“Go change. We’re done for today.”
He turned to go behind the screen, and she strode off to quit the room. Only after reaching for the handle did she realize she hadn’t put her sword away. She jaunted over to the watering station. When she heard male voices from outside the gymnasium, she panicked. It sounded like her father. She had thought he’d been away for the morning. Of course, he knew about her fencing, but she didn’t think he would be too keen to know that the Duke of Baskim had been partnering with her.
What a thought? As if Wesley had been a partner of any kind. But that thought was quite low on the list of urgent items. Right now, she didn’t want to face her father with the duke, so she snuck behind the screen bumping into Wesley in the small space.
And not a second too late.
Her father entered the gymnasium. He must have scanned the room, and seeing no one closed the door, for she heard him muttering, “I swear I heard someone in there.” But to whomever he was muttering, he just continued listening and the voices faded down the corridor.
And then she realized…
Her hands were on skin. Perspiration coated skin. Warm, wet skin. One hand was on a stomach that felt as hard as granite. Yet there was soft curling hair down there. Down there. God, and it was leading further down. She could see the hairs curling overhis breeches and leading down…down…down. She looked up to catalog where her other hand rested. Sigh. A thick, flexing bicep. She rubbed her thumb, advancing and retreating down a one inch path. It was real. She could feel it. Moving.
And then she looked up…
Into his eyes. Those piercing eyes. His pupils were dilated in shock. His nostrils flared.
“What are you doing?”
“I—I heard someone coming.”
“I thought that your family expected this kind of behavior from you.”
“Expected. Yes. Observed me with a man. No.” Her answers were short, not for lack of trying to explain, but for lack of oxygen to her brain. His scent, soap and hard work were overtaking her senses. So much so that she hadn’t even removed her hands from his body. “I—I mostly fence with my tutor. My father would have been more than a little astonished to see you here. With me. Like this.”
Like this. With her hands on his statuesque figure. Yet she still couldn’t bring herself to retreat.
“Like this.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “Or like this?”
And then his hands were on her. One resting firmly on the small of her back, his fingers dangerously close to her bottom. The other clasped around the back of her neck. And he swung her around and pushed her gently up against the wall, still encased behind the screen.
She gasped.
He leaned in closer to her lips. He was offering a second chance. It was an invitation though, not a demand, for he left space between them. Hardly any. But there was space. And although the space was less than an inch apart, it may as well have been a universe away. The space was the difference between a good girl and, well…a proper woman. Woman, notlady. All her life she had always been the good girl. Her only deviance from etiquette was her enjoyment of fencing. Soon, that deviation would be pronounced, and public, but she had time before that happened. And when it did, she would not again have a chance like the one presented before her. A kiss with a gentleman. Once her reputation was ruined, there was no going back.
So why not take the step from a good girl to a proper woman. As in, a woman with experience. Of the world. Of celestial proportions.
He was nice…enough. He was manliness personified. She knew of his rakish endeavors, which meant, if she were going to take the leap with someone, it may as well have the most potential as possible to be good. And really, he was here. Inviting her.
But the nail in the coffin was her final thought. The courtship was all a sham anyway. Why not milk it for all it was worth?
And then, feeling as if she were the first woman to travel in space, she took the interstellar step.
Chapter Twelve
Either Wesley grewimpatient and moved in at the same time, or Boudicca overestimated the space between them. That or she was just destined to be bad at this whole kissing thing. She would never know the real reason for her first kiss being an unfortunate bumbling mess. But she was pretty sure that her chin chucked his lips and her nose gouged his eye. All the while his hands remained locked in place. A soft rumble reverberated from his chest, which, now that she thought about it, was lodged nicely against her bosoms. And now that she really thought about it, her nipples had tipped into peaks. And yes, that slight bit of friction against his chest was about to lead to her demise.
“Boudicca,”—he leaned his forehead against hers—“this is not a bout. There’s no attacking here.” His lips were practically grazing hers, they were so close. “May I?”
She nodded slowly, causing his head to follow her movements.
And then she had her real first kiss. Not a bump or a bunglement of orifices.
His lips gently swept hers at the corner of her mouth. “So soft,” he said. And her body responded by wilting.
She slid her hands to meet together at his chest. Her fingers ran through his chest hairs like velvet. And just like with the teasing fabric, she couldn’t leave it alone.
His lips were pressing against hers, parting. And he moaned, while bringing his body closer to hers. His hips. Closer to her center, covered only in one light layer of clothing.
