And then, then he is kissing her. The shock of his mouth on hers brings her up short. As Edward’s lips brush against hers she lets her own part, she tastes ale on his tongue, and then she feels herself sinking into him, the hurt and anger shifting into something else. He smells of leather, of soap, and that heady mix does something to her, sends tantalising tingles to nerve endings she does not even know she has. The hem of his shirt teases her wrist and Dora puts a hand up underneath it, runs her palm against the plane of his flat stomach, caressing the smooth skin, fascinated by the way he
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