He shot her a hard look, sensing this was not a battle he could win. Not if he wished his wife to stop loading her suitcase. “Wear a cloak.”
“Honestly, that is—”
“My final condition.”
“Very well,” she agreed, eyeing him with wariness and something else . . . Something that set his heart racing. “But I have a condition of my own.”
“And that is?” Ambrose prompted.
“We seal our understanding with a kiss.”
Bloody hell. Yes.
Heat rushed right down to his cock.
She stepped up to him. “It will feel less like a condition if we do.”
His mind, his eyes, his entire focus was on her mouth. His hands reached out to cup each the side of her face, this thumb sliding along her jaw.
“As you wish,” he murmured before he dipped his lips to hers.
Her mouth tasted of candied berries, ripe and sweet. She was leaning into him, digging her fingers into his coat, kissing him back.
It was almost too much to bear.
A sizzling current made its way along his spine when she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.
Ambrose shuddered. The kiss was almost punishing in its sensuality. Somehow, by some miracle, he pulled himself away. It was one of the hardest things he’d done in his life. He wanted to kiss her again. And again. And again. And never stop.
“Go,” he barked, clenching his hand at his side. “Before I change my mind.”
