She hadn’t cried at all over her abduction ordeal, but now . . . This laughter was a release. He held her close in the darkness, just for comfort and support, he told himself, even as he breathed in the scent of her, the spicy tang of his own soap wrapped around the sweet, warm fragrance of woman, a combination he found quite . . . irresistible.
A hunger stirred in him, deep, long denied. He fought it. This wasn’t for him. She wasn’t for him. Innocent, vulnerable, sweet—no.
Her laughter ended on a hiccup, and she rested her cheek briefly against his chest before pushing herself gently out of his embrace. “Sorry, I got a bit carried away there. I must be more tired than I realized.” Wiping under her eyes with her bare fingers, she glanced apologetically up at him, and her hood fell back just as a beam of fugitive moonlight bathed her satin-pale face.
Her hair was pulled back in a knot, but tiny dark curls clustered like feathers around her forehead and ears. The bruise shadowed her cheekbone, like a stain on a pearl. Her eyes were wide and fathomless, her mouth lush and damp and sweetly curved.
Ned couldn’t take his eyes off her, couldn’t breathe.
A single tear glittered unnoticed on her cheek. He reached out a finger to collect it and caught himself up in mid-gesture. Gloves. He pulled them off and stuffed them in his pocket. She watched him, frowning slightly.
“I’m perfectly all right,” she began.
He cupped her cheek—her skin was like cold silk—and with his thumb smoothed the tear away.
“Edward?” she said hesitantly, but she didn’t move, didn’t push him away, just stood there, with her cheek cradled in his hand and her eyes dark pools of mystery in the moonlight.
The clouds buried the moon again and they were standing in darkness with the scent of spring-damp earth all around them. His awareness filled with her, still and somehow breathless and expectant. Her skin warmed under his touch.
He couldn’t stop himself. He bent and kissed her, softly, a bare whisper of skin against skin. A tremor of heat. A wisp of sensation.
She shivered but didn’t move away. He tried to read her expression in the moonless dark but could see nothing. She sighed, and her breath warmed him.
He kissed her again, and with a soft murmur her lips quivered, then parted. She leaned into him and he tasted innocence and luscious heat and sweet, intoxicating acceptance.
She returned his kisses, eagerly, a little clumsily, pressing her softness against him, loosing a ravening hunger deep within him. He pulled her hard against him, deepening the kiss, inflamed by the taste of her, the feeling of her in his arms.
She slid her hands up his chest, along his jaw, and her fingers were cold, so cold, and her mouth so sweet and warm and giving. He was all heat and hunger, filled with an aching, ravenous longing that . . . that frightened him.
It brought him to his senses. This was wrong. She was Cal Rutherford’s sister and he—he was not fit for an innocent girl’s embrace.
He released her, pushed her away, not gracefully, staggering back as if in recoil.
“E-Edward? What’s the matt—”
“No.” His voice was harsh, repelling. “This is wrong. A mistake.”
“But—”
“No. Forget it ever happened.” He wiped his mouth roughly with his sleeve as if to remove all trace of her—as if anything could—she was in his blood now. But the moonlight—the damned interfering moonlight—caught his gesture, lit it clearly, and he saw the ripple of pain pass across her face as if he’d slapped her.
He reached out to her in an involuntary gesture, but she’d turned away and missed it—and that was a good thing, he told himself. He had to remain strong. He clenched his fists, fighting for some semblance of the sangfroid he was known for, breathing deeply and calming slowly as the cold air scoured him.
Never had a few simple kisses thrown him so far off balance. Never had any woman, let alone a young vir— No. Pursue that thought to its natural conclusion and court madness.
Away in the woods a fox screamed, lustful and forlorn. Ned knew how the wretched beast felt.
After a long moment, Lily turned. “Shall we continue on our way, or is it time to return to the inn? I know we need to make an early start.” Her smooth, low-voiced question, so very composed-sounding and mundane, surprised Ned.
Was she as calm as she seemed, or was she doing her best to hide the same sort of turmoil that raged inside him? Her breathing was audible and slightly ragged but otherwise there was no sign of agitation in her voice or face or body—not that he could see, not in this damned elusive moonlight. Had she felt what he— No! He forced himself to take another step back. It didn’t matter what she felt.
It. Could. Not. Be.
She was a romantic, gentle young lady—even her recent ordeal, nasty and terrifying as it must have been, hadn’t dimmed her sweetness or her seemingly natural optimism. While he—he might not have reached his thirtieth year yet, but compared to her he was a hundred years old.
He took a deep breath. If she could take a couple of kisses in her stride, so could he.
A couple of kisses. It felt like so much more.
“Time to go back,” he said. It came out gruff and abrupt, but he couldn’t help that.
She put up her hood, pale fingers arranging dark fabric, and he remembered how cold those fingers had been against his skin.
“Put these on.” He shoved his gloves at her.
“I don’t need—”
“Put the damned things on, your hands are freezing.” His gloves were leather and lined with fur. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed she wore no gloves, and had no pockets in which to warm her hands. And that she hadn’t mentioned it.
Did
