TWENTY-FOUR
Bernard had thought himself in a pleasantly fuzzy state of inebriation until Ursula sank into the mattress beside him. Now he was painfully aware of every breath she took, imagining the rise and fall of her breasts...
She leaned over him and he felt her breath on his face. His eyes snapped open, staring.
"A kiss of peace, for Yule is a time for such things," she whispered. Then her lips touched his, and Bernard had no time for words.
Somewhere in the back of his brain was the thought that he would not dishonour her with a kiss.
Then his hands cupped her face, his fingertips grazing those soft curls that always seemed to escape her braid, and he kissed her back with everything in his being.
Tongues, lips, breath, all swirled together in a passionate union like nothing
