There’s something sublimely sensual about the first touch between the hero and heroine. By this point, the anticipation has built and built, both in the characters and in the readers. Now, it’s up to the author to deliver.
I’m sharing one of my favorite scenes today, from ONCE UPON A CONQUEST. This first touch is rather… prolonged, but I think it works very well here. See if you agree.
“What a trip.”
The low, muttered words slipped out from between Amy’s dry lips before she could stop them. Her eyes were closed and she kept them that way, not yet ready to subject herself to the bright beams of sunlight warming her skin, or to the intense pain that would surely follow.
The world swayed suddenly and her body tilted at an odd angle. Instinctively, Amy tightened her grip on the hard, lean flesh coiling beneath her fingertips.
Prickles of awareness raised goose bumps on her bare arms. Her breath caught in her throat. Pulse thundering in her ears, she steadied her nerves for whatever she was about to face, then opened one eye slowly, cautiously.
“Holy hell,” she whispered at the sight of soft, infinitely kissable lips, the sharp line of a blunt nose, the hint of stubble marring a perfectly square masculine jaw.
The man pressed her closer to his chest and quickened his stride. He held her like she weighed nothing at all, which she supposed was dangerously close to the truth. She swallowed hard, determined not to think about her illness. At least, not for as long as this man’s strong arms enclosed her in warm heat and solid comfort.
His dark eyebrows slashed down over impossibly green eyes as he stared at her, something akin to wonder on his handsome features.
“Christabel,” he said.
The name resonated with familiarity and longing, sending a rush of heat to pool low in her belly. Damn. His voice was low and silky, the kind of voice made for whispering sweet nothings in a girl’s ear as his body pressed down on top of hers, his fingers touching every inch of bare flesh, his cock–
She stopped herself before that particular fantasy could get her into way more trouble than she was obviously already in. But oh, how she wished it had been her name he’d murmured with such reverence.
Amy cleared her throat. Her tongue snaked out to wet her parched lips, and she saw his gaze follow the movement. A blush snaked up her cheeks. “Err… look, I don’t know who you think I am, or where we are, but you must have me confused with someone else.”
His brows furrowed. “You do not know who you are?” There was no hint of mockery in his slightly accented voice, just a startling concern.
She laughed, a high pitched giggle that sounded forced, even to her. “I know exactly who I am. My name is Amy Conrad. I’m here on vacation.” She lifted her head from where it rested on his shoulder and peered around her. This wasn’t the island where she’d rented her small coble. The long dock that had lined the edge of shore was missing, and the merchants and throngs of overexcited tourists were also conspicuously absent. “Wherever here is.”
“I do not know the true name of this island, but you are home.”
She took in the long stretch of golden sand, the palm trees gently swaying in the breeze, the endless span of turquoise ocean. “This is your home?” she asked, unable to disguise the wonder in her voice. “You live here?”
“For now.” She thought he’d say more, so she listened to the sound of his footsteps falling on the soft sand as silence stretched between them.
Then, when it became clear he had no intention of either explaining how she got here or putting her down, she tried again. “You don’t have to carry me.”
To demonstrate, she wriggled in his grasp, hoping his grip would slip and he’d place her on her feet. Instead, his fingers dug into her skin and he only held her closer to his firm, muscular chest.
His very bare chest.
That realization made a tiny whimper slip out between her lips. Ripples of sublime longing made her tremble. She clamped her mouth shut firmly, hoping he hadn’t heard.
“Same Christabel.” The strange statement gave no indication whether or not he was aware of her lapse in judgment. “Less clothes, but definitely the same Christabel. Still squirming and fighting to get free.”
“Yeah, well, I can walk on my own.”
“You always could.”
She blew out a deep breath, considering his words. She could detect no obvious sarcasm in his tone. “You still don’t seem to understand. I’m not who you think I am.”
His full lips quirked upward in a teasing smile. “Perhaps you’re not who you think you are.”
And while you’re at it, don’t forget to check out the other wonderful snippets generously provided by the following authors: