Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(33)

He pulled back to look at her and her chest tightened at the sight of his handsome face. This close she could see that the tips of his lashes were far lighter than the rest of his hair.

His lips curved in a slow, seductive smile that pulled at her belly. “And I’m so glad that I can.”

“Can . . . what?” Her head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton.

“Kiss you.”

The words rolled over her, thick as syrup. And just as decadent.

“Oh.” She blinked, murmuring rather dreamily, “Yes. Kissing. You can do that . . . some more.”

“Excellent. Although you should know that this sort of thing generally works better when you move your mouth.” His head inched back toward her, his breath fanning her lips. “When you part your lips. Just a little. Remember?”

Her eyes drifted shut, lulled by that deep velvet voice, by the brush of his lips on hers. His breath was warm and sweet and she sighed.

She moved her lips tentatively at first, her thoughts racing, jumbled, trying to remember why this was wrong . . . why she shouldn’t be doing this. She’d known why last night.

All thoughts fled as he deepened the kiss, parting her lips wider for him. She shuddered at the first stroke of his tongue against hers and lifted her hands to his shoulders. She curled her fingers into the hard shape of him beneath his great cape and surrendered to his mouth, kissing him back. Their lips fused hotly, the perfect fit, like two long-lost pieces of a puzzle.

She wrapped her arms around him, clinging, pressing herself close with abandon. He moaned with satisfaction and slipped his hands beneath her cloak. Palming her back, he hauled her against him.

Splayed against the hard breadth of him, she was instantly enveloped in his heat. The wintry world around them disappeared. There was nothing but him. His hard pulsing body. His warm hands. His mouth. Those delicious lips with the faint taste of chicory coffee.

He slanted his mouth over hers one way and then another, exploring her, tasting, gliding his tongue sinuously against hers until a low throbbing twisted in her belly.

The kiss deepened until they clung to each other. Her hands moved, roved, reveling in the impossible strength she felt radiating from every inch of him.

Small starved whimpers rose from her throat. He slid one hand down her back and grasped her bottom, pulling her against him. She felt the definite bulge of him through his trousers. She was no green girl that she didn’t know what that signified. He wanted her.

It should have horrified her to know that she was all alone with a virile man, engaging in intimacies that could lead to only one thing. That should be reserved for her husband.

And yet she was not. In that moment, Grier did not care.

All her life she’d tried so hard to do what she thought was right, the good and proper thing. She’d tried so desperately to earn everyone’s acceptance and approval. Even when no one expected it of her. Even when all they saw when they looked at her was the game master’s mannish bastard daughter. But then it occurred to her that that voice had never served her well before. It had never won her acceptance. Why should she listen to it now?

He tasted delicious. And his kiss was deep and smooth, nothing messy or slavering like the way Trevis had kissed. This was bliss and she had no wish for it to end.

This man would know how to make your first time exquisite.

The shocking thought rushed through her head unbidden, making her cheeks flame hotter, her body ache and burn in places she never knew could even feel. She would be clay in his hands.

Suddenly the prince stiffened, and she wondered rather insensibly if he had gleaned some knowledge of her outrageous thoughts. Just because he kissed her did not mean he wished to take it that far after all.

He broke their kiss and lifted his head, looking beyond her shoulder. She tried to pull from his embrace, but he held fast, tugging her close.

She cleared her throat softly, distrustful that her voice would rise a mere squeak from between her kissed-numb lips. “Unhand me, please.”

His arm tensed around her and his brow furrowed as he continued to study the horizon. “Do you hear that?”

She listened, at first hearing nothing but the wind, but then she caught sound of it. Voices. Very faint. As whispery as the wind itself. “Yes.”

He released her then. Grasping her arm, he guided her forward. Together they climbed the small rise. She risked a glance at his face, but he stared ahead, his features impassive. Did he regret their lapse of restraint? Of course he did. He was here to find a bride, presumably the very worthy and estimable Lady Libbie. A rich earl’s daughter. She fit his needs perfectly. He certainly didn’t wish to become entangled with her.

Topping the rise, Grier spotted the several figures on horseback. “Stable lads?”

“The horses must have returned and they’ve come to find us,” he murmured.

She nodded. “They shall be quite relieved to know we’ve sustained no injuries.” She lifted an arm and waved to gain their attention, quite eager to take her leave of his company and reflect on her improper response to his advances—so that she did not repeat such a mistake again. Because, truly, this needed to stop.

“You are quite the surprise, Miss Hadley.”

She turned to find him gazing upon her. “I thought you claimed you were coming to know me. Am I not predictable anymore?”

“Ah, knowing someone and being able to predict someone are two very different things. I’m coming to know you in that I know you’re not someone who can be predicted.”