Page 17 of New Storm Rising
Abruptly, the coach we were sitting in swerved, and the feelings rising up inside me were replaced by other, much less pleasant ones, rising fast inside my throat. Desperately, I threw open the coach window and leaned outside.
“Bleeeargh!”
Correction: puke-flavoured honeymoon.
“I hope you are enjoying the view, Mr Linton?”
“Sh-shut up!”
Reaching back into the coach, I made some less than complimentary gestures at Mr Rikkard Ambrose, only to realize I had let go of the window frame and nearly toppled headfirst out of the carriage. Crap! Why was this happening? Why was I still seasick? I was on land, wasn’t I? Or was I still on the ocean, riding in Poseidon’s personal carriage?
In that case, Poseidon could go frig himself!
“Say,” I groaned, clutching my protesting stomach. “Is there such a thing as landsickness?”
“Not to my knowledge, no,” came Mr Ambrose’s infuriatingly calm and non-nauseous voice from inside the coach.
“Then what the hell is this? Did I catch some sort of bug? Maybe we shouldn’t sleep in the same room tonight. I don’t want to infect you…”
Suddenly, I felt a strong hand grip my shoulders.
“I donotthinkthatwill be necessary.”
“But if I make you sick—”
Before I could get another word out, the hand that held me suddenly became a pair of hands and turned me around. Coming face-to-face with Mr Ambrose, I glanced down and away, avoiding his gaze. Not because I was feeling shy, of course! No, definitely not! This had nothing to do with the fact that I was a brand-new bride on her honeymoon.
“Hey!” I mumbled. “Don’t pull me so close. What if I’m really ill and—”
“I know the perfect cure,” he cut me off and, a moment later, his lips pressed onto my forehead, sending a surge of warmth through me. Warmth that rapidly turned into heat as his mouth wandered down my temple, leaving a searing trail in its wake. Slowly but surely, he approached my mouth, causing the flames inside me to grow into an inferno that—
Wait just a minute! My mouth?!
But I just…well…!
“Don’t!” I squeaked. “My mouth, I…I just…”
“I know,” Mr Ambrose said, capturing my chin in his hand, forcing me to look straight at him. “I don’t care.”
Then his lips descended.
That was the thing about Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He could give his own wife a pay cut without blinking an eye. But he could also do things like this, and really mean it.
As his rock-hard arms came around me, I felt my body relax and the queasy feeling in my stomach recede. The corners of my mouth curling up, I leaned into him.
“You know,” I whispered, giggling, “I’m aware you don’t like to spend a lot on food and drink, but I didn’t think you had becomethatdesperate.”
“Mr Linton?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“If you dare to start regurgitating right now, your pay shall be halved for the next six months.”
Suddenly, the urge to puke had completely vanished. Will you look at that? He really did have a cure!
Didn’t I have an amazing husband?
***
