“Not much. I had a cup of chocolate.”
“I knew it.” What if he took the taste from her tongue? He bit down on his tongue instead. “Tighten it. Not too much.” She tugged the ends of the linen in opposite directions, making it snug around his neck. Why was he breathing hard? “Then settle that knot with one end on top and the other on bottom.”
“Like this?” She tilted her head as she twisted the knot.
“Yes. Now flatten and smooth the top bit.”
She bit her bottom lip as she concentrated on it, and a small lock of hair fell out of her bonnet. The ribbons beneath her chin were easy to undo, and her hands froze when he attacked them, silently, surely. They went back to work as he lifted the bonnet off her head and set it on the bed beside him. Her lovely pink lips popped into the slightest smile, and his pulse tripped into a hot pace.
“Now?” she asked.
“Loop it around the bottom end and tighten.”
“Like this?” Golden eyebrows descending toward one another as she got everything wrong.
“No.” He rested his hands atop hers. “More like this.” He guided her through the motions with light pushes and taps, her skin satin. His need rampant and galloping closer to the point of no control.
From a pair of hands.
A pink smile.
And a lock of hair curled across this woman’s temple.
Thislady’stemple.
Her hands froze just beneath his chin, and her gaze seemed to be located a notch higher than the knot at his throat—on his lips.
With the speed of the winter’s first snow drifting across the city flake by tiny flake, she bent and kissed him. Not cold at all, her lips, her breath. Warm and getting hotter.
“Isabella,” he breathed, chaining his hands around waist and pulling her between his legs.
A knock at the door ripped them apart like a powder keg exploding.
Isabella stared wide-eyed at the open bedchamber door. “That must be Mr. and Mrs. Barlow. Quickly. Make yourself presentable.” She held out his waistcoat, and he shrugged into it. He tried to put on his jacket by himself, but she whipped it away, bounced up to put a kiss on his cheek before she helped him into that as well.
She tidied his hair and straightened his cravat, and he put that rogue curl behind her ear and licked a speck of remaining chocolate from the corner of her lips. Her breath hitched, and he knew one desire—to throw her on the bed and damn the Barlows. But before hecould move, she buttoned his waistcoat, smoothed his jacket, and he, giving up all hope, offered her his arm.
A domestic dance, every step cozy and comfortable and right. And every step of it making every part of his body more and more aware of every part of hers.
By the time they made it to the sitting-room door and flung it open, he was wishing for a hat to hold over his cock. God, don’t let anyone look down.
“Good morning,” Isabella said, stepping back to let them in. “Apologies for taking so long to answer the door. We do not have any help when we stay in these rooms.”
Mr. Barlow winked. “No need to apologize. We were young once, weren’t we, Mrs. Barlow?”
She preened as she took a proffered seat on the sofa. “We were young just this morning, Mr. Barlow.”
Mirth shook the suppressed line of Isabella’s smile.
Rowan cleared his throat and sat in a chair across from them. “It is time, I think, to talk business.”
Behind him, Isabella set a hand on his shoulder. “Too quickly, darling. Let them breathe first.” She sat in the chair next to him. “You must know my husband is not a patient man.”
“He’s been quite patient,” Mr. Barlow said.
“Incredibly so,” Mrs. Barlow agreed. “We have had a memorable time in London, and it is all because of you. I think you can guess what our decision is.”
“I don’t dare guess.” Rowan crossed one leg over the other. “But I do hope. Yet, I will not assume.”
