Good God...! His lips were soft, oh so soft, yet somehow incredibly hard and demanding. They were exactly as I remembered from his last kiss!

Strange, considering you always thought that you hallucinated that one, right?

Well, apparently I was pretty good at hallucinating realistically! Bloody hell!

His mouth was voracious. It claimed mine in a race of burning need, sending shiver after shiver down my back – but shivers weren't strong enough for this! A shock followed in their wake, paralysing me, making me go limp in his arms. Arms that were drawing me closer towards him, holding me against his rock-hard body. My knees gave way, and spots danced in front of my eyes like sparkling snowflakes.

Blimey! Was I hallucinating again?

No, you idiot! You're not drunk this time!

Wasn't I? I felt drunk. Drunk with a delicious heat that filled my body from tip to toe, from lips to hairclips. I wanted more of it! More of him! Desperately! But how? How?

A strong, familiar hand slipped up behind my back, gripping my neck, holding it in place. His lips pressed harder against mine, forcing them open, and he plunged into my mouth with his...

Oh...

Oh God... so that's how!

His tongue was like a spear of desire, my mouth a gaping wound that wanted me to die from bliss. Around the clashing of our mouths, a little moan escaped me. His tongue stroked, caressed, kept in constant motion, never ceasing the attack on me. Meanwhile, his lips kept busy, holding me prisoner with a persistent, intoxicating rhythm that sent waves of delicious heat through my body.

How long did it go on?

Minutes?

Hours?

Years?

I didn't know, and I couldn't have cared less! I was in a daze. I felt like Tantalus must have felt when he pinched Ambrosia from the table of the gods to see what the heavenly drink might taste like. I couldn't do or say anything, until finally, out of the steaming hot fog of my mind, slowly a thought appeared:

What... what the heck is he doing?

I wasn't sure. It seemed, technically, as though he was kissing me, but... that couldn't happen in reality, could it? In drink-induced fantasies in which he and I temporarily lost our minds and forgot we hated each other's guts, maybe, but not in real life, for God's sake! That was impossible!

Well, judging by the way he's massaging your quail-pipe at the moment, it is very, very possible!

Oh my God! He really was! He really was kissing me!

Yes, you silly tart! So you had better do something about it, and right speedily!

Of course! I had to! I was a thingummy, after all. A... what was it called again? With Mr Ambrose's lips devouring mine it seemed rather hard to remember...

Feminist! You're a feminist!

Right! I was a feminist, and I couldn't just let random men kiss me! No, I couldn't. No matter how nice it felt to have his hands exploring my...

My inner feminist screeched out in protest. Do something! Now!

Right. So... what to do?

Sliding my arms up, I pushed against Mr Ambrose's chest. It had no effect whatsoever. I pushed harder. Still, nothing happened. Except that is, for his tongue stroking over mine again, sending another wave of delirious heat through my body, making me shiver with...

Concentrate! Damn you, concentrate!

Um... on what did I have to concentrate again?

Getting away! You want to get away from that bastard who is using you!

Oh. That's right. I had almost forgotten that.

Once more, I pushed, harder this time. When that still didn't yield any results, I clenched my hand, and let my fist fly! It thudded uselessly against Mr Ambrose's rock-hard chest. Again, and again. I was pommelling him like a punching bag now, but his arms were still around me, and his lips, so soft, so seductive, still on mine. Damn him! He was as solid as a cliff, defying the waves of a thunderstorm. A cliff with a dozen splendidly naked male sirens on top, singing to me to come closer, to sink into the kiss, to stop fighting...

No! my inner feminist screamed. Bloody hell, no! Do something!

So I did. Reaching up, I slid my hands towards his head, grabbed hold of both his ears and pulled, hard!

'Arrr!'

To judge by the growl that escaped him, that seemed to work much better at getting his attention than punching him had. He lurched back, freeing my lips for the first time in I don't know how long. I sucked in a deep breath, in preparation for the insults I was going to fling at him. He deserved it! He deserved every bad name in the book! How dare he kiss me like that?

I opened my mouth to hurl the first expletive in his face – and then I was suddenly charging forward, kissing his face, his throat, his sculpted chin... every part of him that I could reach!

Good God! What the heck was I doing?

Good question, that! What about your feminist principles?

My hands slid up his hard body. For the first time since he had tackled me, I really had a chance to feel him, to explore the hard ridges of muscles under the black cotton. Blimey... To hell with my principles!

'How about this?' I whispered sweetly, letting go of his earlobes with my hands and taking one between my teeth instead, gently nibbling. 'Is this part of married life, too, Dick?'

'Do not,' he growled, his deep, ice-cold voice vibrating all the way through my body, 'call me that!'

I smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss on his earlobe. 'Just as you say, Dick!'

Suddenly, I was flying. In my shock I didn't understand what was happening, only seeing vague shapes of furniture rushing by, and only feeling his hands around my waste, lifting me higher and higher. A moment later, my back slammed into the wall, driving all the breath out of me.

'I told you,' he repeated, his voice even colder now, driving a hot surge of need up inside me, 'not to call me that. Understand?'

'Y-yes, Sir.'

His eyes blazed, flaming fires reflected on a stormy ocean. 'What is my name as long as we are here, Wife?'

'Richard!'

'Indeed it is. And for short?'

I contemplated the question for one breathless moment. Then, from between the wild strands of hair that had tumbled into my face, I grinned up at him, mischievously. 'Dick!'

He was on me in an instant. His tongue invaded my mouth, hungry and determined. I met it with my own this time, clashing, coiling, fighting for the right to rule. That didn't stop the hot waves of want from spreading down from my mouth all through my body. From the walls around us, the portraits of dignified Egyptian statesmen looked down at us disapprovingly. I couldn't give a flying fig for their opinion! Let them stare! I didn't even care for the moment that my inner feminist was swinging a protest sign. Later, I would care, I knew. Later, I would care like hell! But right now, he was kissing me and I was... floating. Blissfully.

My blissful floating was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Ripping my eyes open – somehow, they had slid shut during the kiss – I saw the figure of a dark-skinned young maid in the doorway. Her eyes went wide at the sight of us. But nowhere near as wide as my eyes went at the sight of her seeing us!

'Oh.' A small smile spread over her face. 'Excuse, please, Lady, Sir. I not know anyone in here. Most sorry. I see nothing. Nothing at all.'

I opened my mouth to give some explanation, any explanation that would explain away my having my lips pressed to Mr Ambrose's lips that didn't involve a passionate kiss. Mr Ambrose was faster.

'No problem,' he said, with a dismissive wave, turning around, and bending towards me to place tender kiss on my cheek. 'We have all the rest of the day still left, after all.'

And then he winked.

Mr Ambrose. Mr I-am-a-block-of-stone Ambrose winked! Or at least he moved his eyelid. Maybe he was just getting rid of a speck of dust. But to the maid, it sure as hell looked as if he was winking. Winking!

The maid giggled and curtsied. 'Yes, Sir, Lady. I not interrupt again, Sir, Lady. I not see anything.'

And with that, she turned and hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.

I turned to gape up at the man beside. 'What have you done? Now the entire hotel will think we are... we are...'

'Married?' he enquired.

'Yes! No! I don't know!'

'Could you clarify that a little?'

'She's going to tell her friends, and they are going to tell their friends, and they their friends, and in half an hour it'll be all over the hotel that we are in here doing... stuff!'

He cocked his head. If not for the fact that this was Mr Ambrose, a man who had as much emotion inside him as a volcano had snow, I might have thought there was amusement in his eyes. 'Stuff?'

I felt my ears starting to burn. 'You know! Honeymoon stuff!'

'Which, considering the fact that we are supposed to be on our honeymoon, would be utterly scandalous, of course.'

My ears were in danger of spontaneous combustion by now. 'You're impossible!'

I tried to twist out of his hold, but his hands were too strong, blast him! Pulling me closer, he leaned down towards my face. His eyes darkened, and his lips opened a fraction.

'Don't you da–'

My protest was cut off by our mouths melding together. And I, instead of picking up the vase on bedside table beside me and smashing it over his rock-hard head, like I should have done, snaked my arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

God! What was wrong with me?

When we finally broke apart, I was panting like a panther. He, of course, was so cool and collected you'd think he was freshly imported from Iceland! His dark eyes bored into me.

'I think we have discussed the matter of convincingly acting the married couple thoroughly enough for today, don't you?'

His voice was just as cool as the rest of him, damn him! How was that possible? I was panting, burning up inside with a hot, persistent need to... do something, do anything! Preferably with him! And he – he just stood, there, gazing at me with those unfathomable eyes.

I raised my chin. 'I quite agree.'

'Adequate.' Raising one hand, he stroked one long, lean finger down the side of my face. 'It's quite late. What do you say to a romantic candle-lit dinner on the hotel terrace, my dearest love?'

I fancy not many people could manage to make the words 'my dearest love' sound like 'my obedient minion'. Rikkard Ambrose did it without the slightest problem.

I bridled. 'You can take your romantic dinner and shove it up your–!'

'Let me rephrase,' he cut me off. His arms were like a vice around me, holding me in place. 'We will go down and have a romantic candle-lit dinner. Now!'

I glared up at him, feeling sparks fly from my eyes. 'And we'll smile, and giggle and show everyone how very much in love we are?'

'That, and we will discuss how best to hunt bloodthirsty bandits in the desert.'

'How very romantic!'

'I always do my best.' Leaning forward lightning fast, he brushed his lips against mine – hardly a touch, nothing compared to what he had done before, and yet... It was a promise. A promise of things to come.

Good Lord... What had I gotten myself into?

Releasing me from his hold and stepping away, Mr Rikkard Ambrose marched over to the door, turned and held his hand out towards me. His dark eyes seemed to gleam in the failing light.

'Come, my love.'

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Yay! The first non-drunk kiss between our dear Lilly & Mr Rikkard Ambrose! ;-) Did you enjoy the scene, my fabulous fans? I would love to hear what you think! I am not yet very experienced at writing hotly-romantic scenes yet, and with your magnificent feedback, I hope to improve myself significantly before this story is over and done with.

Oh, and here is an extra author's note to all my Radish readers:

The winners of the Radish Fiction coin giveaway have now been determined. Their usernames are:

Drumroll...

In first place, the winner of 100 Radish coins:

choogs

In second and third place, the winners of 50 free Radish coins each:

xanonymityx and h.08

And after that, each the winners of twenty-five coins:

4 Farah.kay

5 swuensch

6 ScQuark

7 Bilboswaggins

8 Fukiya

9 deniselu

10 silena197

11 justhar

12 Bubla

13 cee123

14 waneKdosky99

15 kate1989

16 QueenOfHeartz

17 lunalovegood12

18 Marbear415

19 jaz

Congratulations every single one of you! And as for those of you might not have won anything this time - don't fret! There shall be plenty more opportunities similar to this one in the future! :-)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Quail-pipe: A Victorian expression for the word 'tongue' – but, oddly enough, only a lady's tongue. I have no clue why. Maybe because the lady in question is literally smoking hot.