courageous of you, would it?”
“No one said the prizes must require me to be courageous, only the challenges.” She spoke breathlessly, her eyes everywhere but on his. “And why you imagine that allowing you to kiss me would require courage of me, I haven’t the foggiest.”
“You are afraid.” God’s blood, he hoped she was too afraid to meet this challenge. Because he was quite certain that he was now stepping into the biggest mistake he’d made in eleven years.
Chapter 8
The First Kiss
“I ’m not afraid,” Eleanor whispered. The wind swirled about her, whipping her skirts about his long legs where he trapped her between the horse and temptation. Her cheeks were fire, her hands ice. A half grin of brazen male confidence curved Taliesin’s lips and she could no longer look away from them. They were perfect and she wanted, finally, to feel them against hers one more time. If she died an old spinster, at least she would die having kissed the most perfect lips in Christendom twice. Thrice, if she found the courage now.
“You aren’t up to it,” he said. “All dreams and no daring, is that it, piran —”
She pushed onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
There she thought it would end. But before she even had time to register the softness of his lips, the scent of his skin that she had remembered every night of her life for eleven years, his hand came around the back of her head, and he held her mouth to his and truly kissed her.
Coming home . Thrilling. Frightening. His lips upon hers the only reality.
He kissed her without haste, briefly first, and then again, as though tasting her. Warmth spread in her belly. Shame warred with it, and she could not look at him. She wanted this too much . Her eyes closed. Voluntarily blinded, she allowed herself to feel his strength and taste his flavor and know the closeness of him that she had dreamed about for years. She fed on sips of him and longed to feast.
She didn’t entirely remember how it should be done; she had never really known. But he made it easy. Caressing her lips slowly, softly, he let her feel him. Then he took more. With his mouth he guided hers open and she felt all the heat of a summer day. She sank into him, touching him with only her lips as he held her securely with his hands, and she wept inside that this was the only thing he made easy for her. This caress. This intimate touching of lips and, fleetingly, tongues.
His hand came around her jaw and he urged her lips farther apart, and the kiss changed. His fingers threaded through her hair, his tongue her tormenter now, giving then taking away. He made her seek him, licking, drinking, drinking him , but never enough. Heat and need were everywhere and she felt as stripped and vulnerable as though she stood upon the hill naked, yet as powerful as a goddess. He wanted this. He wanted to kiss her.
The pad of his thumb passed along her cheekbone, his breath upon her lips, his lips touching hers again, claiming deeply, powerfully, as though he needed this too. Needed her.
Through the moan of the wind, the clatter of hooves and carriage wheels came from a distance. He released her.
Her eyes popped open to see him stepping back.
“Acceptable winnings,” he said in a low voice.
“That wasn’t an agreed-upon prize,” she said, biting his flavor with her teeth.
“There were no agreed-upon prizes.” He pivoted slowly on one fine boot heel, turning to his horse. “But if you’re worried you will continue to lose, feel free to cancel this game at any time.”
“I told you it isn’t a game.” There were no steady words in her throat. “And I will win next time.”
“Then I will look forward to you claiming your prize.” With a crooked grin, he took up the reins of his horse.
She sucked in salty wind, feeding now on the distance from him. “How am I to mount again?”
“There is a farmhouse ahead. We will walk there and stop for luncheon.” He drew his horse from the
“No one said the prizes must require me to be courageous, only the challenges.” She spoke breathlessly, her eyes everywhere but on his. “And why you imagine that allowing you to kiss me would require courage of me, I haven’t the foggiest.”
“You are afraid.” God’s blood, he hoped she was too afraid to meet this challenge. Because he was quite certain that he was now stepping into the biggest mistake he’d made in eleven years.
Chapter 8
The First Kiss
“I ’m not afraid,” Eleanor whispered. The wind swirled about her, whipping her skirts about his long legs where he trapped her between the horse and temptation. Her cheeks were fire, her hands ice. A half grin of brazen male confidence curved Taliesin’s lips and she could no longer look away from them. They were perfect and she wanted, finally, to feel them against hers one more time. If she died an old spinster, at least she would die having kissed the most perfect lips in Christendom twice. Thrice, if she found the courage now.
“You aren’t up to it,” he said. “All dreams and no daring, is that it, piran —”
She pushed onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
There she thought it would end. But before she even had time to register the softness of his lips, the scent of his skin that she had remembered every night of her life for eleven years, his hand came around the back of her head, and he held her mouth to his and truly kissed her.
Coming home . Thrilling. Frightening. His lips upon hers the only reality.
He kissed her without haste, briefly first, and then again, as though tasting her. Warmth spread in her belly. Shame warred with it, and she could not look at him. She wanted this too much . Her eyes closed. Voluntarily blinded, she allowed herself to feel his strength and taste his flavor and know the closeness of him that she had dreamed about for years. She fed on sips of him and longed to feast.
She didn’t entirely remember how it should be done; she had never really known. But he made it easy. Caressing her lips slowly, softly, he let her feel him. Then he took more. With his mouth he guided hers open and she felt all the heat of a summer day. She sank into him, touching him with only her lips as he held her securely with his hands, and she wept inside that this was the only thing he made easy for her. This caress. This intimate touching of lips and, fleetingly, tongues.
His hand came around her jaw and he urged her lips farther apart, and the kiss changed. His fingers threaded through her hair, his tongue her tormenter now, giving then taking away. He made her seek him, licking, drinking, drinking him , but never enough. Heat and need were everywhere and she felt as stripped and vulnerable as though she stood upon the hill naked, yet as powerful as a goddess. He wanted this. He wanted to kiss her.
The pad of his thumb passed along her cheekbone, his breath upon her lips, his lips touching hers again, claiming deeply, powerfully, as though he needed this too. Needed her.
Through the moan of the wind, the clatter of hooves and carriage wheels came from a distance. He released her.
Her eyes popped open to see him stepping back.
“Acceptable winnings,” he said in a low voice.
“That wasn’t an agreed-upon prize,” she said, biting his flavor with her teeth.
“There were no agreed-upon prizes.” He pivoted slowly on one fine boot heel, turning to his horse. “But if you’re worried you will continue to lose, feel free to cancel this game at any time.”
“I told you it isn’t a game.” There were no steady words in her throat. “And I will win next time.”
“Then I will look forward to you claiming your prize.” With a crooked grin, he took up the reins of his horse.
She sucked in salty wind, feeding now on the distance from him. “How am I to mount again?”
“There is a farmhouse ahead. We will walk there and stop for luncheon.” He drew his horse from the
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