Free Forged by Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 4 by Lynne Connolly Page A

considered her wardrobe for the day. Why bother? Nobody would come.
    “The oyster thinks it’s a nuisance. Who’s to say who is right?”
    For the first time in days, she smiled. He smiled back, startling her. That expression changed his harsh features. His eyes lit and creases deepened at the corners of his mouth. “True enough. Then I need to rid myself of the pearl. Or the piece of grit.”
    “It won’t be easy.” He took a deep breath. “Kentmere is sure this obsession is none of his doing. He tried to remove the enchantment and failed. He says nothing of his spell remains. So either you, as the goddess of love, are perpetuating it for yourself, or someone else has taken advantage of your vulnerability.”
    She’d known for a while that Eros’s spell had gone, but it had proved a convenient excuse. She must finally accept that the affair had finished and move on. “Once I’m out of the country—”
    “You still mean to go, then?”
    “Of course. What remains for me here?”
    He got to his feet and held out his hand. Like an idiot, she took it. He enclosed her in warmth, the heat of his body glowing through her. Gazing at his face, she let him draw her up, close to him. Too close for propriety.
    “This,” he said softly. Cupping her cheek, he bent his head and kissed her.
    Oh, such a lovely kiss! He caressed her so gently, she barely felt his lips on hers. Slowly, so slowly he deepened his embrace. He circled her waist with his arms and held her steady.
    What should she do? Pull away? He deserved at least this for his concern. Thoughts raced through her head, and then, when he stroked his tongue along her lower lip, she forgot everything.
    When she opened her mouth, he slid his tongue inside, tasting her, but keeping his hold firm. He tasted of darkness—smoke and tar and things she should hate, but he made them delicious. He drew her, and she went, yearning for more, but he kept their kiss gentle. Totally unlike her frantic meetings with Marcus.
    A chain inside her broke, loosening her links with Marcus a little more. It had been happening ever since Harry gave her the rose. She was thinking more rationally than she had since the beginning of her affair, but she still felt the fatal attraction for Marcus.
    Harry bore none of that. She kissed him because she wanted to, not because she had to. Had to or die. Consequently the pleasure was more delicate, and something she could savour. When she recalled times with Marcus, a confused blur of passion, clandestine meetings and excitement greeted her. Nothing she could remember in detail. A faint sense of shame overshadowed it all.
    None of this marred her kiss with Harry. Although she’d mocked him, even insulted him, here he was, patiently her friend, and holding his tremendous power back so he could bestow a kiss of—what, affection?—on her.
    Harry appeared so relentlessly male, and undeviating in whatever purpose he put his mind to. She’d have thought he would have taken what he wanted and left it to someone else to pick up the pieces, but his kiss was far from rough or uncivilised.
    She’d reckoned without the rose. Someone who understood nuance and gentleness created that thing of pure beauty that had insinuated its way into her pocket. How could she have discounted that?
    Harry finished the kiss as gently as he’d begun it. He drew his lips from hers with clinging reluctance. She stayed in his arms, staring up at him, as if they were both lost in a bubble of their own creation.
    She came to with a start when the door opened, but she refused to pull away. That would imply she had something to be sorry for, and that was a kiss she wanted to remember with fondness, not guilt. She’d had enough of people pointing and gossiping behind their fans.
    Turning, she let Harry lower his arms and move away from her. He did it carefully and slowly.
    It was her mother. She didn’t appear surprised. Dressed in her usual simple clothes, today of forest-green over