What a Week!

Happy Valentine’s Day. I hope you enjoyed yourself – spoiled your significant other if you’re in a relationship; spoiled yourself if you’re single because you still deserve it.

My great beastly Bearded Rogue was supposed to work today (he’s a bartender, holidays are, typically, out for us) but due to a snow storm, he got off early and we braved the lines at the store. Not because of the storm, but because Sunday’s are for shopping in our house.

It’s a day for kisses, however, and I just happen to write stories in which kisses make frequent appearances. Except, I have yet to write one… I have a scene that is ripe for a kiss, however, so you give me a few minutes and let me see what I can come up with…

“You are leaving.” The question – no, it was decidedly not a question – came from the door, and she paused her packing, hands frozen in midair.

Their eyes met across the length of the bedroom. Briefly, she wondered if he could see the evidence of her tears, but quickly dismissed it as of no matter. Newly engaged women often shed tears of joy, after all.

She owed him an explanation, and opened her mouth to provide one, but found she could only say, “I am.”

Her shoulders dropped, and she leaned against the window, letting the cold seep into her hot skin. She owed him everything, but could give him nothing. “We cannot be, Rupert. It does not work, and you know this.”

He closed the distance between them, sweeping her into an embrace. Before she could protest, his lips crashed down upon hers. Despite an outward appearance of calm, she was eager for the kiss, for it would be the last they shared, and she wanted to savor every moment of it.

He took his time, slowly parting her lips with his tongue, and she knew she would relive this kiss for the rest of her days. When his lips left hers to trace the vein that led to the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat, she thought she would catch fire. Surely the frost upon the window panes would be melted from the contact.

All too quickly, the embrace ended, and she was cold again.

He laughed at her obvious discomfort, a bitter sound so unlike the laughter she had coaxed so many times over the months of their acquaintance. His eyes grew hard, and the temperature in the room felt as if it had dropped several degrees. “You would kiss me like that, then tell me nothing lies between us, Fig? You could lie to me? To yourself?”

She pushed away, unable to face the censure in his eyes. She desperately wanted to cave in, to confess all, but she could not find the words.

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