Page 17 of From London, With Love
Alexandra bowed her head, praying for strength. “I need for you to kiss me,” she whispered.
And… nothing.
Nothing came. No answer. Not even a sucked in gasp of breath.
The ensuing silence lingered for so long, that a sudden spark cracking in the grate startled them both.
It broke her from her silence.
“Forget that I asked,” she said, turning abruptly and sweeping toward the door.
Or, at least, that was her intention.
“Wait.” Gideon reached out, his hand pressing against the wall, and she found herself trapped between the overwhelming press of his body and the warmth of the fireplace behind her. “I wasn’t saying no. You caught me by surprise. I had assumed you were not…. That is…. You practically fled from me last time.”
“It wasn’t because of you,” she admitted, and it galled that she must even confess to this. The words came in a rapid spill. “When you kissed me, I was fine. I… I wanted you to kiss me. But the moment you pressed me against the wall, all I could see was him. All I could feel was the hard press of his hands—”
She turned away, balling her fists.
“Alexandra.” A whisper of fabric indicated he’d moved.
She could sense him behind her. Sense the heat of his body in a way she’d never felt from her coldblooded husband.
“I cannot marry if I can barely stand to be touched,” she admitted, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I cannot produce an heir for the realm if the mere presence of a man in my bed makes me recoil. I can’t— You’re the only one whose kiss doesn’t make me feel ill. If you taught me how to be kissed, how to be touched, perhaps I could stand it. Perhaps I could forget him. Perhaps I could endure another marriage.”
“Turn around,” he said.
“Must I?” For the truth was written large upon her face, and she didn’t think she could control it, just this once.
Gentle fingers brushed against her spine, sending a shockwave of sensation through her. “Please.”
Alexandra turned.
Gideon’s dark eyes swam with sorrow. She could spend hours drowning in those eyes, swimming in the depths of the man who wore them.
If only….
“Why didn’t you say something?” he whispered, the backs of his fingers brushing against her cheek.
“What woman wants to admit to such shortcomings?”
His expression hardened. “They are notyourshortcomings. The fault for this lies entirely with your husband. I would kill him for you and set him on bloody fire, if he was still alive.”
“I don’t want that,” she whispered back. “He is dead. He is gone. Rotting in the ground for all I care. I just want to forget him. I want to forget his face, his voice, his… touch. Make me forget, please.”
Cupping her face in both hands, he tilted her lips toward his. Their eyes met, and she was reassured by the warmth and compassion she saw in his gaze.
“I shouldn’t kiss you,” he whispered, brushing his mouth across hers.
“Why not?” she breathed, wilting into the gentleness of his touch.
“Because it makes me want what I can’t have,” he admitted hoarsely.
And then he captured the gasp on her lips.
It stole her breath. Burned through her, as though sheer exhilaration raced through her veins. She felt like she was sixteen again, yearning for all the things she didn’t quite understand, before the prince consort had stolen away that future by forcing her into marriage.
This. This was precisely what had happened the last time Gideon had kissed her.
