Despite the unshakable attraction between them, Maeve and Lucian are uninterested in love and marriage; especially since they hate one another and couldn't think of a worse match.
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London, 1815
Maeve Langston's aversion to the opposite sex has...
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Maeve wondered for an instant how she had gotten into this position. A moment ago she was angry at the man, and now she was considering the kiss he seemed about to bestow upon her. As much as she wanted to deny it, her interest in the man was stronger than she would admit. The idea of him leaving for war and finding his end there was an alarmingly painful one.
If he perished in Belgium, who other than him would challenge as he did? If she never saw him again, which man would send sparks through her whole frame every time he touched her? Lucian Thorne was one of a kind, and she refused to imagine what her world would be like without him in it, somehow.
When he bent slowly, careful not to frighten her by being too bold, Maeve's eyes dropped from his confusingly hypnotizing green gaze to his appealing lips. The memory of her first and only kiss flashed in her mind, and she was highly aware that kissing the man before her would be an experience entirely different from Lord Ackley's sloppy and unrequired attempt at swooning her.
Maybe it would actually prove disappointing, in which case the spell this man seemed to have over her would probably break. There was truly one only way to find out.
Impulsively, she pushed herself on her toes, closing the narrow distance that separated their lips.
As their mouths met, the faint contact made something resonate deep within her. It was as if sparks exploded within her, confusing tingles wreaking havoc in her entire body. Needing more of this delicious sensation, she pressed her mouth harder onto his unmoving lips, determined to test the limits of what her body could endure.
Lucian's hand left her arm, his warmth replaced by the cool breeze of the night, and it traveled down her body to seize her hips, before he pressed her harder against her, apparently needing more too. To think they'd been arguing moments ago, and now she was willingly pressed on his body, his mouth on hers, slowly igniting sensations she didn't know existed.
The initial shock of their kiss, and the wave of pleasure that had followed passed, and she now wanted more. She needed more. Greedily, she hooked her arms around his neck and lifted higher on the tip of her feet, pressing her lips harder on his, tilting her head to the side to feel more. A low growl rolled in his chest to end in her mouth, and she felt his grip on her neck and hip tighten. Even that simple gesture, of him losing his control a little, sent a shiver that ran through her frame.
More. She needed so much more.
Scared by the thought, she moved back, detaching her lips from his. She couldn't have more of whatever this was. Their behavior was already highly improper as it was, so she most certainly couldn't indulge in more of this ludicrous moment. Her eyes crossed his, and she wondered if she had the same steamy, unfocused gaze. When she looked down at his tempting lips, her intense craving for them respawned from its ashes, and she forgot all about holding back. A little more of it couldn't really hurt, right?
Without wasting a moment, she tilted her head the other way, before kissing him again from a new angle. The same sparks ran through her, as tried to kiss him more thoroughly, to drag out more sensation. Soon felt frustrated, as if she was missing something. Why didn't this feel like enough? Why did she want more? She let out a helpless moan, and it seemed to unlock something in him.
