Rosamund
His mouth was on mine, and the world fell away.
There was no thought behind it: no strategy, no negotiation, no careful weighing of consequences. One moment we were shouting at each other, our chests heaving, our faces inches apart, and the next his hands were in my hair, and my fists were twisted in his shirt, and the space between us ceased to exist.
He kissed me like a man who had been starving. Nothing like the controlled, possessive kiss from the ballroom or the stolen one in my bedchamber. This was raw and open and desperate, his mouth moving against mine with a hunger that bordered on anguish, as though he'd been holding this back for so long that the release of it was almost painful.
