“Yes?” I whispered.
“Has he told you how lovely you look tonight?”
If I were the heroine in a historical romance, I’d have at least considered a good swoon. “We’re not really the complimenting types.”
“Then let me tell you what heshouldsay.” Lachlan lowered his head and brushed his mouth against the shell of my ear. “Olivia.” His words were a slow, warm drip of honey. “You look stunning tonight.” His nose caressed my cheek, the faintest skim against my skin. “You’re elegant, beautiful, commanding…and only moderately shrewish.”
I bit down on my glossed bottom lip, refusing to laugh. “My husband prefers me that way.”
“He probably prays for your dark heart.” Lachlan’s gaze lifted over my head then returned to my flushed face. “Your family is staring at us.”
I suddenly became aware of what they would see. At some point Lachlan’s hands had moved to hold me firmly against him. My own traitorous hands had somehow migrated to the front of his very expensive shirt. “Maybe we should move apart. Mingle.”
“Or,” Lachlan said.
“Yes?”
“We give them something a little more convincing.”
At least five scenarios bloomed into vivid images in my mind. I categorized, labeled, and filed them away. “What…what did you have in mind?”
“Well.” Lachlan’s voice vibrated low in his chest. “If I were a man who missed his wife, I might take her face in my hands—lightly, carefully—and press a hint of a kiss to one cheek.” His lips moved to the spot I had applied blush only an hour before. “And then the other.” One simple kiss, not even lips to lips, and I was lost, floating above my body watching Lachlan embrace me. “I’m a man of instinct,” he murmured against my skin, “and my gut tells me you’re a neck girl.”
I was. I really was.
One finger drew a path down the column of my throat, like a match across paper. “But that seems a bit too much for tonight’s audience.”
Darn it!
I meant,Right. Of course. Too much.
“A husband wouldn’t want to cause a scene,” Lachlan said, his eyes searching mine. “So maybe he’d simply cover your lips with his—like a newly wedded man.”
How had I gotten here? To the point where if Lachlan didn’t kiss me that instant, I might combust into a thousand tiny pieces of glittery want? “For appearance’s sake,” I heard myself say.
His smile hovered. “Mostly.”
Then Lachlan Hayes, the guy I’d once loved to hate, slanted his lips over mine.
Fire, light, and shock.
The contact could’ve incinerated this whole store. Sorry, books. We’re going up in flames.
Part of me had hoped Lachlan would be a bad kisser. That I’d let his limp lips capture mine while I thought of Hollywood hunks and tried to do my part.
But since meeting Lachlan again, nothing had gone as expected, so of course, the man knew how to kiss—too, too well. I drowned in that kiss, sank low, completely submerged, and remained a mind and body unable to break the surface. The noise of the bookshop faded away, and all I heard were my own airy sighs. My arms moved northward, twining around Lachlan’s neck, while my cheeks brushed against the remaining stubble of his face. I tried to take over, to command the lead as was my habit, but my will had vanished in the ephemeral mist around us.
My head felt light in Lachlan’s hands, as if airy dreams had filled my brain. My lungs breathed wonder and my heart beat a desperation invitation. No one had ever kissed me like this—as if I were a treasure, a jewel found after a lifetime of search.
If this was pretending, Lachlan was the greatest of deceivers. I could almost believe this was real myself.
My lips followed wherever Lachlan’s led. To be well and truly kissed in a bookstore—was there anything better? The Jane Austen novels were jealous. The Harlequins stared on with regret. The Danielle Steele paperbacks no doubt wept with wanting.
I opened my eyes only to find Lachlan watching me right back. The back of his hand glanced down my cheek and his lips began to descend once more.
“Refill those glasses!” I heard Sylvie call out. “Let’s raise a toast to Rosie!”
The intoxicating stardust vanished in an instant, and my surroundings returned—the walls, the books, the people. Seconds ago, I had received the most life-shattering kiss, and the world had simply carried on.
