Columbine by MIRANDA JARRETT Page A

and then you dare to stand in judgment of me for sins I’ve never committed!
    Why can’t you and all the others understand! I am not like my uncle!”
    The hint of a smile seemed to play around the corners of his mouth.
    “There is, my lady, one way to tell if you are, isn’t there?”
    Before she realized what was happening, he caught her by her arms and lowered his face swiftly to meet hers. She pushed against his chest, struggling to free herself, but his lips were already on hers and he was kissing her. The more she fought, the more insistent he became, his mouth slashing boldly across hers.
    She felt the rough stubble of beard across her cheek and the surprising softness of his lips as they pressed against hers. She tried to twist away and began to protest, but he captured her open mouth. The only other man who had kissed her had been her uncle, and this was nothing like that awful experience.
    This was different, very different. Dianna was unprepared for the masculine taste of him and for the sinuous dance of his tongue against hers as he coaxed a response from her that she had not known was hers to give. A curious languor swept through her body.
    Tentatively her hands circled around his neck for support, her fingers tangling in the thick mane of his hair. His arms tightened around her and he lifted her upward and closer against him until her feet were off the deck. She was floating weightless on a sea of new sensations, and she had no idea where it would end.
    The reality of kissing Dianna was unlike anything Kit had imagined. She was smaller than he remembered, a tiny bit of a thing who’d had little enough flesh to spare before the voyage’s hardships and now seemed swallowed up in his embrace. But there was nothing slight about her ardor. From the first moment their lips met, he realized she was different. There was fire there, to be sure, and a promise of more.
    Yet there was an unexpected wistfulness, almost an uncertainty to her response, as well, that captivated him. He tried to remind himself that this guilessness was only part of her acting, but still the kiss he’d begun in anger deepened into something else.
    Or maybe it hadn’t been anger at all. Maybe it was just because Caleb Tucker was dead and Dianna Grey was alive, wonderfully, gloriously alive, and able to make Kit feel that way, too. His lips traced along her jaw to the special soft place beneath her ear, and she rewarded him with a little gasp of star-tied pleasure.
    It was that same little gasp that finally roused Dianna’s numbed conscience. Why was she letting him do this to her? She heard the ragged catch in her own breathing as he whispered her name, and she closed her eyes tight against the miserable troth. He had kissed her and held her, and she had scarcely fought him at all. Rather, she had enjoyed it, and worse yet, she had freely kissed him back. Kit was right. She was as wanton as Sir Henry had always claimed. She tried to remember why she’d come here at all. Remember Mary Penhallow and Benjamin and mealy biscuit with weevils.
    She twisted in his arms, trying to pull free.
    “You will give them food now, won’t you?” she asked unsteadily.
    “Hush, sweeting, now’s not the time or place for chatter.” Gently his lips feathered down her throat and she shivered in spite of her intentions.
    “Nay, mind me.” Resolutely she placed her palms against his shoulders and shoved as she tried to make her voice stem.
    “I want you to swear, MaSter Sparhawk, that you will grant your passengers the food they’re owed.”
    ““Master Sparhawk’, is it again? You kiss me like the devil’s in your blood, and then it’s Master Sparhawk?”
    Unceremoniously Kit released her, and she slipped clumsily down his body. She backed away slowly, rubbing her arms where he’d held her. The unconscious gesture jabbed at Kit’s pride almost as much aS her words. He felt perversely disappointed, even aS he realized once again she’d bettered