St Matthew's Passion - By Sam Archer Page 0,27

have looked like a schoolboy if it hadn’t been for the overwhelming aura of adult masculinity he gave off, the blue shadow on his jaw, the flop of disorderly black hair across his brow that added a raffishness to his appearance.

He caught her looking and said, sounding genuinely puzzled, ‘Something the matter?’

‘Fin.’ She took a step forward. ‘We need to talk.’

‘Uh oh. The words every man learns to dread.’ He half-smiled, but still sounded perplexed if not downright concerned. Melissa approached the desk, her heart trying to force its way up into her throat. She was terribly afraid that her voice would seize up, and for a moment she didn’t say anything.

Fin came out from behind the desk. He must have seen something in her face that alarmed him because he moved close to her and put a tentative hand on her shoulder. ‘Melissa, what is it? What’s happened?’

She forced herself to lift her head and meet his gaze. Up close, she could smell the faint residue of the morning’s aftershave on him, the scent familiar to her from his car that night. His eyes probed hers, flicking from one to the other in turn.

‘Nothing’s happened,’ she murmured. ‘That’s the problem.’

Somehow his face was closer, though she hadn’t noticed him move. His pupils were large and dilated within their circling grey irises. Normally they’d be smaller to accommodate the closeness of her own face. Their size meant he was stimulated.

Through the glazed window came the muffled nighttime sounds of the city. In the room Melissa could hear the low intake and expulsion of his breath, the higher rhythm of her own respiration.

He said, ‘What do you mean?’

Was there a huskiness to his voice which hadn’t been there before? Her own voice barely more than a whisper, she said: ‘You know very well what I mean, Mr Finmore-Gage.’

She became aware that his hand was still on her shoulder, a gentle, firm weight. Slowly Melissa brought her opposite hand up and laid it on his. The knuckles and bones were solid under the skin of her palm. She’d watched those hands countless times, usually sheathed in latex gloves and so deft, so delicate despite their power. But this was the first time she’d actually felt one.

His other hand came up and touched her upper arm, lingering there. His pupils were so wide and black they dominated his eyes. Lightly, his breath touched her face. She closed her eyes, savouring it.

‘Melissa,’ he said, his voice catching, ‘We can’t -’

‘Can’t what?’ This time she moved in, so close that her forehead was nearly touching his chin. She ran her hand up over his wrist, feeling the hair on the back of his forearm beneath her palm. Now she could see the base of his throat under the unbuttoned collar and the hint of dark hair on his chest.

‘Can’t do this,’ he whispered, and, slipping a finger under her chin, he gently tilted her head back and lowered his mouth to hers.

As if time had slowed, Melissa was conscious of every individual component of the kiss: the dry softness of his lips, which yielded to the firm pressure of his teeth; as she parted her own lips she felt the wet probing of his tongue. Her arms wound up and around his neck, her hands sliding through his hair, pressing his head down on to her. At the same time his hands slipped from her arms and around her waist, pulling her body against his, then sliding up to splay across her back.

They locked together more tightly, Melissa arching her back so that her breasts pushed against his chest through the material of their clothes. The kiss continued, a force she felt was utterly beyond her control, a living phenomenon in its own right, his tongue exploring her mouth as hers did his. As his hands clasped her more insistently against him she pressed her hips forwards so that she made full contact with his groin. She felt the hardness of his arousal and it excited her further, driving a gasp from her in a brief instant when their mouths broke contact.

Fin swung them round so that Melissa’s back was to the desk, then slid his hands down her back as her bottom touched the edge of the wooden surface. Her legs parted and he moved in so that his hips were between them. Melissa was wearing a dress that ended just above the knee - informal for the party, but not vampish - and