I ran my hand through my hair, holding a handful of it as I recalled. "Walter. My father went away a couple weeks later and Walter spent the weekend teaching me how to swim. He wore this weird black suit that went from his knees to his neck." I chuckled softly recalling how Walter had had me practice over and over in the shallow water until I felt confident enough to go in the deep end, and then he'd come with me and let me hang on his shoulders until I told him I was ready to let go. "Later that year, I taught my brother to swim anytime my father was away so when he eventually tossed him in the deep end, he swam like a little fish. My father was so proud," I said, trying to sound ironic, but the statement came out with the true pride I felt. I had been proud of my brother and proud I'd secretly helped him avoid the terror and guilt I'd faced. I sighed, my hand dropping down by my side.

"It wasn't your fault," she said softly, seeming to know what I was thinking. "What your father did to you was an evil, awful thing to do to a little boy. Oh, Grayson, I'm so sorry you experienced that." She put her hand on my cheek, her expression gentle and filled with compassion. How wrong I'd been about the little witch. How completely, utterly wrong. As I looked into her forgiving eyes, something inside me felt as if it unclenched and began to drift away.

Why had I shared that story with her? She had this way of drawing out honest confessions from me. Was it because, tonight at the restaurant, amongst all those staring eyes, she had sought to make me feel as if someone was on my side? Was it because she was planning something—a party—in an effort to help me elevate my social standing in people's eyes, for no reason other than she cared and thought she could do something to help? Or was it because I suddenly felt this unexpected friendship and understanding from my unpredictable little wife? Or was there some kind of spell floating on the mist tonight?

"Sweet, beautiful witch," I murmured, pulling her down to me so I could kiss her. I wrapped my hands in her thick, silken hair as our lips met. She tensed, but didn't pull away and I traced her lips with my tongue slowly until she opened for me. Pulling her closer, I delved inside, exploring the wet silken contours of her mouth, heat coiling through my body, heating my blood. When she finally began participating, I wanted to groan with satisfaction, but I didn't want to do anything to break the spell and have her pull away. I brought my hands down to run up and down her back, and after a few moments, I felt her muscles relax. Our first kiss had been harsh and challenging, our second ravenous yet tender, but this one was slow, sensual, as if our mouths were making love. I'd kissed countless women in my life, but I'd never experienced a kiss like this one. It confused me almost as much as it aroused me. Before she could react, I moved her—quickly but fluidly—so she was under me and I was hovering above her, my weight on my hip to the side of her body on the lounge chair. She blinked up at me as if uncertain about what had just happened. I wanted to pull her fully against me so she could feel the full extent of my arousal, but I instinctively knew that would be the wrong move right now. My little bride needed to be slowly warmed to passion tonight, and I was all too willing to do whatever it would take. The quick spark earlier in the day had scared her off for some reason—a reason I'd find out, but not tonight. Tonight wasn't about anyone except us.

Her hair was splayed around her, her lips shining with the wetness of my kisses, and her eyes regarded me with hazy passion and just a touch of wariness. I leaned in and kissed her again, my body tensed with the effort to hold back. I wanted to strip off her clothes and plunge in to her soft, tight heat right here. My body was pulsing with need. I started to pull the straps of her sundress down and she made a small squeak of protest, so I halted, but leaned in and kissed her neck, dragging my lips down her soft, fragrant skin, darting my tongue out to taste her. She leaned her head back and arched up into me, and I took the opportunity to pull her dress down so her breasts popped free. I looked down, not able to repress the deep animal groan that rose from my throat at the sight of her beautiful, full breasts right in front of me. "You have the prettiest nipples I've ever seen," I murmured. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about them." I leaned in and kissed one and Kira let out a small feminine gasp. At the sound, my cock hardened to painful proportions. "I've wanted to taste them and suck on them since I walked in on you the other day," I admitted, my lips against her skin as I kissed the other breast. "I've wondered if they taste as sweet as they look."

"Grayson," she groaned, tangling her fingers in my hair. I lowered my mouth to one stiff peak and licked at it, swirling my tongue around and around.

"God, you do," I moaned, "taste as sweet as you look."

"I said we shouldn't . . . this isn't . . ." Her words left off in a breathy sigh. A few seconds later, those breaths turned to pants. At her response, I wrapped my lips fully around her nipple and suckled, pulling it into my mouth and then using my tongue to soothe it gently. She cried out, pulling at my hair. "Oh God, Gray," she groaned. "You, we have to—"

"Shh, little witch," I soothed, taking the other nipple in my mouth and sucking gently before pulling back. "Let yourself enjoy this."

I eased her thighs apart, putting one of my knees between them. She gazed up at me with eyes unfocused and drugged with arousal. A primitive male triumph made my gut clench, and I pressed my erection against her belly as I leaned in to kiss her again. Her body suddenly went rigid and she turned her head. "No," she said, her voice soft and still scratchy with passion.