Page 5 of Crash Landing
Was this meant to be a farewell gesture as Lord Frampton came upon them and killed them? Did Aubrey believe this ambitious lord was so depraved?
Florence’s senses were too addled for her to think straight. She tried to run through all the reasons, other than impending death, why Aubrey would want to kiss her, but could think of none.
However, she knew he was no coward, was actually fairly intelligent, and would never meekly resign himself to dying.
Trust him.
He had told her to trust him, and so she did.
When another shot rang out, she grabbed hold of his divinely muscled shoulders and held on for dear life as he deepened the kiss.
Mother of pearls.
Why exactly was he giving her the hottest, most insanely wild kiss she had ever experienced in her soon-to-be-ended life? In truth, this was not saying much, because she had never been seriously kissed in a romantic way before this very moment.
But he was kissing her like a demon, and nothing had prepared her for the conquering crush of his lips on hers, or the relentless—but thoroughly exquisite—pressure of his mouth as it fused with hers, so that she was certain they would have to break the suction in order to draw apart.
They would eventually, of course. Both of them had to come up for air sometime soon.
But not yet, please.
If they were to die, could there be a better way to go?
Heat coiled through her and stirred her in places that she did not know existed on her person.
Was this not the saddest comment on her love life?
She pressed into him, still not understanding his purpose in devouring her, body and soul.
Then it came to her in a sudden revelation.
This was how he meant to convince Lord Frampton she was not the interloper he had spotted spying on his home. This shockingly intimate kiss was meant to serve as her alibi, since she could not have been up a tree, binoculars in hand, peering into his house, while at the same time on this lovely sand beach frantically locking lips with the scorchingly hot Duke of Weymouth.
And since Aubrey had tossed her binoculars into the underbrush, they would never be found on her person should Lord Frampton be so loathsome as to order her searched.
Quick thinking on his part. In fact, all-around good thinking by this clever man. Not only did his action deflect suspicion, but it also made their claim to have seen no one else in the woods believable, assuming Frampton bothered to ask.
An entire army could have marched past them and she would not have noticed a single soldier while this impossibly handsome duke was kissing her with enough heat to melt the icecaps atop the Alps.
For this reason, she went along with the ruse and made not theslightest protest when his hands began to roam up and down the length of her.
However, those little fires he was setting off everywhere in her body were proving most embarrassing. The cur had to know he was affecting her.
She bit his lip lightly when he cupped her bottom, because this was supposed to be an evasive tactic, not a really, really enjoyable moment for either of them.
Much as shewasenjoying herself.
Was there a point to prolonging this performance that would earn them a standing ovation if ever reenacted in a Covent Garden theater?
Not that she objected to being seduced and conquered by this golden-haired dream of a man with eyes that were sharp as razors and incredibly seductive. Cold. Clear. Pale-green ice. Eyes that could freeze you and also melt you.
Was it her fault she was melting right now?
Florence needed a moment to regain her composure once he ended their kiss. The cad cast her a smile that promised of torrid nights if he ever got her into his bed.
Oh, gad.
How was she ever going to resist him now? Not only was he handsome as sin, but…who had muscles like his?
