Chapter 8: The Cliff Stairs

For one second he didn't move.

Then he made a sound low in his chest.

His hands came up into my hair, and he kissed me back.

Five years I'd been kissed by a man who kissed like he was being photographed.

This wasn't that.

Haakon kissed me open-mouthed and hard and slow, his beard rough on my chin.

His big hands spread across the back of my skull and held me exactly where he wanted me.

He tasted like cold coffee.

I bit his lower lip, and he growled into my mouth.

He walked me backward two steps until the iron rail hit the small of my back.

The lake boomed against the rocks fifty feet below us.

I didn't care.

I had my fists in his shirt and I pulled him in harder.

He came, all of him, his chest flat against my breasts and his thigh pushing between mine.

I could feel how hard he was through his jeans, thick against my hip.

He wasn't hiding it.

"Kari," he said against my mouth.

Just my name.

He said it.

His mouth went down my jaw to the right side of my neck, the side without the scar.

He dragged his teeth over the pulse there, and my knees went out from under me.

He caught me with one arm around my waist and held me up against the rail and did it again.

I heard myself moan out loud, on a public staircase, where anyone on the terrace could hear.

"There," he said into my skin. "That's what you sound like."

"Shut up."

"No."

His other hand slid under the hem of my shirt and spread across my bare stomach, hot and rough, his thumb right under my breast.

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