And he stared into hers.
Behind his hazel gaze, she saw…something that made her lungs tighten even more.
That elusive, insubstantial entity prowled, predatory, powerful, yet she sensed that it yearned…
His gaze lowered to her lips, and they throbbed.
And she yearned, too…
She blinked.
She had no idea how long they’d stood there, on the edge of the lawn with her held tight, locked against him.
Her bonnet was askew. Her gaze fixed on his face, slowly, she raised the hand that had come to rest, half gripping, on his shoulder and reached for her headgear.
With his gaze still locked on her lips, he dragged in a breath—as if he was as starved of air as she.
Against her curves, impressed upon them, every muscle in his body felt like tempered steel, even as she registered them tensing further.
Then he moved. Slowly, deliberately—as if she was composed of the most fragile spun glass that might shatter if he moved too quickly—he eased his hold on her. He shifted her fractionally away, setting her on her feet, then stepped back, steadying her.
The instant she stood straight, his arms and hands fell from her.
Immediately, she missed the warmth of his body against hers, missed the sensations…
Good Lord.
Her lips ached, as did some urgent impulse inside her.
I wanted him to kiss me.
The realization shocked her back to the world.
She tried to speak, then cleared her throat and managed, “Thank you. I…slipped.”
“I know.” Fleetingly, he met her gaze, then his lashes lowered, hiding his eyes. His voice was deeper and rougher than usual; the resonance reverberated through her breastbone.
She dragged in another breath and forced her gaze across the drive, telling herself she was glad he’d drawn back so she could fill her lungs again.
What a lie.
Weakly, she gestured toward the house and started walking.
After an instant’s hesitation, he fell in beside her, but as they continued to the house’s north door, she was aware that he kept a careful yard between them.
Gone was the relaxed camaraderie of only minutes before. In its place was a heightened awareness that crawled like tiny ants over her skin, setting it prickling and her nerves leaping—in anticipation of a touch that might or might not come.
He reached for the door, pushed it open, waved her inside, then followed.
In the dimness of the corridor, she glanced his way and airily said, “I need to check with Nessie.”
His “Of course” sounded strangely distant. His parting nod seemed aloof as well.
She inclined her head in return, then walked down the corridor toward the kitchen—and felt his gaze on her back until she turned the corner and passed out of his sight.
She told herself they would both soon forget the fraught tension of that unexpected moment and revert to how they’d been before, but when afternoon tea was served in the drawing room, as it was on Sunday afternoons, and he walked in to join the company, it was immediately borne in on her, courtesy of her leaping senses, that she’d yet to regain her previous equilibrium.
He smiled and chatted to Julia, who’d undertaken to dispense the tea.
