deepening the kiss.
I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
He makes me yearn.
I’m yearning for Caspian Stone like a lovesick teenager, in a map museum.
“Okay,” I say when we finally pull back. “I can do swoony too.”
“I’m sure you can,” he says.
I press myself closer, enjoying the evidence that I’m not the only one affected by this.
“What do you have in mind?” he asks, his voice lower than usual.
“I’ll take you somewhere even better. Somewhere so hot your socks will melt.”
“I’m all ears,” he murmurs, brushing my lips with his.
An embarrassing mewl escapes me, and I almost choke on air.
