Kieran Kramer - When Harry Met Molly

“No?” His eyes flickered with a challenge.

She stuck her chin in the air. “Absolutely not. You need to get warm and dry, and we need sleep. I, for one, am perfectly exhausted.” She made herself yawn, and then scrambled onto some pillows, and pulled an emerald green woven blanket about her head. “I’ll wait beneath this until you’re dressed.”

“Very well,” he said. “No peeking.”

“As if I would!”

He laughed, and she heard him pull off his breeches. Her breath grew a bit short—no doubt because of the blanket smothering her. “Are you wrapped up yet?” she called impatiently.

“Yes. You can come out now. I’m perfectly respectable.”

Feeling a tiny bit afraid, she let the blanket slide off her head.

He was lying on his side, facing her, his head propped on his elbow, his own bold yellow and black blanket not sufficient to cover his chest nor his strong, shapely calves. His hair was a wet mess, but somehow on him it looked charming, particularly that curl pressed to his forehead. She had a desire to touch it, to straighten it, to play with it, but she wouldn’t.

“I won’t bite, you know.” His tone was serious, but he had a twinkle in his eye.

She narrowed her gaze. “Harry, this is a serious breach of etiquette. But under the circumstances—”

“Oh, you don’t have to be all prim and proper. I know you wouldn’t have called me in except for the rain. And I wouldn’t have come, but you’re stubborn. You would have yelled all night and had no voice left for tomorrow. We can’t have that.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’re not stubborn?”

“No.” She lowered her eyes, afraid to meet his. “It wasn’t only because of the rain I called you in. Although that was part of it.”

“Really?” His voice was warm.

She would be brave. After all, she didn’t have much more time with him. “I wanted you here.”

“I wanted to be here,” he said rather hoarsely.

She liked that kind of voice in Harry. It usually promised kisses.

He leaned closer. “I understand why you’d assume the worst of me concerning this army incident. I’ve earned my bad reputation. Which makes your trust in me that much more…meaningful. No one else, save a few close friends and my brother, believes I am any more than a wastrel. Including my father.”

He gave her a heartrending smile.

She couldn’t bear to see him so sad!

“Harry—”

He put a finger to her lips. “I’m sorry if I’ve pressed myself on you this week. It was not well done of me. In fact, I regret every moment I’ve ever made you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that I was uncomfortable exactly—” She stopped speaking. “And you didn’t exactly press yourself—”

Actually, he had. He’d pressed himself on her in the most delicious ways. She felt her whole body warming up at the memory of the most recent time he had, in the kissing closet.

His mouth curved in a small smile. And her knees melted. Everything in her melted.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered. She so wanted him to kiss her. But he was so bad for her.

Wasn’t he?

“I know,” he said, a world of understanding in his voice. And reached over to lay a gentle kiss on her lips.

She closed her eyes. It truly was the sweetest kiss he had ever bestowed on her. He knew. He knew that she knew that he was—

Oh, bother. He simply knew. And that was all that mattered.

She opened her eyes.

“Now, Molly,” he said firmly, “as you’ve already pointed out, we should sleep.” He rolled onto his back, folded his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

She felt the beginnings of a childish tantrum build within her chest. She didn’t want to sleep. Especially now that they understood each other so much better.

And there was that book. She was a bit curious, and she was with Harry, after all. He wouldn’t tell anyone if they took another peek.

She sighed loudly and shut her eyes.

The rain still fell steadily, but not as strongly as five minutes before.

“Are you sleepy?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Harry said pleasantly. “But you’re exhausted, of course.”

She nudged his leg with her big toe. “I hope we win tomorrow.”

He shifted a bit. “Me, too.”

She sighed, rolled over, and faced her side of the tent again. No matter how much she knew she shouldn’t be behaving the way she was behaving, it was as if she couldn’t help herself. Harry had some kind of mysterious pull on her. He made her forget everything she knew to be right.

He was simply so…

Handsome.

And lovable.

And funny, when he wasn’t being a stubborn mule.

And he understood her. Better than anyone.

She pushed her foot backward and made contact with his leg again.

“What’re you doing?” he said, not angry. Not even annoyed. But alert.

“Nothing.” She suddenly felt stupid. She would quit bothering him.

So she stared at a pillow this time and decided to count the number of feathery shapes woven into the fabric. Maybe that would help her sleep. The cozy patter of the rain on the tent lulled her somewhat, but still she went on, doggedly counting.

She’d reached forty-five when she felt a warm, solid arm drape itself over her body.

He pulled her closer. “You can’t sleep, can you?”

Oh. Her back was against his chest now. They fit together like two spoons. And he was toasty warm.

“I think I’ll be able to. Now.” Molly smiled, sighed, and closed her eyes.

But then she opened them again. “I forgot to say good night.”

“Oh?” said Harry softly, but he had a big, bearlike voice, the kind he got in special circumstances. Her heart skipped a beat, and she twisted her body to face him.

“Good night,” she whispered, and laid her palms against his chest. Because it was there. In the way.

She couldn’t help herself. She had to rub that chest with her palm. It was so warm, and beautiful, with those fine, jet black hairs sprinkled across it.

“I thought you were exhausted.”

She sighed. “Me, too.” But then she wrapped her bare feet around his calves. Harry made her feel so…cozy. And this tent of Prinny’s was perfect.

“You’ve got cold feet,” he said, still with that bear voice she felt flattered to have caused him to employ.

He rubbed her back with his free hand.

“Sorry.” She grinned, and wrapped her feet around him even more.

He began a long, luxurious sweep of warm palm over her bottom. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Even when you’re perfectly annoying.”

She kissed his chest and looked up, into his brown eyes glinted with flecks of gold. Their color was like a favorite autumn leaf she’d pressed into her diary. “You, too,” she said.

Which was a perfectly good hint that she wanted him to kiss her. Would he understand?

But wait.

“Harry.” She lifted her head. “The lamp’s still burning.”

“I know.” He smiled, lifted his head, oh-so-gently pushed her on her back, and began to ravish her mouth with a warm, slow kiss. “I suspected you wouldn’t be as ready for sleep as you claimed to be.”

She knew she should be offended. But all she could think, as she kissed him back, was that this moment was bliss.

Pure bliss.

He shouldn’t be doing this, Harry’s conscience said to him while he kissed Molly. He’d told himself he would stay away.

But she was so…irresistible. Why else would he ignore every ounce of common sense he had and persist?

Perhaps it was because she wore that exotic harem outfit. Or because her body strained toward him, and her mouth was so eager. And perhaps it was because she was simply…Molly.

He lifted his head. “We should stop now,” he forced himself to say.

Molly had that same dreamy look she’d had in the carriage the first time he’d kissed her. “I don’t want to,” she whispered, and began to play with his hair.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he groaned, his elbows propped on either side of her head. He was extremely aroused and was doing his best to keep his lower half away from her.

She sat up, her hair flying forward and settling on her shoulders. “Harry,” she said, quite agitated. “I want to be your true mistress.”

He sighed. “Molly—”

“Really.” She moved even closer to him. “I don’t want to marry a boring old squire and have his brats. And what are my chances in London of finding someone who…who understands me?”

“It will happen,” he soothed her.

“No,” she said with conviction. “I’ll reject all of them. Because once they discover what I’m really like—which is very trying, I’m well aware, and quite fond of kissing—I’ll be kept up in a turret or something.” She crossed her arms and stared at him.

He played with her hair. “It’s healthy to want to do what we do together.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Your husband will not have a disgust of you. He’ll want to be with you this way all the time. He won’t want to keep you in a turret.”

Her eyes clouded.

“What is it?” He hated to see her eyes like that.

“I—I don’t like knowing you’ll be with Anne Riordan this way,” she said. “Although it’s almost inevitable, isn’t it?”

“We must stay confident,” he said as brightly as he could.

“Right.” She sighed. “But if I do win Most Delectable Companion, you must find me a husband.”

“I know.”

She stared at him. “I wish—”