Camouflaged Hearts Anthology
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she whispered as she pressed his watch into his hand.
He raised his head and stared into her beautiful, dark eyes. “Did you really think I’d miss the chance to see you again?” he asked as he buckled the strap around his wrist.
She shrugged and brushed her lips over the hollow at the base of his throat. When he caught his breath she giggled and did it again. He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over her cheekbone tilting her head back.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Miss Boulton.”
She tried to squelch a smile. “And what game is that, Mr. Webber?”
Her smile faded as she looked into his heated gaze. God, he wanted her. It was crazy to think he could be so affected by someone he’d just met, but it was the truth. He’d wanted other women before, hell, he’d had other women before, but no one had tied him in knots like Moira did.
“What game is that?” she repeated in her lilting Welsh accent.
His thumb moved to trace the outline of her parted lips. His cock jerked at the catch of her breath as he slowly lowered his head.
“Teasing the hungry beast,” he whispered against her mouth before he claimed it.
And he was hungry. For her. She tasted like honeyed tea with a sweetness that was all Moira. She drove her fingers through his hair and her lips parted beneath his. He swallowed her soft sigh as he pulled her closer. She shyly stroked his tongue as he delved into her mouth, sighing as he tasted her fully.
She pressed into him and her lush breasts flattened against his chest and cock hardened almost instantly. His arousal pressed against her and she stiffened in surprise. He pulled back, not wanting to frighten her. “I’m sorry, Moira. I—”
She bit her lower lip. “I’m not,” she finally whispered.
His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, but the ominous sound of propellers cut the quiet night. Pulling Moira into his arms, he scanned the sky as the scream of an air-raid siren drowned out all other sound. A bomb hit directly behind the dance hall and shook the cobblestone street where they stood. Flames lit the darkness and panicked screams filled the air.
He grabbed Moira’s hand and dragged her across the street. They ran through abandoned yards, tearing through weathered gorse as he tried to get her as far as possible from the fires that were devouring the all wooden structures in its path.
“We need a place with a cellar,” he panted as they ran.
“The church, but it’s locked.” She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fear. Another bomb exploded as it hit the ground near the street where he’d kissed her a few moments earlier.
That unnerving sense of knowing prickled across the back of his nape. Stopping their mad dash, he pointed at what used to be a fieldstone building, more precisely at the cellar doors that were only partially covered with rubble. “What was that?”
She squinted in the direction he pointed. “It used to be a pub.”
Hopefully the basement would still be intact. Heart pounding in his chest, he switched directions and pulled Moira toward the ruins.
“David,” she panted. “What are you—”
He pulled her to the ground and motioned for her to stay there. “Saving your life. Stay down.”
He began to throw aside rocks and rubble, clearing the top of the doors. Disregarding his directive, she did the same as bombs continued to rain down on the city. Grunting, he shoved aside a charred wooden beam. “Found it.” He yanked open the cellar door and pulled his flashlight from his belt, shining the thin shaft of light into the yawning darkness.
