“An itsy-bitsy tiny dare. What else?”
Of course, it would be a dare.
“Don’t worry.” He danced her to the edge of the ballroom. An escape route? “No one will see.”
* * *
She’d chosen him. She’d chosen him over another fellow, and though her words about having chosen him ages ago were pure fiction, and it had only been for a single dance, her choosing him tonight felt real. He’d never been anyone’s first choice before. Always a backup, a spare, existingjust in case.
Not for Lillian. Not tonight. The way she looked at him—oh, in between the glares and eye rolls—was pure magic. He felt wanted, and he wanted more.
The music stilled and the murmur of the crowd increased in conversation.
Lillian’s scent—sunshine and sugar tonight—wrapped round him. He tugged her out of the room. She’d chosen him, and she deserved something in return. She deserved what little he had to give her.
“Where are you taking me?” Lillian asked, breathless as she fled the crowd beside him.
He raced a bit faster, just a bit. “Do you want me to pick you up and swing you over my shoulder? Or did you prefer the baggage hold from yesterday?”
“Neither!”
“Ah yes, I’m not supposed to carry you about, am I. Pity.”
“What’s the dare, you mischievous man?” she whispered.
“Iamfeeling mischievous. Delightful that you noticed.” He stopped outside a door in the long hallway and pressed her against the wall. He bracketed her head with his forearms and grinned down at her.
Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow, and her fingers tangled at her belly. “Are you ever not feeling mischievous?”
“Excellent point. From morning to midnight, I’m mischief personified.”
“In the hours after midnight, before the sun rises?” Her low voice was barely audible.
He leaned lower over her still and whispered in her ear, “I’m whatever you wish me to be during those hours.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and he swung away from her to keep from crushing her body to his, devouring her lips in a kiss he wanted more than anything else at that precise moment.
He reached to the side and pushed open a door, then pushed her inside. Thankfully, no one was in the women’s retiring room. It had been a gamble, and he’d promised himself to stop gambling, for her sake. Old habits die hard, it seemed.
“A dare,” she said, a slight tremble in her voice. “What is it?”
“A kiss first.” He should not have said that. Oh well, it was out in the open, no reason not to have the kiss after all.
She turned to a mirror and checked her curls, her gown. “No. A dare. Not a kiss.”
“A kiss or a dare? Why not both?”
She turned from the mirror, a haughty brow raised. “Not both.”
He sighed in his most dramatic fashion. “As you wish, I suppose,” he grumbled.
“The dare cannot be something scandalous. I’ve already pushed the limits enough, engaging myself to you.”
“Well, you had no say in the matter, did you?”
“Maybe not. If I’d had a choice…” She shrugged. “I do not know that I’d have let my chance to have you slip through my fingers.”
Lies, though her words must be, his body believed her, believed she would choose him for more than just a dance.
