Ulrich's back struck the door hard enough that the latch rattled. Meera's mouth was pressed flat against his. Her fingers fisted in the soaked linen of his shirt, pulling him down even as she rose onto her toes, the wet silk of her gown plastered to every curve.
He caught her shoulders and pushed her back a fraction, just enough to look.
She blinked up at him, lashes clumped dark with water, blue hair clinging in ropes to her cheeks and the delicate line of her jaw. The gown had gone nearly transparent. The bodice cupped and lifted the heavy swell of her breasts; the cold had drawn her nipples slightly against the fabric.
Something in Ulrich's carefully ordered mind simply gave way.
He leaned in and took her mouth.
