brilliant shade of magenta. Tenderness kicked into his heart.
“I’m sorry.” She turned impossibly pinker. “I… I haven’t kissed a man before.”
He grinned. “Me either.”
She hit his shoulder lightly. “You know what I mean.”
“Mmm…” He wrapped an arm about her waist, drawing her nearer as he leaned against the willow, pleased to note that she did not protest. One thing he knew decidedly about Poppy Ellis was that she did not let anyone order her about. Sweet God, but her weight along his body felt good. “I do.” He brushed another kiss over her lips; now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t kissed anyone either.”
She studied him as though he were an exotic animal, or perhaps she merely thought him mad. “Why not?”
He stroked her cheek. “Because I hadn’t wanted to until now.” It was the truth. He was male, and thus he’d spent his fair share of time thinking of tupping, but his imaginings had been of faceless women. He wasn’t the sort to seduce the busty chambermaid or pay for a whore’s services.
When she opened her mouth to question, he slid his hand into her hair to cup the back of her warm neck. “Shall we practice together?” he murmured before finding her lips again.
Her eyes fluttered closed as he sampled her mouth with small touches of his lips.
Her voice grew husky. “I am quite…”—another kiss—“a proponent of…”—he kissed her again—“thorough practicing.”
“Good,” he whispered against her mouth.
She sighed, and the need to taste her turned into a desperate thing. He kissed her harder, opening her lips with his, coming at her from different angles to learn the texture of her—the softness of her lips and the sweet moistness of her mouth. On impulse, he touched his tongue to hers, and his world went white hot. She tasted like rain and felt like heaven. He groaned and did it again, his hand clutching her satin hair to keep her in place. But she wasn’t going anywhere. Her fingers tangled into his hair as she kissed him back, her slick tongue twining with his.
Rain fell in ice-cold drops against his cheeks. He wouldn’t be surprised if they sizzled on contact; he was so hot. His breath came in bursts as his body started to shiver with need. When he could no longer breathe, he broke off the kiss, only far enough to look at her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. Where have you been all my life? And what took you so long to find me? He had the strangest feeling that only now, at this moment, had he truly become whole.
“I’m going to marry you,” he whispered against her lips.
He felt her smile, and her slim arms pulled him closer. “Cheeky. One kiss and already you are so sure of yourself?”
In this? “Oh, yes.”
Chapter Eight
Cool quiet greeted Jack as he entered the solace of his room. He loved that first moment of truly being alone in a secure space. It stripped a layer away from him, as if taking off his greatcoat. He’d never had a home that was solely his, not really. But thanks to Ian Ranulf, he’d had a room and a position as part of a pack. At the end of a long day, Jack liked nothing better than to shut his door, lie upon his bed, and read a good book. No one knew, of course. And he’d deny it if asked, but it was the truth. He craved his own personal space like he craved air.
It had hurt when Ian first urged him to go with Lane. Jack wasn’t an idiot. He knew what Ian was doing. Throwing him out of the nest. Perhaps he had hidden behind the walls of Ian’s home for too long. He was man enough to admit that at least.
Now he was tired. The damned demon had eluded him all day. Jack craved a stiff drink and a short nap before heading out once more. Shrugging out of his coat and tossing it aside, Jack had taken two steps when he stopped short. He wasn’t alone. His knife was in his hand and he was whirling around to face his bed in an instant, knowing in the back of his mind that he’d have already been dead if it was a true attack. When he saw what greeted him, all available blood within his body surged south, and his heart pounded. Great, hot fuck. His knife hand shook before he clenched