The kiss deepened, shedding the last of his restraint. It wasn't about strategy anymore; it was about the raw, unfiltered relief of finally being where he belonged. He lifted her easily, her boots dangling as he carried her toward the hearth. He didn't bother with the armchair or the table. He simply let her slide down his body until her feet touched the rug, his hands remaining pressed against the small of her back to keep her trapped against him.
"You're trembling," he noted, his voice a low vibration against her skin.
"It's cold," she lied, her fingers busy with the fastenings of his heavy coat.
"You're lying." He kissed her again, a slow, thorough exploration that made her head swim. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression a strange mix of triumph and tenderness. "I can feel your pulse against my palm. It's not the cold."
She smiled, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair. "Maybe it's the anticipation."
