A Little Night Muse(24)

                “Adelyn...”

                “No more names.” She shifted to her knees to face him, shoving                     aside the satchel. The motion dislodged the knot of the towel—just as he had                     known it would—and the fabric unspooled around her.

                He inhaled sharply at the unveiling, but he had only a glimpse                     of her curved hips and dark-peaked breasts before she leaned in and kissed                     him.

                Her mouth slanted across his, and the tingle of the salve                     jolted all the way through him. Unbalanced on the bulk of the comforter below                     them, she rocked into him. He gripped her shoulders to steady her, and the                     warmth of her skin under his palms made his fingers clench reflexively. To hold                     her like he’d never let go.

                He forced himself to gentle his grip, and he slid one hand                     upward, into her hair. With a groan, he found the black strands even more silky                     than he had imagined. Anchored in her hair, he tipped her head and deepened the                     kiss.

                For a second, she stiffened, as if surprised, but then she                     widened her mouth to accommodate him. Her tongue teased his with matching                     fervor.

                Whatever was in that salve—the heat and the shiver—seemed to                     spread with the invisible curls of the perfume until his senses were awash. He                     tasted the sunlight in her, and the darkness, and it threatened to sweep away                     that last of his sense. He could only cling to her and the long, slowly sinking                     kisses.

                She laughed against his mouth. “Bend me like your soft metals.                     Shape me to your dreams.”

                A dream. That explained it all. A fever dream, he was so hot                     with wanting her. His whole body tightened as if from a sunburn, as if he stood                     too close to his forge.

                But it wasn’t a dream, he knew that. She was real, a real woman                     in his arms. He tried to pull back, to push some fresh air between them, and                     they both gasped as their lips separated.

                The space only gave her room to slide her hands up inside his                     shirt. The pearl snaps popped one after the other, from navel to neck. Air                     rushed across his bare chest—like oxygen into a fire—and set his blood                     raging.