But not as many times as she’d seen them curved in a grin.
How had she ever managed to resist that full mouth? How had she looked at his beautiful face dozens of times without giving in to the need to touch his lips? She stared, suddenly mesmerized by them. Slowly—so slowly she wasn’t sure she even moved—she slid her thumb across his cheek and dragged it over his lower lip.
“It’s so soft,” she whispered. She’d never imagined a man’s lips could be so soft.
Ciaran said nothing, but his blue eyes went as dark as a midnight sky, and then, without warning his lips parted, and he pressed a warm, wet kiss against the tip of her thumb.
A hot ache unfurled in her belly, and Lucy’s eyes slid closed.
“Open your eyes, Lucy.” Ciaran’s voice was rough, husky.
Lucy did as she was told. His gaze held hers as slowly—oh, so slowly—he raised his hand to her face and, very gently, touched a fingertip to the middle of her lower lip, opening her mouth for him. Then he leaned toward her, and before she had a chance to draw a breath, his mouth took hers.
Lucy had never kissed a man before. Never stroked a man’s skin, or held his face in her palms. Was it always this sweet, this perfect? Or was this kiss different than any other she’d ever have, because it was her first?
Or was it different simply because it washim?
I didn’t know. I didn’t know.…
She’d fallen in love with Ciaran weeks ago, but it wasn’t until his lips found hers that she understood how badly she wanted to kiss him. That she’d been thinking about how he’d feel, how he’d taste since the first time they’d stood together on the beach in Brighton, with cold water dripping down her back and Ciaran’s nose gushing blood.
It was a soft, tender kiss. Hesitant, his lips merely brushing against hers, almost as if he were asking a question.
Did shewantto kiss him? Didhewant to kissher? Were they simply friends, or had Ciaran been right all along about desire turning friends into lovers?
Lucy didn’t know the answers to any of these questions. She knew only she found herself balancing on a precipice, her feet edging closer to midair with every stroke of Ciaran’s lips over hers.
She was moments away from tumbling over the side, and once she did, once she did…
She’d either fall, or she’d fly.
That was the trouble with love. Until you leapt, you didn’t know which.
Chapter Eighteen
Even before his mouth took hers, Ciaran knew Lucy would have the softest, sweetest lips he’d ever kissed. Even before he coaxed her to open for him and stroked his tongue against hers for the first time, he already knew how she’d taste.
Wild and sweet, ocean air and green apples.
It made no sense he should know this, just as it didn’t make sense his mouth against hers felt inevitable, as if he’d been waiting all his life to kiss her. It didn’t feel strange, kissing Lucy, and that didn’t make sense, either. Shouldn’t it feel strange to kiss your friend?
Becausethis—this wasn’t afriendlykiss.
It was deep and hot and maddening, and it was everywhere at once. First a tingle in his lips and then lower, a sweet, pulsing ache in his belly, and higher, spreading inside his chest, wrapping tightly around his heart.
“Lucy.” It was more a groan than a word, and so needy, so hungry Ciaran hardly recognized his own voice. His lips were still clinging to hers when he reached out to capture a long, red curl between his fingers. “Lucy.”
His head was spinning, his body burning with desire. He could only say her name, the words low and ragged, and hope it was enough.
That she’d understand all the words he couldn’t say.
Her mouth curved under his, and for one breathless instant he let his tongue trace her lower lip. He tasted her smile until he coaxed a soft whimper from her throat. Her arms twined around his neck, her fingers sinking into his hair.
All it took was that touch, the light, sensual stroke across the back of his neck and Ciaran was lost to her. “Closer,” he begged, his lips against her ear. He wrapped his hands around her slender waist to hold her still against him. Tighter, tighter, until he could feel the soft swell of her breasts against his chest and her curved hips filled his palms.
She shivered at his touch, a gasp catching in her throat as he took her mouth again, ravenous now, his tongue flicking and teasing at her red lips until with a sweet sigh of surrender, she opened fully for him.
Ciaran didn’t hesitate. He surged inside with a low growl, his tongue stroking against hers. Once, then again and again until he released her mouth with a tortured groan, certain he’d go mad from the hot, wet caress of her tongue.
