Free Whirlwind Wedding by Jacquie D'Alessandro

Matthews, what am I thinking right now?"
    She hesitated her eyes searching his face. "I am not always able to tell.
    And I'd need to . . . touch you." He held out his hand. "Touch me. Convince me."
    She stared at his hand for several heartbeats, then nodded. "I'll try."
    When his hand was firmly pressed between her palms, he closed his eyes and purposely focused his thoughts on something provocative. He imagined her in his bedchamber, backlit by the golden flames dancing in the hearth. Reaching out, he flicked open the pearl-encrusted clip holding her hair in place. Silky tendrils tumbled down into his hands, falling over her shoulders, down, down— "You're thinking about my hair. You want to touch it."
    Heat stung him and his eyes popped open. The first thing he saw was her mouth . . . that incredible, kissable mouth. If he leaned forward just a bit, he could taste it— She released his hand. "You want to kiss me."
    Her whispered words brushed by him, setting his pulse thrumming.
    Damn it, yes, he wanted to kiss her. Needed to. Had to. Surely one kiss would satisfy this inexplicable hunger to taste her.
    Giving in to a craving he couldn't explain or fight any longer, he leaned forward.
    She stepped back.
    He closed the distance between them, but again she retreated her expressive eyes filled with uncertainty. Hell, the woman hadn't backed down before him once—not in the face of his anger, his sarcasm, or suspicions. But the thought of his kiss sent her into retreat.
    "Is something amiss?" he asked softly, stepping closer.
    "Amiss?" She backed up and nearly tripped on her hem.
    "Yes. It's an English word meaning 'wrong.' You seem . . . nervous."
    "Certainly not," she retorted, inching backward until the wooden wall stopped her. "I'm merely, er, warm."
    "Yes, it's quite warm in here." Two long, unhurried strides brought him directly in front of her. He braced his hands on the wall on either side of her shoulders, bracketing her in.
    Raising her chin a notch, she stared at him with what he had to admit was a fine show of bravado, but her rapid breathing spoiled the effect.
    "If you're trying to frighten me, your grace—"
    "I'm trying to kiss you, which will be much easier now that you've stopped moving about."
    "I don't want you to kiss me."
    "Yes, you do." He moved closer, until only inches separated them. The scent of lilacs filled his head. "Have you ever been kissed?"
    "Of course. Thousands of times."
    Recalling her stunned reaction when he'd asked if she'd been William's lover, he raised a brow. "I meant by a man."
    "Oh. Well, then, hundreds of times."
    "By a man other than your father."
    "Oh. In that case . . . once."
    Unexpected irritation rippled through him. "Indeed? And did you enjoy it?"
    "Actually, no. It was rather . . . dry."
    "Ah. Then you were not properly kissed."
    "And you wish to kiss me properly?"
    "No." He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I intend to kiss you most improperly."
    Drawing her into his arms, he covered her lips with his. God help him, she felt exquisite. Soft and round warm and delicious.
    When he ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, she gasped effectively parting her lips, and he slipped his tongue into the luscious warmth of her mouth. Strawberries. She tasted like strawberries. Sweet, delicious, seductive. He pulled her closer, until her long, lush body was pressed tightly against him, and he marveled at the unique sensation of kissing such a tall woman.
    His common sense roused itself and demanded he stop, but he couldn't.
    Damn it, he should have been appalled at himself for kissing her, uninterested in the naive chit, bored with her innocence.
    Instead he was fascinated aching, and aroused. When she shyly touched her tongue to his, a groan rumbled deep in his throat, and he delved deeper, slanting his mouth over hers, tasting, thrusting, swallowing her breathy moans. He lost all sense of time and place, could think only of the woman in his arms, the warm, soft feel of