With This Kiss: Part Two Read Online Free PDF Page A

carriage if he had started dreaming about young girls.
    “Of course not!” Dream Grace sounded indignant and a little cross. Everyone thought that the Real Grace was docile, but he knew the truth. She put a wicked sense of humor into her paintings.
    He kissed her until she was whimpering, and he was rubbing against her, and then he came to himself enough to realize that he’d better move quickly. He hadn’t dreamed about Grace in weeks, and this time, he wanted to actually take her instead of merely thinking about it.
    Without a second thought, he braced himself on one arm, reached for her bodice, and ripped it free. There was a bit more verisimilitude to the whole affair than he had expected—in his earlier dreams, Grace’s clothing had simply evaporated from her body. But this time, he actually pulled her body up from the seat. There was a sharp sound of cloth tearing, and she gave a little shriek of surprise…
    The dream was going to dissolve; he could feel it in his bones. So he went back to kissing her, because if he couldn’t have it all, he wanted every moment of her soft lips that he could have. She tasted of tea and faintly of sugar and mostly of Grace. When he was kissing her, he didn’t mind that he didn’t have his eyesight; he didn’t need it. Everything he wanted to know he could tell with his other senses: the tremor that shook her body, the little moan when he nipped her generous lower lip, and the way she kissed him back, eager as any courtesan.
    Some part of his mind reminded him that a dream wasn’t real. But damn, he had conjured a wonderful Dream Grace.
    His hand slid to her breast and even though he had to tear away yet another layer of cloth—this dream was irritatingly precise—he finally had a breast in his hand. It was the most delightfully rounded breast he could have imagined. It was perfect. He nuzzled her, and then kissed her nipple, and the only thing that made him sad was that he couldn’t see it.
    Suddenly he remembered that this was his dream. So he demanded, “What color is your nipple?”
    Dream Grace was gasping in a way that made his whole body vibrate with desire. When she didn’t answer, he commanded, “Tell me.” He’d never heard that tone in his voice before. He sounded like a satyr.
    Since he was a satyr, he might as well keep going. He moved back just enough so that he could run a hand up her legs, under her skirts. She still hadn’t answered his question, but her breath was coming in little gasps, so he let it go.
    Dream Grace had a mind of her own, it seemed. Or maybe she didn’t know any more about her breasts than he did, because if he didn’t know, she couldn’t…
    But the complications of dreaming up a naked person slipped away from him, because now he had a hand running up the luscious curve of her inner thigh. Under his fingertips, her skin was like the softest satin he’d ever felt.
    He wanted to taste her, so he pushed off the seat onto the carriage floor. The floor was hard under his knees—again, congratulations to his imagination for realistic detail—but he wasn’t going to complain.
    He might have finessed it a bit if he was with a real woman, but this was his dream. He pushed the gown straight up to her waist and pulled off her drawers.
    Dream Grace babbled with surprise, but he refused to listen. His imagination was correct in that detail: Real Grace, with her lovely air of dignity, would never allow herself to be debauched in a coach. She wouldn’t be surprised, but outraged.
    “This is my dream,” he informed Dream Grace, putting a stern note in his voice.
    Then he began licking her inner thighs, making his way toward heaven. He was almost there when the coach lurched and his lips fell directly on a silken tuft of hair. His mind told him the hair was likely a delicate red. His mind also complimented him on the clever way the coach motion had worked in his favor.
    Dream Grace sounded urgent now. “Trust me,” he said, silently