She frowned when he looked as though he was going to say something more but didn’t. There was a hesitant air about him.
“What is it?” she said, her fingers idly undoing the buttons of his white shirt. She ran her hands inside, memorising the softness and warmth of his skin.
“My mother won’t give me any longer than a year.”
She frowned and pushed his black jacket off his shoulders, tugging it down his arms and removing it. He was wearing far too much clothing for her liking.
“A year for what?” she said idly, only half paying attention, and leaned towards him. She pulled his shirt open and kissed his neck, laving it with her tongue and smiling inside when he tilted his head back and to the side to give her better access. She kissed upwards and sucked his earlobe into her mouth. He moaned.
“To have a wedding.”
She pushed off him, her eyes wide and her heart thundering. “A wedding?”
“You took her son away... her only unmarried son... from his wedding. She’ll want a replacement one.” He pulled her back to him, his lips teasing her neck and making her blood burn.
A wedding?
He wanted her to marry him.
She grinned.
“Say it again and I’ll think about it.” She continued to smile even when he frowned in confusion. “What you said to me before.”
Realisation dawned in his eyes. He pulled her closer to him, until their mouths were almost touching. His fingers threaded into her hair.
“Iskara no tatui sem do skiattai aishin,” he whispered against her lips. “I wish to be always yours and that you’d let me love you.”
She kissed him softly and sighed against his mouth. “I want that too. I want to be always yours and that you’d let me love you too.”
His lips claimed hers and she closed her eyes, surrendering to him completely. She knew he loved her as she loved him.
“Marry me,” he whispered with urgent need, giving her the impression that it would be a lot less than a year before he wed her.
She’d be a fool not to.
Besides, now that he had her, he clearly wasn’t going to let her go. His words hadn’t been a question. They’d been an order, a command, a request. He was going to marry her whether she liked it or not.
She smiled against his mouth.
No one said no to a son of Lyra.
He palmed her breasts and suckled her neck, alternating between kisses and playful bites. She leaned into his heated touch, melting all over again at the firmness of his grip on her and his hungry kisses.
Now she knew why people didn’t say no to them.
He devoured her neck as he unzipped her flight suit.
When he was close to her, when he touched her, she only had one word in her vocabulary.
She leaned her head back and moaned at the ceiling.
“Yes.”
The End
###
About the author
Felicity Heaton is a great believer in love at first sight and the romantic ideal. Having grown up reading extensively, she developed a deep love of classical literature, ranking Jane Eyre, North & South, and Persuasion amongst her all time favourite reads. The most romantic moment of her life was when her husband got down on bended knee on the steps of Sacré Coeur, Paris, at night in front of several hundred spectators and proposed. She was too drunk on love, and subsequently champagne, to care about the audience. All she could see was the man that she loved. A writer of emotion and life, she always strives to touch a chord of familiarity in her readers and give them characters they can love and a read to remember.
Connect with me online:
Website: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/felicityheaton
Blog: http://felicityheaton.blogspot.com/
Sons of Lyra: Stranded Page 5