Read Online Not Quite Married by Betina Krahn - Free Book Online Page B

shoulders. That gentle ministration drew some of the tension from her.
    “Your eyes, on the other hand,” she whispered, looking up into his face, “are the color of a gold coin.” She swallowed hard. “Or is that just a reflection of the color you see when you look at me?
    Gold.”
    He studied her upturned gaze, searching her even as she was examining him.
    “If you truly believe that, why are you here with me?” he said, filling his hand with her hair, luxuriating in the feel of it.
    “Perhaps because you are curious?”
    “About what?” She glanced at the hand holding her hair.
    “This.” He released that hair and ran his fingertips down the side of her cheek, around her jawline and up her chin to her lips.
    “You’ve never been with a man. My guess is: You want to know what it’s like before you enter the life of a married woman who lives and sleeps alone. Or is celibacy your aim? You don’t seem to be the sort to loathe a man’s touch. Perhaps you have a lover who cannot wed you. . . .”
    “I have no lover. Nor will I take one after we part.” She jerked her head to break that contact with his hand.
    “A shame.” He gave a wry, quiet laugh. “I hope you do not expect me to make the same promise.”
    She turned her head sharply.
    “What you do after you leave this chamber is no concern of mine.”
    He absorbed the details of her smooth, unblemished skin, rose-colored lips, and feathery lashes. Her face was heart-shaped and filled with refinement, intelligence, and strain. And the tension of waiting was only making things worse between them.
    He slid his arms around her and pulled her stiff form against him.
    She braced her palms against his chest and stared uncertainly at him. He reeled her closer by degrees, overcoming her resistance but giving her time to adjust to the inevitability of his touch.
    What or who was there in her life that forced her on to such a radical course?
    Finally, they were chest to chest and breath to breath.

    “Close your eyes,” he ordered softly. “And tell me what you feel.”
    He watched her lashes flutter in protest, but then close as curiosity triumphed over trepidation. Her lips were tempting, but they had two whole hours and instinct warned him to go slower.
    He veered instead to her closed eyes and placed a gentle kiss on each of them. She drew a startled breath, but her eyes remained closed. He could feel her fear subsiding, being replaced by surprise.
    “Tell me,” he prompted. “What did you feel?”
    “Soft . . . it was delicate. It felt like a butterfly brushed me.”
    “Ummm. And this?” He stroked her face with his fingertips, tracing the contours of her cheeks, the rims of her eyes, the faint wrinkle in her brow.
    “Touches . . . gentle strokes . . . like a puppy’s tongue . . .”
    He chuckled. “And this?” He cupped her chin and ran the pad of his thumb slowly over her lips.
    “I . . . I don’t . . . it tickles.” She raked her lips with her teeth and they reddened.
    “I take it that’s a pleasant thing.” Unable to wait any longer, he lowered his head.
    Brien’s eyes flew open as his lips touched hers, but she quickly clamped them shut and concentrated instead on the sensations that contact produced. Warm, sensuous sliding, massaging, caressing, molding . . . for a time she forgot to breathe. When he ended the kiss, she looked up to see an odd look on his face, which melted into a grin.
    “Your turn.” When she hesitated, he shook his head. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered what it would be like to be the one doing the kissing. Here is your chance, sweetness.” He leaned close enough that his breath bathed her lips. “Kiss away.”
    How did he know she wanted that? Refusing to overthink it, she surprised herself with how surely she slid her arms up around his neck and pulled him down to meet her lips. A flood of pleasure washed over her, engulfing her in a tide of warmth that buoyed her and sent her on currents of