Again, she gave a little shake of the head.
“Well, then. That’s why.” He brushed his lips over hers, just lightly, sending pure sensation fizzing through her veins. He hummed with satisfaction. “You taste of ripe plums.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Now that’s just absurd.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s too early in the year for ripe plums.”
His husky chuckle shook them both. “You’re entirely too logical for your own good. A thorough kissing can mend that.”
“I don’t want mending.”
“Perhaps not. But I think you do want kissing.” He nuzzled the curve of her cheek, and his voice dropped to a sensual whisper. “Don’t you?”
She did. Oh, she did.
She couldn’t deny it. Not when he touched her like this. She wanted to be kissed, and to kiss him in return. She wanted to touch him, stroke him, hold him tight. All those tender, nurturing impulses still pulsed within her, despite all her efforts to reason them away. Her heart kept pumping those lies through her body.
He needs you.
You can heal him.
She had feminine warmth in abundance, and he needed comfort right now. In return, she could glimpse what it felt like to be needed. To be kissed. To be called sweet, and compared to a ripened plum.
To be desired by a desirable man.
“Just this once?” she breathed.
“Just this once.”
So long as they both knew it was all mere diversion . . . a harmless way to pass the time . . . It couldn’t hurt to pretend, could it? Not in secret, in the dark.
Here, there was no one to laugh.
Her breath caught as he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. Then her cheek. Then her jaw.
Then her lips.
He pressed the tip of his tongue to that vulnerable hinge at the corner of her mouth, coaxing her lips to part. She gasped a little, and he took advantage of the moment, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth.
She froze instantly, pressing her hand flush against his chest. Then she pushed him away. “I don’t understand.” She made a fist, clutching his wet shirtfront. “I don’t understand why you do that. I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do in return.”
“Shush.” He stroked her hair, dragging his fingers through the heavy, damp strands to untangle them. “Kissing’s like any skill. It takes a bit of practice. Think of it . . . think of it like dancing.” He paused to kiss her neck, her earlobe. “Just surrender to the rhythm of it. Follow my lead.”
They tried again. This time, he sucked her upper lip between his and worried it a little. Then he repeated the attentions with her lower lip.
And then he swept his tongue between the two.
His tongue rubbed over hers. She cautiously stroked back with her own, earning a little growl of approval. A thrill chased over her skin. Heat built between their bodies, melting away some of her anxiety.
He tilted his head, exploring her mouth from a new angle.
She understood now why he’d compared kissing to dancing. He had moves. A great many of them. Not just thrusting his tongue in and out, but swirling and toying and subtle coaxing. And just as she always did on a dance floor, Minerva quickly grew faint, dizzy. She felt overwhelmed and out of her depth. Always a step behind.
Once again, she broke away.
“This won’t work,” she said, wilting inside. “I’m hopeless at dancing. It simply won’t work.”
“No, don’t say that.” His labored breaths raced hers. “It was a bad example on my part. Don’t think of it like dancing. Kissing’s nothing like dancing. Think of it as you would . . .” He flicked a glance to the fossil-studded cave wall. “An excavation.”
“An excavation?”
“Yes. A proper kiss is like an excavation. When you’re digging up your little troglodytes, you don’t just go plunging your shovel into the soil higgledy-piggledy, do you?”
“No.” Her wariness stretched the word.
“Of course not. A proper excavation takes time and care. And very close attention to detail. Slowly sifting through the layers. Unearthing surprises as you go.”
That sounded much more promising. After a long moment’s reflection, she asked, “So who is excavating whom?”
“Ideally, it’s a bit of both. We sort of . . . take turns.”
She was silent for a long moment. Something about the air around them changed. Heated.
She swallowed hard. “May I go first?”
Colin struggled to suppress his triumphant grin. It would have ruined everything. He made his voice solemn. “But of course.”
She rose up to sit on her knees, positioning herself to face him. The dim glow allowed him to see her in silhouette. Just an enticing hourglass of shadow with a halo of curling hair. He wanted to reach for her, pull her close again. Give his pulse some better reason to pound. Ease his soul with the warm, human contact he craved. At times like these, patience came at a premium.
But its reward was great. Her hand reached out to him, swimming through the dark to caress his face.