“I give you my word, Catie,” Valentine said, leaning that slim hip against his desk again. “I will not touch you.”
She stood still, considering.
“Catie, if the prime minister trusts me, surely you can.”
Oh, now he was all but daring her. As though she were afraid. As though she hadn’t been the one to kiss him last night. “Very well. I shall kiss you.” She held up a finger. “Once.”
He wrapped both of his hands around the edge of his desk behind him, then slouched so that he would be at an accessible height. “I am at your disposal,” he said, and closed his eyes.
And still she did not move. He stood waiting blindly, hands immobile, legs braced apart, a warrior at her mercy.
She took one step forward, then another. And then she stopped. She was only a few steps away, and the closer she got, the more daunting the whole task seemed. Was she just supposed to walk up and kiss the man? This had been so much easier when she was already in his arms last night.
She put her foot out to take another tentative step forward, and her shoe hovered.
He cracked one eyelid. “You’re not going to leave me standing here, are you?”
“Ah—”
He’d closed his eyes again, and she thought how uncharitable it would be if she ran away, leaving him this way. After all, he was practically helpless.
She took another step and then another until she was directly before him. She was close enough to kiss him now, close enough so that he could have reached out and grasped her, but he did not. He kept his eyes closed and his hands locked on the desk, even as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
She quickly withdrew, and he did not grab her and gobble her up. In fact, he still stood like a statue, eyes closed.
She frowned at him. That was all the reaction her kiss was to receive? He looked as though he were still waiting.
“Lord Valentine?”
“Quint,” he said. Then, “Hmm?”
“I kissed you.”
He cracked one eye again. “When?”
She put her hands on her hips. “Just now. A moment ago.”
“Are you certain?” He frowned. “I didn’t feel anything. You’d better do it again.” And he closed his eyes.
She frowned back at him. She might be inexperienced, but she was no fool. Of course, he had felt the kiss. He just wanted her to do it again. She almost turned and left, but again, it seemed unkind to leave him thus. And so she tilted her head and kissed him once more, this time harder and lingering a bit longer. Her pulse jumped as she remembered the feel of his hands on her last night.
When she pulled back, he was looking at her and smiling. “That was better,” he said. “And you haven’t turned into an ugly toad yet from putting your lips on mine.”
“Best not to chance it further.”
“You chanced it last night. Kiss me like you did last night.”
Catherine shook her head. “No. Last night was—it was—” What was it? “I cannot, sir.”
“Why? Don’t you want me?”
“Of course, I want you, it’s just that—” She slammed her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. Oh, Lord, how mortifying.
He put his hands around hers and pulled them down. “Catie, you are free to reject me and my bed, but wouldn’t you like to know what you are rejecting first? Don’t you deserve to know?”
She turned away. Why was she listening to him? And how could she not? She did deserve to know pleasure. Everyone would assume she’d shared his bed no matter what she did. Shouldn’t she reap some reward? She wanted him. Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps she was a fool, but she needed him to touch her again like he had last night.
She turned back to him. “Would you”—she paused and took a deep breath—“would you kiss me?”
