Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,146

pulse jump; his right hand slid into her hair, his rune-scarred palm against her cheek as he kissed her.

James was kissing her.

She knew it wasn’t real. She knew he was making it look as if they were Downworlders having an assignation in the Whispering Room—but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered except the way he was kissing her, gloriously kissing her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, arching her body up against his. She felt his breath hiss out against her mouth; he was kissing her carefully, even as the movements of his hands and body mimicked passion.

But she didn’t want careful. She wanted it shattering and tremendous, wanted the passion to be real, the kissing to be the desperate everything she had always dreamed of.

She opened her lips against James’s. His were so soft, and he tasted of barley sugar and spice. She heard nervous laughter at the door of the room and felt James’s hand tighten on her waist. His other hand left her cheek and cupped the back of her neck as he deepened the kiss, suddenly, as if he couldn’t help himself. He leaned into it, into her, his tongue tracing the shape of her mouth, making her shudder.

“Oh,” she whispered softly against him, and heard the door close. Whoever it was had gone. She kept her arms around James’s neck. If he wanted this over, he would have to end it.

He broke off the kiss but didn’t let her go. He was still holding her against him, his body a hard cradle for hers. She stroked the side of his neck with her fingers; there was a faint white scar just above his collar, in the shape of a star.…

His breathing went ragged. “Daisy… my Daisy…”

“I think more people are coming,” she whispered.

It wasn’t true, and they both knew it. It didn’t matter. He pulled her against him with such force she nearly tripped, her heel catching on the rug. Her shoe came off, and she kicked away the second one, going up on tiptoe to reach James’s mouth—his lips were firm and sweet, teasing now as he ran them over the seam of her lips, over her cheekbone, down to her jaw. She was swimming in dizziness as she felt him undo the strap of Cortana with one hand, his other hand tracing the bodice of her dress. She had never known her body could feel like this, tense and taut with desire while at the same time she seemed to float.

He kissed her throat as her head fell back. She felt him bend to lay Cortana against the wall; when he straightened, his arms tightened around her. He moved them both away from the bookcase, half-carrying her, his mouth urgent against hers. They stumbled across the carpet, hands and lips frantic as they fetched up against the massive desk. Cordelia arched backward, her hands gripping the desk’s edge, her body curving into James’s in a way that made him inhale sharply.

His hands shaped the curves of her, sweeping from her hips to her waist, rising to cup her breasts. She gasped, breathing into the new sensation, wanting his hands on her. His fingers curved to hook into the neckline of her gown. He was touching her skin, her bare skin. She shivered in amazement and he looked at her, his eyes wild and hot and golden. He shrugged off his black frock coat, tossing it aside; when he came back to her, she could feel the heat of his body through her thin silk dress.

Even in her dance, even in the training room, she had never felt her body so absolutely right as she did now. He lifted her onto the walnut desk, so she sat on a wooden perch above him. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He cradled her face between his hands. Her hair was a curtain of flames streaming about both of them as they kissed and kissed.

At last she drew him up. Her back met the wood of the desk as he leaned over her, one hand braced above her head. The feel of his body all along hers scorched her blood. She understood now why poets said love was like burning. The heat of it was all through her and in her, and all she wanted was more—more kisses, more touches, to be devoured by this like a forest by wildfire.

And his face—she had never seen him like this, eyes burning and lost to desire, his pupils