The Knickerbocker Bride: A Gilded Age Romance

Part Eleven

It took Harry a moment to realize they kissing. He and Cora were kissing. With mouths and tongues. Like lovers.

And it was better than he'd ever imagined.

He'd imagined kissing her several times a day for years. That was thousands of imaginings stored up inside his head, cataloged and examined. How she might taste, the sighs she might make. Whether she might be shy or bold. The heft of her breasts against his chest. There had been no limit to the combinations, and even the tamest option had caused him to quickly spend in his hand.

Now, she was here in his arms, her body pressed tight to his, and he could hardly breathe. Her mouth was lush and warm, her lips soft and greedy. The feel of her tongue against his was the most delicious, intimate thing in the world. He angled his head and deepened the kiss, ravenous for her. Her fingers slid into his hair, nails digging into his scalp, and the sting from her enthusiasm caused his cock to ache.

She fit him perfectly, the absolute match for his temperament and personality. There was no one else for him. Ever.

He could kiss her forever. Merely stand here and let the rest of the century march on without them, their lips locked for all eternity. Breathe her in, explore the shape of her. And yet he wanted more. He needed more.

It was this more part that worried him. His experience with women hadn't included anything beyond kissing. He knew the mechanics, of course, but was still lacking in practical knowledge. That necessitated a conversation while they still had level heads.

Furthermore, why had she kissed him?

She broke off from his mouth and rested her forehead against his cheek. "You're thinking."

Of course, he was thinking. Wasn't she? If not, had he done something wrong? He tightened his hands on her waist, not about to let her go. "I shouldn't?"

She chuckled, the gentle gust of air blanketing his skin. Her hands slipped between them to rest on his chest. "Of course you should. I meant you are overthinking. Does it bother you that I just kissed you?"

"No. I'm relieved. I've wanted to do that for a long time."

"I wish you had."

"Do you mean that?" He pulled back to search her face. "You told me you thought of me as a brother."

Her brows pinched, tiny lines forming in her forehead. "I never said that. I definitely don't think of you as a brother. I have brothers. They're awful."

"You did say that." When she continued to appear confused, he elaborated. "The night you turned sixteen. We drank that bottle of champagne together."

"Harry, I don't remember anything that happened that night, not after my second glass. You said I vomited in the bushes."

"That's true. But before that, I had confessed my feelings for you. Your reaction was a firm repudiation. You said I was like a brother to you."

"Oh, Harry," she said on a sigh and cuddled in close. "How long we've wasted."

The teasing wisps of hair brushing his skin distracted him. He wanted to feel that soft silk over every part of his body. "What do you mean?"

"I had a crush on you for so long. Years. Lily used to tease me about it mercilessly."

He rocked back on his heels and blinked several times. A crush . . . on him? "Wait, when?"

"I feel silly admitting it now."