Page 56 of Sweet Siren
She traced a fingertip along the outline of his lips. "And he would have likedyou."
He caught a breath.Waited.
She cupped his jaw and with her eyes on his mouth, she put her lips to his. Her kiss was fierce and hot, a brief brand of franticbliss.
She toreaway.
He groaned and brought her more deeply into his embrace. She came so easily. His tongue danced with hers, ravenous. This is what he'd craved for weeks. This is who he'd wanted formonths.
She pushed back, shock in her wide eyes. But in the next blink, she returned, her fingers sinking in his hair. This kiss was decadentfire.
He'd not known demand like this in ages. He kissed her once and again, stunned at her desire, mindless of his own, his whole bodyablaze.
She broke away, panting. "This isn't supposed tohappen."
"Why not,Liv?"
"Because you're different than Iimagined."
"The gossips you reject labeled me oneway—"
* * *
"And you are quite another,"sheadmitted.
Could she forgive him? Was her father's death the one that reformed him? If he had changed then, that was wonderful. But it hadn't changed her ownlife.
And to what extent was he responsible for that? Wasn't her father the one who bore responsibility for his own actions? His owndecisions?
Yet, here she was face-to-face with a different man than the one she'd thought she hated. Certainly a different man from herhusband.
He was dark, where her husband had been light. Blond, jovial, delicate David. As tall as she, slender, elegant. Agreeable. With nary a word of hate or anger. Lover of horses and dogs. Birds, too. He'd been as close to an angel any man could ever be. Too kind, too serene, he could not fight the disease that ate him from the inside out. He'd died as quietly as the morphine would allow, and on his lips praise for her, hope for her and rules to live by forCamille.
"Find a love to fill this void," he whispered to their young daughter who cried her eyes out that her precious papa was leaving them. "And help your mama to do thesame."
Camille's promise to him had been one she quickly fulfilled for herself. Her writing was her insurance that what she loved, she'd do each day. Who she loved would come later. When Camille loved, she would choose a man on animal instinct and blinddevotion.
But for Liv, no man had beckoned her to leave the walls of her self-imposed cloister. To emerge was to face society. A task she avoided if and when shecould.
The memory of David and the way he had loved her so blithely rippled thought her like a fast-flowing stream. He had been gentle and wise. No commander of ships or savior of slaves. No conqueror of opponents. No tycoon of railroads and real estate. No wizard with money. No lover of women. But a lover ofmen.
This man who held her was the living, breathing, blood red opposite. Dark to light. Swift to slow. Bold to mellow, soft and sweet. A man who desiredher.
The hackney rolled to astop.
To have Killian, to possess the fire that he embodied, to fuel the flames of passion that sparked in her veins, she had to have him now. Here. In Brighton. In her sweet little house where no one else could say her nay. Or carry tales. Or ridicule her for herchoice.
"Come inside withme."
Killian shook his head. "Liv..."
"Come inside." She put one finger to the corner of his firm and tempting mouth. "Don't you wantto?"
"I came to Brighton to hold you, kiss you, but Liv, if I go inside yourhouse..."
"I promise you'll come out intact," she said, hating that she sounded like she teased him. But she couldn't stop. Couldn't find seductive words. "I have brandy. No cigars, though, I'mafraid."
He gave a laugh and clutched hercloser.
