Page 72 of Winter's Waltz
“Thank you.” He lowered his head and claimed her lips.
The kiss was long, hard, and deep. Claiming, promising. It was a kiss of tongues and teeth, of possession and love and raw, beautiful emotion. They kissed until they were both breathless, and he rested his forehead against hers, their lips a feather’s width apart.
“One condition, Marquess” she said.
He’d agree to anything at this point. As long as she would be his wife. “Yes.”
“You don’t know what it is yet.”
“I do not need to.” He kissed her again.
“No more sneaking Arthur treats from the kitchens,” she said when at last their mouths parted once more. “That is the condition. All one has to say issausage, and he howls like a Bedlamite.”
As if to concur, Arthur barked.
“Sausage,” he said, testing her assertion.
Arthur barked again, more loudly this time.
Gen raised a brow. “You see?”
He grinned. “I propose a compromise, for Arthur’s sake.”
“Dimples,” she growled, and then she pulled his head back down, sealing his lips with hers.
