When Harry Met Molly

“Me, too,” said Harry.

They smiled at each other and sat on a log. There was a marvelous view across the water.

“Are you and Penelope good friends?” asked Harry. “Because I hope you don’t mind my saying so, you’re nothing alike.”

Molly sifted some sand through her fingers. “Everyone says that.”

Harry took a stick and made a circle in the silty earth. “Does that bother you?”

Molly shrugged. “I’ve overheard people say I’m a mere shadow of Penelope. She has gorgeous chestnut hair, her face is that of a goddess, and she’s very charming yet ladylike.”

“And they say you are—?”

“You know, Harry. A hoyden. Perhaps not a genuine hoyden, but hoydenish.” She sighed. “I always feel second-best next to Penelope. She never loses her temper or says stupid things. And she always looks exquisite.”

He raked his hair back. “I feel the same about Roderick. He’s the perfect son. It was why I kissed Penelope before their engagement was announced. I didn’t even particularly like her at the time. She was too damned perfect, as well.”

Molly chuckled. “It’s rather annoying not to be able to find anything wrong with her. Or Roderick.”

“Ah, yes.” Harry’s eyes twinkled as he gazed at her. “Those two deserve each other, don’t they? As Cedric and Fiona do.”

They both laughed at that.

Molly had outgrown her crush on her sister’s husband long ago, but it wasn’t until now that she realized why. She needed someone more fallible than Roderick. Someone imperfect. Someone funny. Even annoying sometimes.

Someone she could make up with by kissing…

A lot.

But it couldn’t be Harry.

“You’re bad.” She elbowed him.

“And you’re a hellcat.” He tugged on a lock of her hair.

“You think so?” she said.

“Oh, yes. Running about the hunting box naked!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She leaped up and scooped a small handful of blackberries out of the pail. “I’ll give you ten seconds to grab your own and find a place to hide.”

“Done,” he said.

“This is war,” she said.

“Of the best kind.”

They were smiling at each other now. But they were circling, circling, just like the old days, when they’d been really young and country neighbors. She’d been about five or six. He’d been nine or ten.

She threw a few blackberries now, and they bounced off Harry’s chest.

He roared and rushed right at her. She screamed and ran, but he was too fast for her.

He grabbed her from behind. She could feel her heart pounding.

“You’re my captive,” he said into her ear. “You must do as I say.”

She stifled a giggle and pulled hard to get away. But he held her in a firm grip.

“Now,” he said, “a gentleman doesn’t throw blackberries at a lady. It simply isn’t done. So you will have to eat these berries in my hand. That is your punishment for being caught so handily.”

“All of them?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“How many do you have?”

“I don’t know. Maybe ten.”

“All right. I am rather hungry.”

“Close your eyes.”

She did. Her heart was still racing from all the fun. And maybe from Harry’s nearness, as well.

“Now turn around,” he said. “Slowly.”

She did.

“I’m releasing your arms,” he said. “But don’t run. I caught you fair and square, after all.”

She stayed still, her eyes closed.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded.

She did, and was somehow afraid. And then she was laughing. He laughed, too.

But then he was stern. “You must trust your captor, Molly. Always.”

“I will,” she said, and schooled her mouth to stop grinning and to make an O instead. It seemed to take forever, but then Harry finally placed a blackberry in her mouth. She bit down on it, enjoying the sweet spurt of the juice. Then she swallowed.

“Another,” she demanded, her eyes still closed.

“This is supposed to be a punishment,” Harry said, and plopped another in her mouth.

That one was delicious, as well. “You’re too slow,” she said, and opened her mouth.

This time Harry put in several. It took her a few moments more to chew and swallow those.

“Are we almost done?” she asked, her eyes still closed. “Your Majesty?”

“You are a most disrespectful captive. You’re supposed to be frightened. Now open your mouth.”

She opened her mouth. What was taking him so long?

And then she felt—rather than saw—his face moving toward hers. Perhaps he was blocking the sun. Before she could comprehend, his lips were on hers. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist, and his body pressed her close.

Closer.

She wanted to be so much closer, even though it didn’t seem possible. His muscular thighs and chest enveloped her, it seemed, in a searing embrace.

“Harry,” she whispered against his mouth.

“Hush, my captive,” he said.

And their tongues melded, the remnants of blackberry juice lingering in her mouth, making the kiss particularly sweet.

Molly wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck. They shouldn’t be kissing. She wasn’t really Harry’s mistress.

Yet for the first time, she realized that she wanted to be.

If being a mistress meant this.

Chapter 20

Alone. They were alone. On a bright, beautiful afternoon at his favorite place—the lake.

Harry tore his lips away for a moment and picked Molly up. She coiled her hands about his neck and met his lips again with a fervor that he found entirely—

Entirely—

Oh, hell. He couldn’t think. He could only do. And he wanted to do more. So much more.

“Harry,” she murmured low in her throat when he laid her gently down on a soft, grassy bank dappled with an occasional shadow from passing clouds.

He felt the sun still warm and bright at his back, but he covered Molly with his body and plundered her mouth until they both broke away and stared at each other.

“I want more,” she whispered. “I want—”

Her gaze grew frustrated. She put her hand on his jaw. “You do something to me, Harry. I—I can’t stop thinking about you this way. Every time I look at you—”