Page 38 of Love Is A Draw
CHAPTER 17
She was kissing him. Not merely letting him kiss her.
Against her better judgment—or perhaps because of it—Gail’s lips parted as Victor’s mouth met hers, and a rush of sensation swept her away. Warmth radiated from where they touched, spreading through her body in sharp, insistent waves. Her fingers clutched his coat, pulling him closer, needing him nearer as their motions grew urgent and raw.
She’d suspected Victor could share much with her—but this was a bond they couldn’t have predicted.
He was Grandfather’s only student—the one he loved as dearly as he loved her. “The best boy in the world,” he’d said.
She wanted brilliance. She desired connection. And she’d found both—in the boy her grandfather once praised and the man who had just saved her life. How could she not love him?
His strength surrounded her, his hands firm as they slid into her hair, holding her steady while his lips moved with deliberate confidence against hers. Her breath hitched as his perfect teeth grazed the soft curve of her lower lip, teasing before he deepened the kiss again. The air in the hackney grew thick, charged, every rattle of the wheels beneath them drowned out by the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears.
She had run from him—because wanting him frightened her more than anything. But the farther she fled, the sharper the ache became, until turning back felt inevitable, the only move that made sense. Now, close enough to touch, the distance between them dissolved, and the fear gave way to something fiercer: longing.
Victor’s body was unrelenting, all lean muscle and control, and when she pressed against him, everything answered in kind. There was a heat to him, a vitality that burned against her chilled skin, banishing the rest of the world. She felt his grip tighten, a low sound rising in his throat as she gave herself in full, her hands sliding up to his neck to anchor him to her.
Her head tilted back against the cushioned edge of the seat, offering herself to him without hesitation. Now everything was out in the open—the past, the stakes, the impossible conflict between their hearts and the tournament—she had nothing left to withhold. No defenses. No retreat.Love Is A Draw.
But a draw wasn’t a win, and yet kissing him seemed like a win. On the short run, but not for long, she feared. And she wanted now to last forever like in stories. In fairy tales, the princess looked for a prince in shining armor. She had thought herself too rational for fairy tales—but here he was.
The chess prodigy who made her grandfather proud—and the one man standing in the way of her future—that was her version of a dream come true. Or a tragedy in motion.
His lips broke away from hers, trailing a heated, deliberate path across her jawline and down the column of her neck. The rasp of his breath tickled her skin, setting off a series of tiny shocks as he lingered at the hollow of her throat. Her breaths came faster now, shallow and uneven.
“Gail,” he rasped, and the way he said her name resonated through her bones.
She gasped when his mouth found the sensitive curve just below her ear, her fingers tangling in his hair as the soft whisper of his lips sent a shiver straight through her. The sensation was maddening, the control entirely his, and yet it wasn’t enough. She tugged his face back to hers, her lips demanding as she captured his in a fierce and hungry kiss.
He answered her in kind, his groan vibrating against her mouth as their movements quickened, more frantic now. His hands traced a path down her sides, the edges of her bodice pressing beneath his fingers as though the thin fabric did nothing to shield her from him, or him from her.
Victor pulled back just enough to take a shaking breath. “Where did you learn to kiss like this?”
The question sent heat surging to her cheeks, though her lips curved in what she hoped was a semblance of composure. “Never learned,” she answered, breathy, unsteady. She exhaled softly, her hand splayed against the solid breadth of his chest. “Trying new moves.”
His dark eyes flashed, amusement and something far deeper sparking behind them. “New moves,” he repeated wryly, before his lips descended to hers again, fierce and unrelenting. “Best players in the world, the Tarkovs.”
His kiss unraveled her, setting her senses aflame as her body tilted toward him, wanting more than the confines of the hackney would allow. She could feel the length of his devotion in every motion, every press of his lips, every intake of his breath.
It wasn’t practiced or smooth. It was raw. Convincing. And yet beneath all of it lived a quiet ache. If she won the tournament, he would be sent away. If she lost it for him… she wouldn’t be herself.
Their love—if that’s what this was—might not survive the board between them.
And still, she couldn’t stop.
Even through the physical intensity, questions teased the edges of her thoughts. What came next? What happened when the ride ended and reality returned? But those questions flickered into irrelevance as his hands framed her face, the force of his affection leaving her trembling.
Victor’s lipshovered just above hers, both of them breathless. Gail’s chest rose and fell, the rhythm erratic, like his own. He felt her warmth, the press of her curves against him, the scent of damp silk and something floral and clean—her.
He should have stopped. It would’ve been the honorable thing to do. The rational thing. But it was too late. He couldn’t stop. Not with the feel of her still lingering on his mouth. Not when she’d kissed him like she meant to rewrite the rules of fate.
She’d given him her mind before—her fierce opinions, her strategy, her brilliance. But now she was giving him her body. Her trust. And worse—her future.
He leaned in again and kissed her even harder, less patient, less controlled. Her lips parted under his, and her breath caught, but she didn’t pull back. She met him with a hunger that unmade him, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer.
He deepened the kiss, one hand cupping her face, the other trailing down her wet bodice, following the curve of her waist. Her skin, even through the fabric, felt warm. She arched into him and made a sound—a whimper—and it undid him completely.
He slid his hand lower, feeling her tremble under his touch, and he groaned softly against her mouth. “I fell madly and deeply in love with you.”
