A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)(22)

“Better.” Almost too good.

“Hmm. You taste of spirits here.” Her tongue traced the edge of his lip. “But here”—she dipped her head to nuzzle the underside of his jaw—“you smell of spice. Cloves.”

Bloody hell. Colin’s eyes went wide in the dark as she sipped at his skin, over and over, tracing the curve of his throat. When she reached the center, she brushed her lips over his Adam’s apple. His breath was a painful rasp in his throat. He couldn’t take much more of this.

“You still haven’t properly kissed me,” he said. “Are you afraid?”

She lifted her head. “No.”

“I think you are.” I think I might be, too, just a little.

And for good reason. Her mouth found his, and her parted lips pressed against his own. And there they stayed. Soft, sweet. Warming in the heat of their mingled breath. All the while, a snarling, feral need clawed him from the inside out, fighting its leash of gentlemanly restraint. He’d lose the battle if she didn’t move soon.

This was more than an excavation. She was turning him inside out. Exposing the base, desperate needs studded in the deepest layer of his being. Until he felt not merely naked before her, but stripped bare. Cold and shivering and defenseless in the dark.

Kiss me, he willed, underscoring the message with a flex of his knee against her thigh. Kiss me now, or suffer the consequences.

At last. Her fingers twisted in his hair, drawing him close. Her teeth skimmed the ridge of his lower lip. And then she slid her tongue into his mouth. Just a shallow, teasing pass the first time. Then a bit deeper, on the second attempt. Then deeper still, again and again, by slow, tantalizing degrees.

She sighed into the kiss, just a little. The faint sound blazed through him, kindling his every nerve ending like a fuse.

Her fingers left his hair, and he worried for a moment that this all might stop.

Don’t stop. God, don’t stop.

But then she braced her hands on the cave wall, bracketing his shoulders, and pressed him against the rocky surface. With her br**sts. So soft and round against his chest, tipped with the deliciously hard darts of her chilled ni**les. She pinned him to the wall, using the leverage to make the kiss deeper, stroking deep with her tongue.

And just like that, his control was gone.

He reached for her, gripping her by the thighs. Holding her close and tight as she plundered his mouth with bold, innocent abandon. With her kiss, his whole body came alive. Not just his body. Something stirred in the region of his heart, as well.

Jesus. Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene. Delilah, Jezebel, Salome, Judith, Eve. Trouble, every last one. Add Minerva Highwood to the list.

A woman like this could ruin him. If he didn’t ruin her first.

“What do I call you?” Her breath came hot against his ear. “When . . . when we’re doing this, what do I call you?”

He fisted his hands in the fabric at the small of her back. “You must call me by my Christian name. Colin.”

“Colin,” she whispered, tentative at first. Then with feeling, as she pressed an openmouthed kiss to his temple. “Oh, Colin.”

Oh God. He could hear her moan his name a hundred times, and it wouldn’t be enough.

As they kissed, he rubbed his hands up and down her back. Keeping her close. Warming them both. But after several passes traveling the length of her spine, he couldn’t help but venture further. She still owed him his chance to explore.

He had to get to her. He had to get to the soft, secret part of her, the way she was getting to him.

He slid a palm down her hip, cupping her backside and giving it a brief squeeze. Then he brushed the same hand up her side, slowly dragging his touch over the curve of her hip, the indentation of her waist, the endless ridges of her ribs . . . he could have sworn he counted thirty-four or so . . . and then, at last, the soft, round swell of her breast.

“Colin.” Her gasp told him he’d gone too far.

“Min, I . . .” He rested his brow against hers. He didn’t know how to apologize. He wasn’t sorry for any of it. Not in the least.

She pulled away, blinking at him. “Colin. I can see you.”

The way she spoke the words, in such an awestruck tone, made him wonder for a moment if their kiss had actually cured her weak eyes. That would have been quite a miracle, but he’d be inclined to believe it. He felt rather changed by that kiss, himself.

“It’s light in here,” she said. “I can see you now.” She moved away, reaching for her spectacles.

And he instantly understood what she meant. Without her silhouette blocking his view, he too could see that the tide had receded. Enough so the apex of the underwater entrance was revealed. A beam of sunlight shot through, like gold floss threading the eye of a needle—stabbing Colin straight in the eyes.

“Ah.” He lifted his hand, shielding his eyes from the piercing dawn.

Now that he had a proper look at his surroundings, he could judge that the black, “endless” underwater tunnel he’d been so certain he’d die inside was actually . . . no more than three feet long.

Good God. He rolled his eyes at his own ridiculousness. No wonder she’d doubted his mettle.

“We’ll be able to leave soon,” she said, already up and bustling about. She pursed her lips and blew out the candle. “It’s better that we waited, anyhow. Now I don’t have to trust the oilcloth to keep my notes and papers dry.”