To feel her in his arms, and absorb whatever it was inside of her that made her…her.

And maybe, just maybe, to learn who that was.

But five minutes later, if he’d learned anything, he couldn’t tell, because once he started to kiss her—really kiss her, in every way a man dreamed about kissing a woman—his brain had ceased to function in any recognizable manner.

He couldn’t imagine why he suddenly wanted her with an intensity that made his head spin. Maybe it was because she was his, and he knew it, and maybe all men had a primitive, possessive streak. Or maybe it was because he liked it when he rendered her speechless, even if the endeavor left him in a similarly stunned state.

Whatever the case, the moment his lips parted hers, and his tongue slipped inside to taste her, the world around them had spun and faded and dropped away, and all that was left was her.

His hands found her shoulders, then her back, and then her bottom. He squeezed and pressed, groaning as he felt her mold against him. It was insane. They were in a field. In the full sun. And he wanted to take her right there. Right then. Lift her skirts and tumble her until they’d worn the grass right off the ground.

And then he wanted to do it again.

He kissed her with all the mad energy that was coursing through his blood, and his hands moved instinctively to her clothing, searching for buttons, clasps, anything that would open her to him, allow him to feel her skin, her heat. It was when he’d finally got two of them open at her back that he regained at least a portion of his sensibility. He wasn’t sure exactly what had brought reason back to the fore—it might have been her moan, husky and accommodating and completely inappropriate from an innocent virgin. But it was probably his reaction to the sound—which was swift and hot and involved rather detailed images of her, unclothed and doing things she probably didn’t even know were possible.

He pushed her away, at once reluctant and determined. He sucked in his breath, then shuddered an exhalation, not that it seemed to do anything to calm the rapid tattoo of his heart. The words I’m sorry hung on his tongue, and honestly, he meant to say them, because that was what a gentleman did, but when he looked up and saw her, lips parted and wet, eyes wide and dazed and somehow greener than before, his mouth formed words with absolutely no direction from his brain, and he said, “That was…surprising.”

She blinked.

“Pleasantly so,” he added, somewhat relieved that he sounded more composed than he actually felt.

“I’ve never been kissed,” she said.

He smiled, somewhat amused. “I kissed you last night.”