Page 97 of Reckless Kiss

“I need the job to start, and then I can get the mortgage on the little house we chose. When I have those two, I will be worthy of going to your father to ask permission to marry you.”

He stopped what he was doing and came up and covered her body with his. Her legs parted wider to accommodate his thighs between hers.

“I don’t care what my father says. I want you as my husband,” Cynthia said, pushing her chest against his. Then, desperate to feel his weight, she curled her hand around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

Cynthia canted her hips to move him where she needed him, and he dropped his hand to get the perfect angle. Then he pushed inside her body with a long exhale, leaning his head on her shoulder. She moaned as he pushed in as far as her body would let him, feeling him fill her perfectly.

Jonathan stayed still but kept talking. “I’m not a local, and I don’t think your family has accepted me as a local. I probably wouldn’t for another fifty years. So I must do everything right by you. You’re too precious to skip formalities, especially with the Turner Family’s name everywhere on this island.”

Jonathan moved. Slowly at first, then with faster and shorter thrusts as he used his hips to get them there.

“It’s all nonsense.” Cynthia panted outall pomp and ceremonyas she closed her eyes to the dizzying pace Jonathan was setting.

“Still-” Jonathan said, squeezing her breast with one hand and rearing up on his other hand to get a different angle. He slammed into her hard, watching as Cynthia’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she let go with a muted cry as he dropped his head to kiss the corner of her mouth.

“Thank God you don’t want to follow all traditions,” Cyn said and sighed, raising her hips.

Jonathan glanced up at her face and gave her a dazzling smile. She would never tire of his gaze, scruffy hair, and soft smile.

“I love you so much,” she said.

“And I love you too,” he replied, thrusting until he tipped over the edge and grunted into her neck.

Chapter 44

Cynthia hurried along the sandbanks as best she could in the shifting grains. It felt like the worst analogy to her life. Her timing had to be perfect to tell her father she wanted to marry Jonathan Cranford. Today was that day. She left Jonathan where they were sunbathing like she always did when they met secretly. He would head back in half an hour to his rented rooms above the Boyle’s Butchers.

Jonathan wanted to wait to get married, but she didn’t. Instead, Cynthia wanted to be married before he started his new job at the school and her new job at the port offices.

The secrecy of their relationship added to the thrill of their growing love. She’d met him when he got lost and wandered onto the private Turner land the previous summer. She chewed him out for not looking at the signs statingprivate property,and he yelled back, telling her the story of how he lost his glasses on the rocks. After a couple of barbed comments back and forth, they stared at each other, panting from their arguing. He took one step forward, and then so did Cynthia. Two more steps and he had her in an embrace, kissing the life out of her.

No one had ever kissed her like thatin her life,and she didn’t let him go for twenty minutes. It had been the same intensity ever since.

Running full pelt across the lawns, she slipped through the side door into the kitchens, skirting around Cook and then up the back stairs to the main foyer. Poking her head around the door, she looked at her grandfather’s open study doorway and listened to see if he was in there.

“He’s out with Bailey.”

Cynthia jumped out of her skin as a squeak escaped her lips. She stepped out from behind the door and saw her brother, Freddie, leaning against the stone wall at the foot of the stairs.

“You scared the shit out of me, Squidge,” she said and placed her hand flat on her chest.

“That’s a sign of a guilty conscience. Out with Jonathan, were we?” His laugh was good-natured, but still irritated her. He was twelve years younger than her, and she felt their age gap most when he teased her.

“That’s none of your business. How’s Imelda?” She came back with the retort.

Freddie gave her a wide grin, showing all his perfectly straight teeth. “She is the sweetest woman to walk this earth. I’ll tell her you were asking after her.”

That wasn’t what she was aiming for with her comment. It was supposed to shut him up. Cynthia was attempting to be smarter than her brother, and it was an effort not to lower herself to squabbling. Their sparing mainly was friendly but sometimes not.

“Told Dad about her yet?” Cynthia asked, coming out of the stairwell and onto the marble floor to face Freddie. Leaning against the stone wall at the bottom of the stairs, he had an air of coolness about him. He wore chocolate brown flared trousers that were so tight fitting from the high waist to his knees it surprised her their mother didn’t ask him to change into something more appropriate. Freddie wore a skin-tight, long-sleeved bright yellow top. He was all about fashion. His girlfriend, Imelda, was too. Freddie had been going out with Imelda for a year, the same time, she had been seeing Jonathan secretly. Except Freddie knew. Cynthia had told him, but as a pre-emptive strike as Imelda was Pete and Betty Boyle’s daughter and lived in the same house as Jonathan.

Cynthia loved dressing in floaty dresses with her long, loose hair. Jonathan especially liked the loose dresses to let his hands wander.

“No. Have you told Father about Jonathan?”

“I’m telling him today, as a matter of fact.” Cynthia could hear her hoity-toity voice, but he was grating on her nerves. She could never school her annoyance.

“Good timing,” he said, pointing at her. But, then, his face dropped all humour.

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