Then something unlocked. His palms came up slowly, finding her face, cupping her jaw. And he kissed her back.
Livia had meant it as a thank you. A simple, sincere, uncomplicated expression of gratitude that she had perhaps not thought all the way through before executing. A teaspoon of something sweet, freely given.
What she hadn't accounted for was Richard. For Richard, a teaspoon of water handed to a man who has been wandering a desert is not a kindness — it is a torment. He felt the softness of her lips, held her close and he took thoroughly, deeply.
The kiss stretched beyond thank you, beyond any reasonable interpretation of the gesture she'd originally intended, until the only thing that separated them was the fundamental biological need for oxygen.
They pulled apart. Richard took several steps back. His back found the wall and he stayed there, chest rising and falling with more effort than a single kiss had any right to demand.
