Prologue
It had started by mistake. He had blindly grabbed her and pulled her into his pitch-black sanctuary, at first not realising that she wasn't the one he had intended to grab at all. He'd kissed her and he had sensed her shock, her uncertainty and then, after a moment, her curiosity. It was as her hand blindly groped up and down his arm, as though his arm could tell her everything, that he realised it wasn't the intended person at all.
She had hesitated for what felt like an age after that. He had waited, processing his own thoughts about the situation. He did not walk away; he couldn't; the mystery of the girl before him intrigued him too much.
Her actions had been hesitant; she had lifted her face to his and had slowly, carefully and blindly sought out his lips. The kiss that greeted him was soft, hesitant and experimental. It was everything he had expected from her but nothing that he had intended.
He had breathed in and embraced her then, taking in the smell of flowers and musk.
He had closed his eyes and kissed her back, a fleeting thought crossing his mind as her hands wound into his hair.
This is definitely not Parkinson.
