Sweet as Honey (The Seven Sisters) - By Caitlyn Robertson Page 0,13

to do to you when we’re married?”

The look in her eyes changed, morphing from worry to warm desire in seconds. “No. Tell me.”

He leaned closer until his lips brushed hers and hovered there, exchanging breaths with her. “I’m going to undress you slowly, and then kiss every part of your body, from your beautiful ears…” He trailed his lips around to her left ear and pressed a light kiss there. “…down your neck…” He touched his lips to her collarbone. “…down to your breasts…” He raised a hand and cupped one, stroking his thumb across her nipple and enjoying the way her lips parted in response as she drew in a breath. “…and then all the way down here.” He dropped his hand to her abdomen, then moved his fingers down to cup her.

She closed her eyes. “Dex…”

He ran his tongue across her lips, then kissed her again, slowly, lingering, as he stroked her very lightly. “You know what? I bet you taste sweet as.”

“Sweet as what?” she breathed, clearly having forgotten the Kiwi penchant for leaving off the last word.

“Honey,” he said with a grin, holding her head so he could plunge his tongue into her mouth and stifle her giggle. He kissed her hard until they were both breathless, then wrapped his arms around her again. “I love you,” he said fiercely. “And I want you. Don’t doubt it again.”

“I won’t,” she said in a small voice.

He tightened his arms. Nothing was going to come between them. Not Cathryn, not bad memories, not his past, nothing. He’d never been so determined about anything in his life.

Chapter Six

There weren’t many people at the court house. Honey had read that over a hundred and twenty people were called each week for jury service, and yet only thirty or so were sitting outside the courtroom when she arrived. Most looked as nervous as she felt. The man nearest her kept fingering the tie at his neck, clearly not used to wearing one. She’d done the same, dressed up for the occasion in a long black skirt, white blouse and black jacket. Some people said dressing down in scruffy clothes guaranteed you wouldn’t get chosen as you looked less trustworthy, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. Carrying out your civic duty was an honour, one she would be proud to do.

Just not this week, hopefully.

More people came in as it got nearer to nine thirty, and by the time the court assistant called them in, about sixty people filtered through the doorway into the rows of seats behind the glass partition separating the viewing gallery from the courtroom. Honey followed along a row and took a seat, heart racing. Only sixty out of the hundred and twenty or so called had turned up—that gave her a one in five chance of being picked. Not great odds, but not too bad.

The court registrar began checking who was present. Honey remembered this long, drawn out part from last time—the registrar read out the names of everyone on the list and you had to call out if you were there and say how far you’d travelled so they could reimburse expenses. The names were called alphabetically so hers was nearer the end.

“Summers, Honeysuckle?”

She called out, “Yes, thirty-three kilometres,” because she’d checked the distance before she got out of the car.

After that, for a while nothing else happened, and she drew out her book and tried to read for a while, but her mind buzzed and her stomach churned. In the end, she put the book away and tried to think about the weekend.

She was getting married. Married! This time next week, she’d be able to call herself Mrs. Concannon. She’d doodled her signature repeatedly, practising how to link the H and the C with a big loop. Over the past six months, thinking about the wedding had been one of her major joys—she’d whiled away many tedious moments ironing or sitting in the dentist or out walking by daydreaming about the big day, as well as by thinking about what she’d finally do to Dex once she got him into bed.

But for once, thinking about it didn’t settle her. She kept remembering the faraway look he’d had in his eyes, and his tender but rueful smile, as if he was trying to think how he could get out of it without hurting her too badly.

His denial that he’d changed his mind when she questioned him about it the night before had been vehement,