Free In the Night by Kathryn Smith

his unexpected and exciting possession of her mouth. His lips were soft and warm—far more yielding than she ever would have believed. He tasted sweet and salty, his chin smooth with just a hint of scratch as it brushed hers. The evening air was chilled, frigid even, and the heat of him pulled Moira even further into the delicious wrap of his arms, melting her very bones.
    His lips coaxed. Hers parted. Pinpricks of sensation assaulted Moira’s skin as his tongue tasted her. Finally, after all those years of waiting, wondering, this was what it was to be well and truly kissed. Other mouths had pressed against hers, but never like this. Never had another man made her want to shove herself against him. Never had she wanted to tangle her fingers in his hair and hold his headso he couldn’t escape. Never had she wanted more than just a kiss.
    For this brief, magical moment, she wanted everything Wynthrope Ryland was willing to give her.
    It was he who broke the contact between their mouths. His breathing shallow puffs in the murky light, Wynthrope rested his forehead against hers. The feel of his flesh was almost as delightful as the touch of his lips, and Moira had to resist the urge to rub her head against him like an affectionate cat.
    Lightly, his hands rubbed her upper arms, instilling warmth where chill threatened to settle. “Go back inside,” he murmured, his voice husky.
    Moira’s heart plummeted. “You did not like it?”
    Was that a growl or a groan low in his throat? Whatever the sound was, it sent a shiver down Moira’s spine.
    “I liked it too much,” was his reply, his eyes black in the night as he lifted his head. “I will not have you the subject of ballroom gossip.”
    Moira glanced around them. She could see no one else on the balcony, but the light from the lamps and the ballroom only extended a few feet on either side of them. They were alone, and she did not want to leave. “There is no one watching.”
    “That you know of.” His caution was as endearing as it was annoying. “Right now I am guilty of stealing but a kiss. If you stay here much longer, I will take much more than that, I assure you.”
    His words should have sent her scurrying to protect her secrets and Anthony’s memory, but they did not. Instead, his voice conjured a tight, insistent hum low in her abdomen. She pressed her thighs together to ease the ache, but that only made it worse. She might be afraid to give her virginity to this man, but her body wanted it as badly as a flower wants the sun.
    When she did not move, he regarded her with a questioning gaze. “For a woman with a reputation of being cool andproper, you are doing a very good job of playing the temptress, Lady Aubourn.”
    A temptress? Her? Surely he was jesting! No, that part of him pressing hard and high against her hip was no jest. He was as aroused by their kiss as she was. How amazing to think that she could affect him so.
    She took a step backward, allowing the bracing night to breathe between them. The chill did nothing to ease her torment. It only made her nipples even tighter, the tremor of her spine more acute. “Is this better, Mr. Ryland?”
    Bowing his head, he raised his gaze. “I do not know. I cannot seem to decide whether to thank you or kiss you again.”
    Heat stung Moira’s cheeks. “Perhaps we should return to the ball.”
    “You go. If I return now, we will certainly set the gossips aflutter.”
    He meant his erection, of course. Moira supposed she should be shamed by her behavior, and by his reaction to her, but she wasn’t. Nor could she find any reason to doubt or suspect his attraction to her. For now she had to accept that this glorious example of a man wanted to touch and kiss her. What a strange, wrong, and wonderful thought.
    Nodding, she backed toward the glass doors, hesitating only as curiosity and insecurity got the better of her. “Will I see you inside?”
    There was that self-deprecating, slightly mocking smirk of his.