Читать книгу My Wicked Pirate - Rona Sharon - Страница 2

“Why don’t I remember you?” she asked. With his great height and very handsome head he was hardly invisible. “This is all quite astonishing.”

His thumb caressed her soft lips. “You couldn’t see me, You were guarded well.”

“I see you now,” she whispered, her gaze drawn to his mouth.

“Now you are mine.” He bent his head and brushed his mouth across hers. She stopped breathing altogether. His lips felt soft and warm, and when she didn’t recoil, they lingered, slow, tender, coaxing. She melted inside. Her eyelids sank. She felt his arms stealing inside her cloak, around her waist, pressing her to his torso. His heat, his scent—a musky blend of cognac, fire, and something else, more intoxicating than the sunny air or the salty breeze—tantalized her. He kissed her as one enjoyed a scoop of cream—thoroughly, unhurriedly. The tip of his tongue dampened her lips, seducing them to part for him. Though hesitant at first, she complied. Her tongue touched his, and a heady wave of pleasure swamped her.

Low sounds rose in his throat as her response gathered confidence and their kiss deepened. His mouth was no longer tame but hot and needful…