Rosamund
It wasn't a gentle kiss. Nevan was using his mouth to wage war with me.
His mouth was claiming mine with a ferocity that stole the air from my lungs, his hand gripping the back of my neck, his body pressing against mine as though he could absorb me through sheer proximity.
I should have shoved him away. Every rational thought in my head was screaming at me to resist, to maintain the walls and to remember who this man was and what he'd done, but my body didn't listen.
The world around us disappeared. My fingers fisted in his coat, dragging him closer. My other hand found the back of his neck, pulling him down to me, and I kissed him back with every ounce of fury and frustration and confused, treacherous desire that had been building inside me since the first time his cold lips had touched my hand.
