Beyond Compare by Candace Camp

touch of his skin on hers. She looked up at him, her face only inches from his. She gazed into his eyes, unable to look away, aware of her breath coming faster in her throat. She could feel the heat of his body. She remembered the feel of his shirt beneath her cheek, the warmth and comfort as his arms enfolded her. But the warmth she was feeling now had little to do with comfort.
    He wanted to kiss her now, she knew. Kyria had dealt with men trying to steal kisses from her before. She was adept at stepping back or turning her cheek, making a light remark that changed the moment. But she made no move to do any of those things, simply stood gazing up at Rafe, feeling her blood move with sudden heat through her veins. She wanted to kiss him,wanted to feel his lips on hers with an excitement that fizzed along her nerves like champagne.
    His hands went to her arms, first wrapping lightly around her wrists, then sliding slowly up her arms. She shivered again at the feel of his hands, faintly roughened, gliding over her soft flesh. His hands reached her shoulders and tightened, pulling her into him as he bent toward her. Kyria knew she should have protested, should have drawn back, but she did not. She let him draw her to him, turning her face up to his.
    His mouth settled on hers, slow and soft, his lips moving against hers with an increasing urgency. Kyria’s heart slammed in her chest. She had been kissed a few times by eager suitors, but never before had it felt like this. Never before had she wanted to press against him as she did now, nor had her hands slid up to his chest and dug into his lapels, holding on under the onslaught of pleasure.
    He made a noise deep in his throat as she leaned into him, and his arms slipped around her, pulling her tightly against his rock-hard body. She felt the strength of his muscles through their clothes, their bodies locked together all the way up and down. She slid her arms up and around his neck, holding on tightly as his mouth took hers.
    “Kyria!” Her father’s voice sounded down the hall, calling her.
    Kyria stiffened and stepped abruptly back. Rafe’s arms opened, letting her go, and for an instant they simply stood staring at each other, shocked by the intensity of what they had just experienced. Kyria drew a shaky breath and turned away, her hands going to her burning cheeks.
    “Kyria? Are you down this way?” The duke’s voice came again as his footsteps rang down the hall.
    Kyria cleared her throat and said, “Yes, Papa. I’m in here.”
    She reached up to pat her hair, hoping that she did not look as stunned and flushed as she felt. She started toward the door just as her father stopped at the door and peered into the room.
    “Ah, there you are, my dear,” he said, smiling benignly and stepping into the room. “Smeggars said he thought you went this way. Your mother sent me. She said to tell you to come help Olivia. She’s gone up to change into her traveling clothes. What are you—Oh!”
    He stopped, his eye caught by the small white box on the table. He approached it, intrigued, and picked it up carefully. “I say—what a beautiful artifact! Where did you get it? Byzantine, isn’t it?”
    “Is it?” Kyria asked, as she and Rafe moved to where the duke stood admiring the ivory box.
    “Oh, yes, I think so. Not my specialty, of course.” He turned toward Rafe, saying in explanation, “I am much fonder of the earlier Roman Empire, you know, and even earlier—the Greek, Etruscan, Cretan. I don’t really know a great deal about the later empire. But I would definitely say that it looks like Byzantine work.”
    He ran his finger over the rounded top, easily distracted from his mission, as he always was by any ancient object. “This style, like a humpbacked trunk, is typical of the Byzantines, as is the carved ivory. Not as beautiful as their cloisonné work, in my opinion, which was really quite phenomenal, given the times. I would hazard a guess that this was