They neared the end of the corridor, where they would part, and their steps slowed.
At least, Addie’s did, and Nicholas matched her pace.
Her mind was suddenly awash in memories—of the sensations, feelings, and impulses that had assailed her the previous night, during those moments when she’d stood in the shadows with him, separated only by inches and the pressures of social constraint.
She remembered. In detail.
Curiosity welled. And as anyone who knew her would have said, more than any other impulse, curiosity was her besetting sin.
Instead of turning toward her room, she continued to the alcove. “I wonder what’s behind the curtain?”
That wasn’t what she was curious about, but the alcove was there, holding out the promise of privacy, which she suddenly craved.
With quick fingers, she found the gap between the curtain’s halves and slipped through, and after a second’s hesitation, Nicholas followed.
“Oh,” Addie breathed as she stopped and stared.
Nicholas came to stand by her side; judging by his silence, he was equally enchanted.
In daylight, the alcove would merely be a bow window overlooking the town. At night, that night, the same view, illuminated by starlight, was transformed into a fairytale vista.
Rising above the silver ripple of roofs, the nearby castle loomed on the horizon, a dense, dark shape black against the midnight velvet of the sky. The moon was barely a crescent suspended in the firmament; together with the stars, it cast just enough light to etch the keep in glinting silver.
“This is simply lovely,” she breathed.
After a moment, his voice low, he rumbled, “Indeed.”
She glanced at him and saw that, rather than looking at the scene outside, his gaze was locked on her.
Their eyes met, and doubting she’d ever get a better opening, she seized it and ran.
“I wanted to thank you.” She turned to face him. Courtesy of the alcove’s dimensions, the movement put her directly before him, with only inches between her breasts and his chest.
His face was all angles and shadows. “For what?”
“For doing what you did to cheer us up.” She tipped her head, her eyes still on his. “You did that deliberately.”
He didn’t deny it, and his lips curved fractionally.
The slight movement sent a rush of unexpected, unprecedented need surging through her.
She didn’t think. She simply reacted.
One small step brought her flush against him. Boldly, she reached up, twined her arms about his neck, and whispered, “So thank you.” Then she stretched upward and kissed him.
Even as her lips touched his, she realized she’d been wanting to do that for days.
Ever since she’d first set eyes on him in the Grange forecourt.
Then his lips moved beneath hers, and who was kissing whom became an entirely redundant question.
She kissed him, and he kissed her, and sensation surged and sparked and built, and a cloud of desire, sweet and pure, spread and swirled about them.
His arms rose and locked about her, holding her to him, cinching her against him as he bent his head and changed the angle of the kiss.
Changed the tenor of the exchange from sweet and alluring to hot and demanding.
To passionate and exciting.
