Page 55 of The Artist and the Dragon

Malik

Malik’sheartstopped.Hismind emptied.

He could have died in that moment, and he would not regret it, because she kissed him. His heart thumped again—hard—beating against his ribs and bringing him back to life, back to the press of her soft lips against his.

Something in him snapped. He slid his fingers into her hair, tugging her closer while shielding her skull from the hard shelf behind it. His other hand sought her waist and, finding it, jerked her hips against his. Before she’d even touched him, his cock had gone hard. Her nearness had that effect. But now? Now he ached, he needed, he craved.

She kissed him. She wanted him.

And fucking Goddess above, she tasted like the sweetest wine, the best dessert.

Truly, when he’d sought her out, he only meant to make sure she was safe. But then she’d had to go and insinuate that he might marry someone else. It had broken the last of his restraint. All the months of denial, of holding back, of refusing to tell her exactly how he felt. She lit the match, but he was the one who tossed it onto the pyre of his plans.

She had to know. Had to.

There was no other, man or woman, in a world where she existed. All thought of anyone else had fled months ago. It was a mad thing, falling so hard so fast, especially for a woman who seemed to loathe him at the best of times, but desire was often void of reason.

He’d poured out his feelings like a man on his way to the gallows, one last confession before the end. She would either hang him with it or cut him free of the noose.

He’d thought she might run. Might refuse to answer. He’d been prepared for that.

But a kiss?

That was beyond his hopes.

Malik licked at the seam of her lips, and she parted for him with the softest, sweetest moan that had his abs clenching. Her fingers were curled in the hair at the base of his neck. Her scent filled his nose. As he deepened the kiss, she leaned into him, her breasts pressed against his chest, their legs nearly tangled together. Were they anywhere else, he’d be tempted to steal her away and have his way with her—if she’d let him, if she wanted that much.

It would be a lie to say he hadn’t stroked himself to thoughts of just that. That he hadn’t spent far too many daydreams pondering what she’d taste like, how her lips might feel against his.

But he hadn’t been prepared for her eagerness, for the passion with which she embraced him now.

He should have been, though. She was all fire and fury, and the more she tried to contain it, the more she held back, the hotter she burned when she finally let go.

And Goddess did she.

No kiss had ever been so powerful, had ever consumed him until he could barely tell where he ended and she began. Her tongue teased his, and he trembled. Trembled like a damned lad who’d never touched another.

She might be the Goddess reborn for all that he wanted to drop to his knees and beg for more of her attentions.

“Miss Kinsley?”

The male voice cut through his reverie like a slap to the face.

Goddess fucking damn it!

He ripped himself away from Bronwyn so fast that his scalp stung where a few strands of hair were yanked free. She stared at him—wide-eyed, flushed, panting—frozen with her hands still hovering as if he’d vanished into thin air. With his unnatural speed, he very nearly had.

If someone found them, their plans truly were doomed. They’d be the focus of gossip for weeks. A scandal to be caught together in such a position, in the home of another, their companions jilted. There would be no subtle inquiry into the nature and alliances of others. The inroads they’d made would be destroyed with a single misstep.

There would be no path to slay the dragons except slow inquest through others—for which they did not have time if they were to save the queen and, by extension, the king—or brutal, bloody methods that sacrificed innocents in the quest to slay the guilty.

And that … that he could not stomach, not even to save the sister of the woman he cherished above all others.

“Bronwyn?” The voice was closer now. Griffith for certain. A passing figure obscured the light spilling in from the hallway.

We’re not done,Malik mouthed before retreating with silence and speed to stand behind the open door.

Bronwyn, seeming to realize the trouble they were in, poked at her hair and smoothed the skirts of her gown. A few heartbeats and she hardly looked the worse for wear.

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