A Stranger at Castonbury - By Amanda McCabe Page 0,45

smile. ‘My apologies. I will be sure to beat my stick against the trees next time. Are you alone out here?’

Catalina glanced back down the lane. The spot where the man had been was quite empty.

Feeling foolish, she hurried around the nearest tree and leaned back to let its solid trunk hold her up. It had been such a strange, dizzying time, she hardly knew what to say or think, how to behave. Her confusion only grew when Jamie followed her and stood close to her in the night.

She reached up, compelled to touch his face, to ease the tense lines on his brow with her fingertips. How well she remembered the feel of him under her touch! The skin smooth as taut satin over his sharp cheekbones, the roughness of the evening whiskers over his hard jaw. The new scar that arced along his cheek. He was close to her now, so close she could drown in the grey sky of his eyes.

She curled her fingers around his face and just looked and looked at him. Jamie, Jamie.

He, too, seemed enchanted by this moment out of time, woven out of the past and the magical attraction that still bound them together. Jamie caught her hand in his and turned his face to press a kiss in the cup of her palm. His lips were so soft and firm at the same time, so gentle where they touched her skin.

‘Catalina,’ he said hoarsely. His voice echoed against her hand and seemed to move through her whole body, right to her very heart. ‘I’ve missed you.’

His other hand slid around the nape of her neck, just under the loose knot of her hair, and he drew her even closer. So very close.

Catalina knew she should pull away from him, that this should not be happening. But she could no more leave him than she could cease to breathe. She craved Jamie’s kiss—she needed it. She had been so long without him.

Jamie’s movements were slow and gentle, giving her time to draw back from him—or to learn him again. As her eyes closed and she leaned into him, she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheeks, the heat of his body against hers, the clean, wondrously familiar scent of him. She twined her arms around his neck to bring him even closer to her. She felt the short, soft strands of his hair cling to her gloves and she went up on tiptoe as she held on to him.

Their lips met softly once, twice, as if they were slowly finding their way back to each other. Then temptation and heat rose between them as memories burst free, and Catalina couldn’t resist another second. Their mouths melded in a blurry, hot rush, and she felt his tongue seeking hers, tracing the soft seam of her lips before sliding inside.

‘Mmm.’ Catalina sighed at the taste of him. So dark and rich and just as perfect as she remembered. The smoothness of sweet brandy overlaying something more enticing and dangerous, something that was only him. She held on to him tightly and traced her tongue over his.

Jamie groaned and his arms closed hard around her. He drew her up against him until their bodies were as close as layers of silk and wool allowed them to be. But Catalina wanted to be even closer.

She slid one hand along the side of his throat and traced her fingertips over his chest. She could feel his strength through the crisp linen of his cravat and the smooth brocade of his waistcoat. She felt the small bump of her ring on its chain, and his heart leapt under her palm. A rush of joy went through her at the feel of its rhythm—it meant he was alive, that his heart at least still responded to hers even though their lives were separate now.

Then everything around her went soft and dark, and she was utterly lost in the kiss. Jamie’s kiss, his touch, had become the beginning and the end of the whole world, all she knew and wanted.

His lips slid away from hers and trailed over her cheek to press the tender spot just behind her ear. His breath brushed over her skin and she shivered. ‘Jamie,’ she whispered, clinging to him as the ground seemed to rock beneath them.

‘Say that again,’ he whispered as his fingertips softly brushed the underside of her breast through her grey silk gown. ‘Damn, your voice, Catalina—I’ve never heard anything