A Lady by Midnight by Tessa Dare Page A

his eyes.
    “Yes,” she said, encouraging him. “You’re well. We’re both safe. It’s only me.”
    A shudder racked his body. He blinked hard, and his gaze began to focus on her face.
    From his throat came a raspy, “Katie?”
    She half sobbed with relief. “Yes. Yes, it’s me.”
    He stared blankly at the melon pulp splattering her shoulder. “You’re hurt.”
    “No. No, I’m fine. It’s not blood. The militiamen were adjusting Sir Lewis’s trebuchet, and there was a mishap. You took a melon for me.” She smiled, even though her lips trembled.
    He trembled, too. All over.
    He wasn’t so far away anymore—but he wasn’t quite home yet, either.
    She raked her fingers through his hair, desperate to bridge that last divide. Perhaps she could have wriggled free of his grip now. But she couldn’t leave him wandering in that shadow world, with bombs and blood and whatever other unimaginable horrors it held.
    “It’s safe now,” she whispered. “It’s safe to come back. I’m here.” She stretched her neck and pressed a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’m here.”
    She kissed his mouth again. Then again.
    Each time their lips met, his mouth warmed a degree. She prayed his heart was warming back to life, too.
    “Please,” she murmured. “Come back to me.”
    And he did. Oh, he did.
    The change in him was swift, abrupt. And it meant a complete inversion of her world.
    Once again Kate found herself breathless, scarcely understanding what had happened. Last she’d known, she’d been pressing chaste kisses to his lips.
    Now his tongue was in her mouth, and hers seemed to be partly in his. Her fingers were tangled in the sticky mess of his hair.
    They were fused together. One creature. And all she could think was . . .
    Sweet. He’s so sweet.
    The sugar-musky tang of melon was everywhere. She kissed him with abandon, thirsty for more of it—and just so happy to know he was here again, and not worlds away. She still sensed all that raw, frightening power coiled in his body. Only now it wasn’t marshaled to the task of survival, but another instinctive, basic drive.
    Desire.
    “Katie,” he moaned again, pulling her closer still. Her breasts flattened beneath his broad chest. As he kissed her deeply, his muscled firmness rubbed and chafed against her nipples. The teasing sensation was unbearably exquisite. It drove her wild in her skin, made her forget everything.
    His leg snaked between hers, pressing her thighs apart. When he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, his hips rocked against hers, setting off a cascade of unprecedented pleasure. She moaned, mindlessly craving more.
    Then he stopped abruptly, gasping for breath. Raised his head. Swore.
    And then Kate realized what she couldn’t have noticed, in her single-minded determination to bring him back from shadow and hold him skin close.
    Everyone was watching them. Sir Lewis Finch. The entirety of the Spindle Cove militia. Oh, heavens . . . even the vicar. They’d all come running to track the melon’s trajectory. And they’d come upon her and Thorne, tangled on the ground. Kissing like lovers.
    Thorne rolled to the side, blocking her from their view. She tried her best to evaporate into the air. Meanwhile, he gruffly scolded the men for the mishap and ordered them back to work.
    When they were gone, Badger came out of hiding and attacked Kate with puppyish vigor, licking the melon juice from her wrist and cheek.
    Thorne stood and paced the small area. “Damn it.” His hands were still faintly trembling. He balled them in fists. “Are you well? I didn’t hurt you?”
    “No.”
    “You’re certain? I want to know the truth. If I hurt you in any way, I’d . . .” He didn’t complete the statement.
    “I’m unharmed. I promise. But how are you?”
    He kept pacing, dismissing her question with a small flick of his hand. As if his own well-being were completely irrelevant.
    “Has . . . that ever happened before?” she