With everything returned to the basket, she stood. The wind frolicked about her face, flirting with her hair, teasing the ribbons of her bonnet. Lifting her face, she drew in a deep breath, then wrapped her arms about her. She'd worn a lilac cambric carriage dress, normally perfectly adequate in this weather, but here the wind rushed at her, sliding chill fingers through the fabric and along her body.
Beside her, Lucifer uncoiled his long length and stood.
She shivered.
An instant later, warmth fell around her; his coat settled over her shoulders. "Oh-" She half turned. He'd sidestepped the basket and now stood just behind her. She met his gaze briefly and prayed her reaction didn't show. She managed a small smile. "Thank you."
His body heat was trapped in the fabric; it slid like a warm hand down her spine. She turned further toward him. "I'm really not that cold. You'll freeze without your coat."
Before she could slide out of it, he caught the lapels and drew the coat more firmly around her. "I'm not cold."
Taking a firm hold of her
wits, she looked up, into his eyes. "Are you sure?"
Even as the words left her lips, she sensed the answer. She couldn't have missed it-his hard body was near enough to feel his heat, the all-too-tempting warmth. The wind pushed her, urging her into it. Into his arms.
His eyes, intensely blue, searched hers; his lips kicked up at the ends. "Why," he murmured, his hands sliding from between them, his head bending nearer, "do you think they call me Lucifer?"
If she'd been wise, she'd have stepped smartly back and told him she had no idea. Instead, she stood still, face tilted up, and let his lips settle on hers.
The kiss was pure heat-a source of wonderful warmth. It spread through her; she could almost believe she was thawing-nerves stretching, unfurling, luxuriating. The kiss teased, tantalized. She moved closer, drawn to him, needing to feel his chest solid against her breasts. They tingled, then ached, yet it wasn't with pain. His shirt was under her hands; she spread her fingers, feeling the fine fabric shift like a veil over hard muscle, over the roughness of hair; the flat disk of his nipple burned under her palm.
She felt that tempting power surge through him. She parted her lips and opened her mouth to him, and shuddered when he entered. So hot. She drank it in; she wanted more. She pressed her palms to his chest, pushed them up to his shoulders. Everywhere she touched was like a furnace, the steady pulsing heat of hot coals.
Her breasts were pressed to that heat; his hands had slipped beneath his coat and fastened about her waist. He held her tight against him, his thighs like granite columns on either side of hers. He was hard, ridged, rampant against her belly.
A wanton urge to shift her hips and caress that rampant hardness gripped her; in something near panic, she tamped it down, like putting out a fire. The flaring urge died; she sighed into his mouth and sank a little more against him.
He shifted, one hand rising to her throat. She felt a tug-he was pulling at her bonnet ribbons. She drew back from the kiss-the bow under her chin unraveled-
"Oh!" She grabbed at her hat as the wind whipped it from her head. She whirled and caught it.
Her feet twisted in the rug; she tipped backward, stumbled, and crashed into Lucifer. He caught her, tried to steady her, took a step back-
They tumbled over the picnic basket, large and solid in the middle of the rug. Lucifer ended sitting behind it with her in his lap. Shaking with laughter. Swinging his legs free of the basket, he lifted her-and turned her and sat her back in his lap.
He grinned at her. "We seem to be making a habit of landing on the ground with you on top of me."
She blushed. She should definitely have made every effort to struggle free, to escape from his arms and stand up. Safe. Instead, she sat there, warm to the core, her gaze fastened on his lips, a mere inch in front of her nose.
"Here-let me have that." He tugged her bonnet from her nerveless fingers; bemused, she watched as, reaching around her, he tied the ribbons around the basket's handle. "Now you won't worry about losing it."
He was a man who definitely understood women.
He straightened, his gaze fastening on her lips. He bent his head, fingertips sliding across the sensitive skin beneath her chin. She swallowed. "I'm not sure this is a good idea."
"Why not?" His lips brushed hers lightly-too lightly to satisfy the hunger welling inside her.
"I don't know." She couldn't drag her gaze from his lips.
They murmured, "Do you trust me?"
Her heart was pounding in her ears. Her lungs were so tight she couldn't breathe. She couldn't think, but she knew the answer. "Yes."
His lips lifted. "Then relax." They closed the distance and brushed hers; his voice was a whisper in her mind. "And let me show you what you want to know."
It was easy, so easy to do just that, to give him her mouth, to let herself flow, boneless in his arms. They held her, but not tightly. She felt cradled, protected, cared for.