A VERY TUDOR CHRISTMAS by Amanda Mccabe Page B

touch of his lips was so soft at first, like the brush of warm velvet, sweeping over her mouth teasingly. When she swayed closer, her hands clutching at his shoulders, that kiss deepened.
    “Beautiful Meg,” he whispered hoarsely before claiming her mouth again. Hotter, more urgent, rougher.
    Something hidden deep in Meg’s heart responded to that urgency, growing and filling her until she feared she would burst with the splendor of it all. Her lips parted on a moan, and she felt his tongue slide shockingly against hers. His hands twined in her hair, sending the pins scattering to the ground as he used the dark strands to hold her with him. She moaned and opened her mouth willingly to his passionate kiss. His touch, the taste of him, made her feel wonderfully as if she was flying.
    In his arms she felt free at long last. She felt truly alive, and she wanted that so very much, even if it was only for a moment and then she had to go back to her dull life. Surely a moment couldn’t hurt her?
    Or maybe a moment could end everything she had ever known. She didn’t care. She only wanted him.
    She wrapped her arms around his shoulders to keep from falling to the ground. His hands fell free from her hair to unfasten the ties of her cloak and let it fall from her shoulders. The cold wind brushed over her, making her shiver, but then there was only the heat of his body all around hers.
    His open mouth slid from hers to kiss her neck, the soft curve of her shoulder above the neckline of her plain gown. His teeth nipped lightly at her skin, making her gasp and shiver all over again. Her head fell back as she hoped he would kiss her even more, even further, letting the delicious feelings wash over her.
    “Beautiful Meg,” he whispered roughly. He caught the hem of her skirt in his fist and dragged it up until she felt the cool wind rush over the bare skin just above her stocking, just as she had hoped he would. He caressed her through the thin knit of her stocking, his fingertip dipping behind the ribbon of her garter.
    It was shocking—and wonderful. No one had ever touched her thus, and she wanted yet more and more. His hand slid higher, enticing, teasing, and when she moaned he gave a hoarse laugh.
    “Passionate Meg,” he said.
    “Passionate for you,” she answered, holding him tighter.
    Everything vanished until there was only him and her and that kiss, that touch. Only that one perfect instant she wanted to go on forever and ever.
    But it was a forever that was shattered all too quickly.
    At first Meg was sure the rumbling sound was her heart, pounding inside her with such joy she knew it would burst. She held even tighter to him, for he was the only thing that could keep her from shaking apart. But he tore his mouth from hers and stumbled back, letting the cold wind rush over her again. Her skirts fell around her in disarray.
    Then she heard it, closer with every second. A carriage rolling on the lane, not her heart at all.
    “Quickly!” Robert said. “We can hide behind the wall.”
    Before Meg’s whirling mind could make sense of what was happening, he wrapped his strong, warm hands around her waist and lifted her over the stone wall. He caught up her fallen cloak and leaped after her, drawing her down with him until they crouched on the chilly ground, their backs to the rough stone.
    Meg could hardly breathe. He was still so close to her, the heat of his hard, strong body wrapping all around her, but it felt as if he had gone from her entirely. He turned away from her to peer over the wall as the crash and rumble of the coach came closer.
    A cold hollowness crept through her, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She still could not fathom being torn from such pleasure. What had happened?
    Had she kissed him all wrong?
    She turned to peek over the wall. The coach was almost upon them, a glossy brown-and-gold vehicle splashed with mud and frost and drawn by a team of splendid matching bays. Ordinarily,