Page 22 of A Wicked Game

She turned her head sideways, just a fraction.

He moved his head at the same time.

His chin brushed her neck and then—oh, heavens!—was that the touch of his lips on the sensitive skin behind her ear?

Harriet almost groaned, then remembered she had to stay quiet. She bit her lip instead, and tilted her head, suddenly bold in the cocoon provided by the darkness.

Morgan’s cheek slid against hers. Dear God, if she turned her head just a fraction, he’d be kissing the corner of her mouth!

Was he teasing her?Testingher? Trying to make her embarrass herself by inviting a kiss only to have him laugh in her face?

Her pulse was pounding in her ears. The urge to capture his mouth was almost unbearable, but there was nospace to turn around. Frustration and lust simmered in her blood, even as she acknowledged that it was probably for the best. Kissing Morgan Davies would be a mistake of epic proportions. He’d never let her hear the end of it; he’d brag about it in front of the others and shame her mercilessly forevermore.

Out in the clearing, Gryff gave a frustrated curse. His footsteps retreated and Harriet slid sideways, disengaging herself from Morgan’s embrace.

He made no murmur of protest, and she didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. She stepped between the stones, peering left and right to make sure Gryff really had gone, then ran off through the trees without a backward glance.

It was only later, as she’d lain in her bed, that she wished she’d been brave enough to claim that kiss for herself.

Chapter Nine

“Doyou remember?” the adult Morgan purred, jolting Harriet back to the present.

His mouth was hovering tantalizingly close to hers, his breath tickling her lips, as he deliberately played out the moment to torture her.

“Yes.”

“I should have kissed you. I’ve thought about it a thousand times since. How your lips would feel on mine.” His voice was a dreamy whisper, reaching into her chest, curling around her heart and squeezing. “Admit it. You’ve thought about it too.”

His shocking admission made her heart pound, but she rallied gamely. “Not once.”

“Liar.”

He was still watching her. The corners of his eyes crinkled. She could almost feel his smile against her lips.

“Iknowyou, Harry. You’re desperate to know. It’s killing you. You thirst for knowledge the same way I thirsted for water in that cell on Martinique. You need to know what’s missing off the edges of the map.”

Pride made her snippy. “I could have kissed a hundred men while you’ve been away.”

For a split second he paused, and she congratulatedherself on a direct hit. And then his big hand slid to the side of her neck and she sucked in a breath as he found her pulse beating an erratic betrayal.

“You haven’t.” His certainty was breathtaking. “But even if you had, this won’t be the same. You’ve been waiting for this, Harry. Been waiting forme.”

She ought to kick him for his monumental arrogance, but it was hard to argue with facts.

And then his lips touched hers and she forgot what she’d been about to say.

She was kissing Morgan Davies!Or, rather, he was kissing her.

His lips were a diabolical combination of soft and hard—how could they be both?—but she kept her own lips firmly closed. Yes, she’d dreamed about this for years, but to react now would be the worst sort of capitulation. He was only using the opportunity to tease her, or to satisfy some perverse childhood curiosity. Or maybe to punish her for being the mapmaker who’d run him aground.

One… two…

He pulled away. “You’re not kissing me back.”

“I was counting to ten.”

He paused, and she could sense his exasperation. “Well, I don’t trust you to keep an accurate count.”

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