CAELIN POV
My brain had short-circuited for a few seconds when Martha kissed me.
Not when I kissed her.
When she kissed me.
There was a difference.
A monumental one.
A sacred one.
A difference my wolf had been replaying inside my skull for the past hour with the emotional restraint of a lunatic throwing flowers at a closed window.
She had risen on those dangerous heels, wrapped her fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, and claimed my mouth in the middle of Greenwood’s garden as if she had every right to ruin me publicly.
She did.
Goddess help me, she did.
And now, almost an hour later, after an hour spent on the dance floor with her in my arms, I could still feel the warmth of her mouth. The taste of champagne on her lips. The exact pressure of her body moving against mine
