He shook his head slowly, but it didn't feel like a denial as his face, his lips,
moved back and forth across my throat. It felt more like surrender. My heart, racing already,
Again, I took what advantage I could. When his face turned toward mine with the slow
movement of his indecision, I twisted quickly in his arms till my lips reached his. His hands
seized my face, and I thought he was going to push me away again.
I was wrong.
His mouth was not gentle; there was a brand-new edge of conflict and desperation in the
way his lips moved. I locked my arms around his neck, and, to my suddenly overheated skin,
his body felt colder than ever. I trembled, but it was not from the chill.
He didn't stop kissing me. I was the one who had to break away, gasping for air. Even then
his lips did not leave my skin, they just moved to my throat. The thrill of victory was a
strange high; it made me feel powerful. Brave. My hands weren't unsteady now; I got
through with the buttons on his shirt this time easily, and my fingers traced the perfect planes
of his icy chest. He was too beautiful. What was the word he'd used just now? Unbearable -
that was it. His beauty was too much to bear. . . .
I pulled his mouth back to mine, and he seemed just as eager as I was. One of his hands still
cupped my face, his other arm was tight around my waist, straining me closer to him. It made
it slightly more difficult as I tried to reach the front of my shirt, but not impossible.
Cold iron fetters locked around my wrists, and pulled my hands above my head, which was
suddenly on a pillow.