"Did you think I was going to hit you?" I asked, incredulously.

She blinked up at me with those gorgeous eyes, suddenly looking uncertain and very young. Tenderness filled my chest, replacing any anger I'd felt. "I'd never hit you."

She nodded at me. "I . . . I know," she said, but the tone of her voice told me she wasn't completely sure.

"Gray? Kira?" I heard Charlotte from behind me, but I didn't look up, and Kira didn't turn her head. I didn't move off her.

"We're fine, Charlotte," I said emphatically.

"I heard—"

"We're fine, Charlotte," I repeated. "Give us a minute, please."

She hesitated for a moment, and then I heard her footsteps moving away.

Kira was still watching me with large, wary eyes. Did she think because I'd been arrested for hitting someone, that I'd strike her? No, she had only ever acted fearlessly with me, never backing down until we were in this particular position.

"Someone hit you before," I guessed.

Her gaze held contact with mine. "Yes," she whispered. I closed my eyes, exhaling a long breath. When I opened my eyes, she was still looking at me, her stare fixed on the cut on my jaw, the one I'd completely forgotten about. In truth, it was barely a flesh wound. That dumb ribbon must have hit me just right—what were the odds of being sliced by a ribbon?

"I hurt you," she said, her voice full of regret. My body was pressed into hers, her light flowery scent surrounding me, her lips parted just slightly. Her eyes were full of tender concern and so beautiful my heart ached.

I couldn't stop myself. I lowered my lips to hers. She startled slightly, and after a tense moment where we stared into each other's open eyes, she relaxed back into the couch and brought her arms up and around my neck, her lids fluttering closed.

I groaned and used my tongue to trace the full contours of her lips before slipping inside the warm recesses of her mouth. She tasted like sweetness and fire, her tongue reaching out to tangle with mine as I brought my hand under her body and stroked the curve of her spine. She arched up into me. The kiss took on a feverish intensity as our tongues played, mine dipping into her mouth in a penetrate-and-withdrawal pattern as old as time. Lust, as sharp and sudden as lightning, arced between us. She felt so right under me. I felt my control slipping, and the shock of that feeling was as surprising as it was worrisome. I broke my lips from hers and stared into her face—her cheeks flushed, her lips wet and red from my kiss, her eyes half lidded. Stunning. Picking up a lock of mahogany silk and feeling it in my fingers, I murmured gently, "This hair . . ." She blinked up at me, her expression taking on a cautious confusion. She wriggled and I hissed in a gasp of air as she moved against my hard, aching groin. She slipped out from under me and I sat up abruptly. She stood looking down at me, and I reached out to her with my hand, but she backed up instead, looking at me almost accusingly. I opened my mouth to say something—I had no idea what—but before I could, she turned, and again, she ran.

CHAPTER TEN

Kira

I had no idea what had happened. I thought he was going to kill me one minute—eyeing me with that predatory intensity—and the next minute he was kissing me! My lips still tingled from the feel of his mouth on mine and I raised my fingers to them, pressing gently to feel the tenderness as if I might have dreamed what just happened.

Even worse than the fact that he'd kissed me, was how deplorably I'd responded to him. Again. My mind had been prattling relentlessly in the background about why I should pull away. But I hadn't been able to force myself to listen, instead letting him know exactly how much I'd liked it. How humiliating.

Especially after what he'd pulled on our wedding night.

Flopping down on my bed and causing the rusty bedsprings to creak, I stared up at the ceiling, confusion racing through my system. I had been avoiding him and vice versa since the day he'd gone on a date with another woman and presumably slept with her as a matter of fact. I pressed my lips together at the memory of that day, but did my best to shrug it off as I'd been doing since it happened. Mostly successfully. And, when necessary, with the help of the few bottles of wine I now kept in my cottage. Being married to Grayson Hawthorn was going to turn me into an old drunk who lived in a dirty gardener's shack. The plan to improve my circumstances was going splendidly so far!

I groaned aloud, my thoughts moving back to Grayson. He hadn't enjoyed the tree climbing and had appreciated the tractor dancing even less, but who cared? He was a dragon that ran hot and cold. Plus, I was bored. And my father said too much excess time on my hands always brought out the worst in me. He was probably right on that score at least. Life was full of so many possibilities—why should you spend even one day of it being bored? What I needed to do was drive to San Francisco and spend a couple weeks working at the various charities I supported. I longed to be busy in a way that made a difference to others. I hadn't gone because I wanted to take several checks with me. I also wouldn't be able to afford even a temporary place to stay until I got our official marriage license and the trust money came through.

Marriage license . . . Grayson. My husband. Who had kissed me! I didn't understand it because he'd made it so perfectly clear I wasn't his type, and I shouldn't get any ideas. And then he'd done that? It had to have been out of anger; there was no other explanation. Surely he hadn't really wanted to kiss me. Surely it was similar to the first time he'd kissed me: an attempt to gain the upper hand. We could move past this. We just needed to go back to ignoring each other. And I had to control my impulsive escapades for once in my life. Right?