Page 43 of The Lightkeeper

And then I forgot all the reasons I had no place kissing her and covered her lush, parted lips with mine.

Chapter Eleven

Aurora

I was a rational person.Methodical. Observant. Okay, maybe not when it came to weather and waves, but I rarely did anything without being relatively certain of the outcome. But when I begged for another kiss from Kit Kinkade under the guise of research, I—rationally—expected two things:

One, he wasn’t going to agree. And two, if I ever did kiss him again, it would be exactly like the first time.

And I was wrong on both accounts.

As soon as I mentioned future kisses—a benchmark for future boyfriends—something snapped inside Kit and proved my first assumption wrong. His arm snaked around my waist like a massive steel chain, anchoring me to him, and then his mouth crushed mine.

And that was where he decimated my second assumption.

This kiss was nothing like the first time. I’d thought the fog of the fever heightened my senses; no, it had dulled them. This kiss was like being swept up in a sea of fire. Wave after wave ofheat drenched me with pleasure and soaked me with want. My hands curled into his shirt, holding desperately to him like I was nothing more than a buoy in the middle of his storm.

Within seconds, he’d made good on his promise: no kiss would ever be like this.Because no other man could kiss like Kit Kinkade.

To be fair, my sample size was small. My body biased. And my brain a little frenzied. But I was confident enough to claim it as scientifically proven.

No one could kiss like Kit Kinkade, and he was kissing me again. In spite of everything.

The knowledge drew a moan from my chest, success doused by the hunger for more. His mouth angled along mine, and this time, I didn’t wait for the probe of his tongue before I opened my lips and searched his out. Our breaths smashed together as our mouths tangled. My hands worked their way up around his shoulders, allowing my body to flush into his.

Our tongues slid and stroked, teased and tormented, the fire inside me burned so hot I was sure I’d disintegrate in his hold at any moment. But I didn’t—couldn’t—because the flame wanted something more. His hands moved, strong and deliberate from my hips. One snaked up my spine, cradling the back of my skull and imprisoning my mouth to his; the other moved lower. Over the dip in my back and onto the curve of my ass.

He let out a deep growl of hunger as he filled his hand with the flesh of my ass, and it sent the ache in my core into overdrive. My breasts weren’t the only thing large about me. I was lots of large curves packed into a short frame.And when he pulled back, I had a split second to think about being self-conscious, but the pure lust in his gaze ripped that thought to shreds.

“What’s the verdict?” he growled, nipping at my bottom lip and then my jawline.

“I think…” I sucked in a breath, lifting my hands to his cheeks, myfingers sinking into the soft pelt of his beard, holding him steady so I could catch his eyes. “I think you were right about the kiss but…”

One dark brow rose, and he grunted, “But what?”

My gaze roamed his face for a second, charging my courage with every evidence of lust in his expression, before I murmured huskily, “But what about everything else?”

For all my life, my brain has been my driving force—my strongest muscle. So strong, I’d been convinced for years that I didn’t need to be kissed or touched—that I didn’t need a man because I had mymen—my specimens.

But when he kissed me, the strength of my thoughts retreated and let all my physical urges and aches run wild. My heart pumped in my chest. My breasts felt heavy—swollen for his touch. My nipples pearled into painful peaks. And low in my stomach… between my thighs… my core clenched and squeezed with want.

I needed to know what else was possible—what else my body was capable of with him.

“Aurora…”

I tipped against him, shivering at the feel of his hardness that stretched from the breadth of his chest to the taper of his waist…and the thick rod of his erection wedged between us.

“I need to know,” I whispered, wanting more. “Please, Kit.”

He stilled for a second, and then, with another low rumble from his chest, he lifted me and carried me into the bedroom. Before coming to Friendship—before meeting Kit—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been carried. When I was a child, probably, but definitely not in the last decade. And in the span of the last four weeks, Kit had carried me three times. First, to save me from the wave, then when I feverishly almost collapsed less than a foot from where we’d been standing, and now. And for being one hundred percentcapable of moving myself, I was surprised how much I liked it.

I liked the things it did to his big muscles. I liked how it seemed like I weighed nothing to him—and I definitely weighed something. Several somethings plus whatever those delicious cider donuts I’d had every morning from the Maine Squeeze added. But mostly, I liked how it was his instinct when he knew how much I needed him—in whatever capacity—to haul me into his arms like a possessive brute and hold me.

I more than liked it. But there was no avoiding that now.

He kicked the door closed behind us, the wood rattling in the frame, and lowered us to the mattress. Him first, and me on his lap.My head spun in the current of his next kiss, as though this part of him had been locked away just as surely as he’d secluded himself in the lighthouse.

“Tell me what you need to know.” He framed my jaw with his hand and began to kiss along the side of my neck.

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