Just as he suspected, his goading lifted her chin and she all but slapped her hand in his. Matt folded his fingers around her delicate hand, reached in and pulled the door closed, and led her across the drawbridge. And he didn’t let go of her once they were on firm ground, despite her subtle attempts to wiggle free.
“You surprise me,” he said the moment she settled down to walk beside him, apparently resigned to her hand-holding fate.
“Surprise you how?”
“You don’t dress like the artist who painted those pictures.” Matt kept his grin to himself as he became aware of her frowning at the moonlit path ahead of them. “Except for your hair,” he clarified, lifting his hand holding hers just enough to touch the waterfall of loose curls draping down to her waist.
“As opposed to what?” she asked guilelessly. “How would the artist who painted my pictures dress?”
Matt waved his free hand at the air. “Like a drama queen trying to personify her paintings—
colorful, mysterious, otherworldly. You look lovely tonight, Winter. I especially like that you’re not wearing four-inch heels in an attempt to level the playing field. That tells me you’re very comfortable not only with yourself, but with me. And you’re wearing pants, not a skirt, which also says you’re secure in your femininity.”
Matt saw her look down at herself, and then she suddenly stopped walking and looked up at him, her moon-bathed expression once again nonplussed. “Do you always analyze your dates?”
“Only when I’m trying to distract them.”
“You’re trying to distract me? From what?”
He smiled. “From realizing that I have every intention of kissing you tonight. Want to get it over with now, or would you like to spend the evening savoring the prospect?”
Her mouth opened and closed, but not a sound emerged as she blinked up at him. Though Matt was quite pleased to see two flags of color darkening her cheeks.
He’d intended to wait, and he would have followed through with his plan, but the tiny wood sprite nervously licked her lips. Matt let go of her hand and carefully cupped her exquisitely fine face.
“Now, I think,” he whispered, bending down and gently pressing his lips to hers.
Small, strong hands immediately wrapped around his wrists, but they didn’t push him away or pull back; Winter instead went utterly still, as if testing his—or her own—intentions.
She tasted of mint, her hair surrounding him with the smell of roses as he deepened the contact by tilting her head and parting his lips. Matt drank in her fresh and wonderful flavor, and was soon rewarded—and delighted—by her response.
She was hesitant at first, maybe even shy. But then he felt Winter’s grip on his wrists relax and her neck muscles soften as she moved ever so slightly toward him and parted her own lips.
And that was when he got his first taste of that energy he’d seen in her paintings; it hummed through his body with the force of intoxicating passion.
Yes, he was definitely tasting the sweet promise of Winter’s magic.
Winter thought she was going to explode. Talk about unpredictable chemistry. If she didn’t faint from the currents of electricity coursing through her, she was going to burst into flames. Matheson Gregor kissed like a man who had no intention of stopping until he had her complete surrender. He wasn’t being demanding or aggressive; he was being…overwhelmingly gentle.
And that, Winter quickly realized, was where the danger lay.
She could easily forget she needed to exercise caution when dealing with Matt; that blindly giving herself over to him could quickly lead somewhere she wasn’t prepared to go.
Oh, but he tasted so fine. His heat simmered around her with a strength that beckoned Winter to lean in just a little bit closer, and open herself just a little bit more to the sensations churning inside her.
As if of their own accord, her hands left his wrists and slowly wrapped themselves inside his open jacket to around his waist, moving her deeper into his embrace. He answered her action by letting go of her head, carefully wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and pulling her more possessively against him as he moved his mouth over hers.
And even though she had initiated their further intimacy, Winter felt the first flush of panic. He was much too much for her. She had kissed her share of boys, but they suddenly seemed like toads when compared to this prince of a man. Her body might be willing, and curses, even her heart was galloping in pleasure, but her mind…some still-functioning corner of her mind told Winter she’d better get herself out of this mess before it was too late.
She finally broke the kiss, but instead of pulling away she buried her face in his shirt, finding it impossible to look at him—at least until her cheeks cooled and her heart quit racing.
Matt’s chest expanded on a deep breath, and he cupped her head to him with a gentle rumble of amusement. “I am definitely glad I didn’t wait.” His finger came under her chin and lifted her face to look at him. “You’re lovely, Winter. Please don’t go all shy on me. I’m attracted to you, and it’s only reasonable to expect that attraction to lead to kissing.”
She couldn’t respond to save her soul. Matt gave another soft laugh and kissed her on the forehead, then let her go, took hold of her hand again, and started them walking down the moon-shadowed path toward the hotel.
“So,” he said conversationally, “do you think the meadow would be a good place for me to build my house?”
Winter was thinking a meadow in China would be even better. “It certainly has everything you’
re looking for,” she said, proud that she had found her voice and that it had sounded quite normal. She sensed him looking at her, but she continued staring at the path ahead. “Though I’ve always thought living within a stone’s throw of the water would be as equally appealing as a magnificent view,” she added, trying to ignore the heat of his hand surrounding hers.
Aye. This was nice, Winter decided. The man kissed like a prince, yet he felt so wonderfully comfortable to be with. Her poor scattered emotions were bouncing from wanting to kiss him again and wanting to simply cuddle into his warm embrace.
Cursed chemistry.
It seemed he needed to think about that, until he finally said, “Living on the water does have a certain appeal, but it’s such a narrow perspective. Up in the meadow a person has a sense of…well, of the largeness of the world.”
“Aye,” Winter agreed, her nerves finally settling down the closer they got to the hotel. “It reminds you how insignificant we really are in the overall scheme of things.”
Matt gave a laugh, his hand tightening on hers as he lifted it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles without breaking stride. “I prefer to think we have great significance,” he said as they walked under the hotel canopy. “Otherwise, what’s the point of our being here?”
Winter blinked up at him as he held the lobby door open for her. Matt’s smile was warm and genuine—and rather breathtaking when he was amused. “The point is, we’re supposed to be seeking the point,” she said, finally stepping into the lobby ahead of him. “We’re all on a collective journey,” she continued as his long, easy gait brought him beside her again. “But individually, we’re mere whispers in a very crowded universe.”
She stopped and waved at the mural she’d painted of TarStone Mountain in wintertime. “That’s why the skiers are nothing more than single dots of paint,” she explained. “And why the resort itself took only a few brushstrokes. Compared to the timeless, massive energy sitting dormant in the granite, soil, and timber of the mountain, people are just like little animals taking advantage of TarStone’s energy.”
“You talk as if the mountain were alive,” he said softly as he studied the mural. He looked over at her, his eyes dark and enigmatic as he lifted one brow in question. “Is it?”