The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

hands up to hold him off. “Just stop. I’ve never had anything tie me up like this. Instant attraction. I said I believe in it, and I do, but I’ve never felt it before. I have to think about it.”
    “Why?” It was a simple matter to reach out, grab her by the wrists, and tug her forward against him. “Why not just act on it when you know it’ll feel good? Your pulse is jumping.” His thumbs skimmed over her wrist. “I like feeling it leap like that, seeing your eyes go cloudy and dark. Why don’t you kiss me this time and see what happens next?”
    “I’m not as good at it as you are.”
    Now he laughed. “Jesus, woman, you’re quite the package. Let me decide for myself if you’re good at it or not. Come on and kiss me, Jude. Whatever happens next is up to you.”
    She wanted to. Wanted to feel his mouth against hers again, the shape and texture and flavor of it. Just now hislips were curved, and the light of fun was in his eyes. Fun, she thought. Why couldn’t it just be fun?
    With his fingers still lightly braceleting her wrists, she leaned toward him. And he watched her. She rose onto her toes, still his eyes stayed on hers. Tilting her head just slightly, she eased up to brush her lips over his.
    “Do it again, why don’t you?”
    So she did, mesmerized when his eyes stayed open, compelling hers to do the same. She lingered longer this time, brushing left, then right. Fascinating. Experimenting, she scraped her teeth lightly, over his bottom lip and heard her own quiet sound of pleasure as from a great distance.
    His eyes were so blue, as vivid as the water that stretched to the horizon. It seemed her world turned that single, marvelous color. Her heart began to pound, her vision to blur as it had that first time at Maude’s grave.
    She said his name, just one sigh, then threw her arms around him.
    The jolt rocked him to the soles of his feet, the sudden heat, the abrupt burst of power that whipped out of her and snaked around him like rope.
    His hands streaked up, over her hips, her back, into her hair to grip hard and fast. The kiss changed from a coy brush and nibble to a wild war of tongues and teeth and lips where body strained to body and pulse thundered against pulse.
    In that warm cascade of sensation, she lost herself. Or perhaps she found the Jude that had been trapped inside her—like a voice locked in a silver box.
    Later, she would swear she heard the stones sing.
    She buried her face in the curve of his neck and gulped in the scent of him like water.
    “This is too fast.” Even as she said it she locked herarms around him. “I can’t breathe, I can’t think. I can’t believe what’s going on inside my body.”
    He gave a weak laugh and nuzzled her hair. “If it’s anything to what’s going on inside mine, we’re likely to explode any second here. Darling, we could be back at the cottage in minutes, and I’d have you in bed in the blink of an eye. I promise you we’d both feel a good deal better for it.”
    “I’m sure you’re right, but I—”
    “Can’t go quite that fast, or you wouldn’t be Jude.”
    Though it cost him, he drew her back to study her face. More than pretty, he thought now, but solid as well. Why was it, he wondered, she didn’t seem to know just how pretty or just how solid she was?
    Because she didn’t, more time and more care were needed.
    “And I like Jude, as I’ve said before. You need some courting.”
    She couldn’t say if she was stunned, amused, or insulted. “I certainly don’t.”
    “Oh, but you do. You want flowers and words, and stolen kisses and walks in soft weather. It’s romance Jude Frances wants, and I’m the one to give it to you. Well, now, look at that face.” He caught her by the chin as an adult might a sulky child, and she decided insult won. “You’re pouting now.”
    “I certainly am not.” She would have jerked her face free, but he tightened his grip, then leaned down and kissed her firm on the mouth.
    “I’m the one who’s looking at you, sweetheart, and if that’s not a fine pout, I’m a Scotsman. It’s that you’re thinking I’m making fun of you, but I’m not, or not much anyway. What’s wrong with romance then? I’d like some myself.”
    His voice went warm and rich, like whiskey by the fire. “Will you give me long looks and warm smiles from across the room, and the brush of your hand on my arm? A hot, desperate kiss in the shadows? A touch”—he skimmed his fingertips over