He waited an eternity, hot and hard and desperate, until she leaned forward into the slight space that separated them and brushed her lips softly across his. Then he gathered her face in his hands and kissed her, careful and coaxing, finding that thread of her desire and tugging at it, pulling her to him as her mouth opened and the sweetest sound came from her.

Silent Nan, making sounds of pleasure. Distant Nan, pressing close to him. She was the most intoxicating mixture of shy and eager, her hand pressing at the back of his neck to hold him to her, but her pliant mouth making no demands of him.

He wanted her to demand. He trailed his mouth down her throat, teeth scraping softly at her hot skin, pushing her a step backward until she leaned against the stone. Now her hand at his nape clutched harder, fingers twisting in his hair. Now her body arched gently up against his, her breath harsh at his ear. Now she demanded.

He came back to her mouth and waited there, holding himself back from the lips that were a breath away from his. His reward was her sigh, the hunger with which she kissed him, the boldness of her tongue exploring his mouth. His hands moved over her slight body beneath the coarse gown, over the braid that hung down her back. He pulled it apart, running his hands through her unbound hair at last, cool silk slipping between his fingers as she kissed him breathless.

It inflamed him, a blaze of lust that overwhelmed his senses. His knee pushed between her legs and he felt her body stiffen, her lips still. But she did not take her mouth away, so he took control of the kiss. An old lesson, easily remembered – how to seduce a willing a woman, how to coax without words. The stiffness in her eased by degrees; it was a matter of moments until she was sighing again. He set a suggestive rhythm with his mouth, with his body. The thrust of his tongue against hers beat in time with the press of his hips. She seemed to melt under his hands, his mouth, so soft and yielding that he was mad with wanting her.

He did not know when it changed, or what exactly caused it. He only felt her mouth pull away with an effort – and it was the effort that mattered to him in the moment, so he moved his mouth to her throat, down to her collarbone. Her dress was modest, no way to reach the skin beneath it except to raise her skirt. When he had brought the hem as high as her knee, it dawned on him that her hands were not on him. He forced himself to pause, still tasting her throat, still pressed hard against her as he pulled back to look at her.