She slid her hands up his chest, along his jaw, and her fingers were cold, so cold, and her mouth so sweet and warm and giving. He was all heat and hunger, filled with an aching, ravenous longing that... that frightened him.
It brought him to his senses. This was wrong. She was Cal Rutherford’s sister and he—he was not fit for an innocent girl’s embrace.
He released her, pushed her away, not gracefully, staggering back as if in recoil.
“E-Edward? What’s the matt—”
“No.” His voice was harsh, repelling. “This is wrong. A mistake.”
“But—”
“No. Forget it ever happened.” He wiped his mouth roughly with his sleeve as if to remove all trace of her—asif anything could—she was in his blood now. But the moonlight—the damned interfering moonlight—caught his gesture, lit it clearly, and he saw the ripple of pain pass across her face as if he’d slapped her.
He reached out to her in an involuntary gesture, but she’d turned away and missed it—and that was a good thing, he told himself. He had to remain strong. He clenched his fists, fighting for some semblance of the sangfroid he was known for, breathing deeply and calming slowly as the cold air scoured him.
Never had a few simple kisses thrown him so far off balance. Never had any woman, let alone a young vir— No. Pursue that thought to its natural conclusion and court madness.
Away in the woods a fox screamed, lustful and forlorn. Ned knew how the wretched beast felt.
After a long moment, Lily turned. “Shall we continue on our way, or is it time to return to the inn? I know we need to make an early start.” Her smooth, low-voiced question, so very composed-sounding and mundane, surprised Ned.
Was she as calm as she seemed, or was she doing her best to hide the same sort of turmoil that raged inside him? Her breathing was audible and slightly ragged but otherwise there was no sign of agitation in her voice or face or body—not that he could see, not in this damned elusive moonlight. Had she felt what he— No! He forced himself to take another step back. It didn’t matter what she felt.
It. Could. Not. Be.
She was a romantic, gentle young lady—even her recent ordeal, nasty and terrifying as it must have been, hadn’t dimmed her sweetness or her seemingly natural optimism. While he—he might not have reached his thirtieth year yet, but compared to her he was a hundred years old.
He took a deep breath. If she could take a couple of kisses in her stride, so could he.
A couple of kisses.It felt like so much more.
“Time to go back,” he said. It came out gruff and abrupt, but he couldn’t help that.
She put up her hood, pale fingers arranging dark fabric,and he remembered how cold those fingers had been against his skin.
“Put these on.” He shoved his gloves at her.
“I don’t need—”
“Put the damned things on, your hands are freezing.” His gloves were leather and lined with fur. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed she wore no gloves, and had no pockets in which to warm her hands. And that she hadn’t mentioned it.
Did this girl not know how to complain and demand she be looked after? Every other woman he knew had it down to an art form.
She gave an infinitesimal shrug, took his gloves and slid her hands into them. They were, of course, much too big, but at least they would be warm. “Now”—he was about to offer his arm, but thought better of it; he didn’t need the contact—“after you.” He gestured, and she stepped before him onto the narrow path.
They walked in silence, the sounds of their footsteps and the faint scuttles and far-off cries of wild creatures of the night all that accompanied them. And thoughts, tumbling, nagging, roiling...
Suddenly she stopped, turned to face him and said, “Was it me?”
For a moment he didn’t understand. “What?”
Her face was pale and intent in the moonlight. “Why you stopped. Did I do it wrong?”
He closed his eyes. Christ! He swallowed. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She waited for him to explain further, but he couldn’t bring himself to say another word. And if she stood there much longer, looking up at him with those big fathomless eyes, biting down on those soft lips, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.
“It’s late. Keep moving.” It sounded harsh, but it was for the best. Her best.
