Once Upon an Irritatingly Magical Kiss by Bree Wolf

Chapter Twenty-Two

A Scoundrel’s Kiss

The moment his lips touched hers, Christina knew she was making a monumental mistake. She knew she ought not have allowed him to kiss her because now she knew. Now, she knew how wonderful it felt.

How intoxicating!

How…almost magical!

Irritatingly magical!

After all, had she not agreed to marry him to protect her friend? What precisely was she protecting Sarah from? From stolen kisses that made her breath catch in her throat? From sinking into his arms and feeling the whole world fall away?

Guilt swept over Christina, warring with the teasingly wonderful sensations she had never known existed. Yes, she had imagined a kiss to be…pleasant, perhaps.

But not this!

Never this!

In truth, she lacked the words to do it justice, to explain how it made her feel, how he made her feel.

His arms held her close, keeping her from stepping away—not that she wanted to. His lips moved over hers in an utterly possessive way. She could feel that he wanted to kiss her as much as she longed for him to do so. Passion simmered in her veins, and a new sense of curiosity sparked somewhere down low.

At the same time, Christina began to feel lightheaded, her limbs growing weak as she sank deeper into his arms. She felt his knuckles brush along the line of her jaw before his hand moved to the back of her head, holding her to him and deepening the kiss.

Did all men kiss like this? She wondered somewhere in the back of her mind. Did gentlemen? Or was this kiss among those unspeakable things she had heard old matrons whisper about?

If so, Christina could not understand their objections to common men. To her utter shame, she had to admit that now that she knew how he could make her feel, she would be hard pressed to keep her distance from him.

His teeth nipped her lower lip, and Christina gasped, her hands reaching up to settle upon his shoulders. She needed something to hold onto lest her knees were to buckle, which they threatened to do any moment now.

How was she ever to face Sarah again?

It was a thought Christina did not want to think, especially not here and now. She tried to banish it. She tried to keep her attention focused on the man holding her in his arms.

Her betrothed.

Her future husband.

Because she had stolen him from Sarah, had she not? As much as Christina wanted to believe that it was not so, that she had done what she had done in order to protect her friend, the truth could not be denied.

How was she to ever face Sarah again?

Balling her hands into fists, Christina twisted out of his embrace, her heart hammering in her chest in a way that made her think it would stop any moment. She staggered backward, unable to look at him, her heart and mind utterly confused.

“Is something wrong?” Thorne asked, his breathing coming as fast as hers. She could hear him moving toward her and then felt his hand upon her arm, urging her to turn and look at him.

“It’s nothing,” she shot back, walking a few steps away, trying her best to regain some measure of composure. If only her pulse would stop beating with such force!

A chuckle echoed to her ears as he came after her. “Do not tell me you find your concerns confirmed!” Again, his hand seized her arm and this time spun her around, his eyes seeking hers. “You cannot tell me that that was not…” He drew in a panting breath, passion still darkening his eyes.

“Magical,” Christina whispered despite herself. She felt tears beginning to brim in her eyes so overcome was she with emotions, good and bad ones. What would she not give to be able to embrace this marriage? This man, and allow herself to be swept away on this tide?

Thorne pulled her into his arms once more, a wide smile coming to his face. “Indeed, utterly magical.”

Staring up at him, Christina shook her head. “No, it cannot…I cannot.” She pushed his arms away and took a step back. “It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.”

He frowned at her. “You’re upset because our kiss felt magical?” He shook his head. “You did not want it to be good? Why?”

Christina felt her head continue to shake from side to side as she began to pace along the length of the hedge, her thoughts and emotions hopelessly jumbled. “I’m a most despicable person. How could I have done this? How—?”

His hand closed over her arm and pulled her to him. “What are you talking about?” Anger lingered in his gaze, and Christina wondered if she had hurt him with her reaction. Was that possible? “Why are you so determined to dislike me? To discount what is between us?” He shook his head at her again. “Are wives not supposed to care for their husbands? Is it in poor taste among the ton?” Contempt swung in his voice as he stared down at her.

Christina’s breath still came fast as she found her gaze caught by his. She could not look away; neither could she answer, though. Part of her urged her to make it unmistakably clear that their marriage would be nothing more than a marriage of convenience. Had that not been his intention from the start?

Christina knew that it had. Still, the way he was looking at her right here, right now did not speak of a rational mind. The look in his eyes burned into hers, demanding an answer, demanding the truth. Could he see in her eyes somehow how deeply he affected her?

Closing her eyes, Christina could only hope that it was not so. “I believe it would be best for you to leave,” she whispered weakly, taking a step back, surprised and equally disappointed to find his hands fall away, releasing her.

Somewhere, deep down, the traitorous part of her heart had hoped that he would not allow her, that he would insist she answer him.

Blinking, she lifted her chin and looked up at him, praying that her emotions were not written all over her face. “You should leave.”

His gaze held hers, and she saw his lips pressed together into a tight line. “Is this what you want?”

Christina swallowed. “It is.”

Reluctance showed upon his face, and that traitorous little part in Christina’s heart rejoiced at the sight of it. What was she to do? Never had she expected herself to come to care for him. Not like this! It was a complication she had not foreseen. What was she to do?

In silence, they walked back to the house, the tension lingering between them in stark contrast to the lighthearted banter that had carried them outdoors earlier. Christina could sense waves of anger rolling off him. She could feel them brush against her skin. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the tension in his shoulders and could not help but think that he was exercising great restraint. It seemed clear—even to her, someone who knew him so little—that he wanted nothing more but to confront her. Yet he did not. He respected her wishes, her own emotional state. Could he truly see how she felt?

In an odd way, his reaction frustrated Christina even more. She wanted him to be the villain. She needed him to be the villain! If he was the villain, she was the hero, saving the damsel in distress. But what if he was not the villain? What would that make her then?

The villain, a quiet voice whispered in her head.

Christina almost flinched for she knew it to be true.

As shocking as it was, Christina had to admit that Mr. Thorne Sharpe—gentleman or not—was a good and decent man and would in all likelihood have made a good and decent husband for Sarah.

If Christina had not interfered, that was.

Accepting his hat from a footman, Thorne stepped toward the door, then turned back around to look upon her. His eyes fell upon hers, and she could see that, yes, she had hurt him. Oh, she was truly making a mess of things!

“I will leave then,” he said calmly although the tension in his voice still lingered. “I will leave,” he took a step closer, and slowly lowered his head to hers, “for now.”

Christina felt a shiver dance down her spine. Had his words been a threat or rather a promise? Either way, she could not deny that something inside of her rejoiced, knowing that her reaction had not driven him away.

He would return.

He was still her betrothed.

He was still hers.

Christina swallowed, doing her best to hold his gaze and not let him see how deeply those few words had unsettled her, stirred her heart. “Very well.”

The footman moved to open the door as Thorne turned toward it, casting a last look at her over his shoulder. Unfortunately, the moment he made to depart, he pulled up short as someone else appeared on the front stoop, her face pale and her eyes wide.

Sarah.