“Yes.”
“But we agreed to be friends, didn’t we? And friends don’t abandon each other—not in my world.”
A crease appeared between her silky arched brows. “But we can’t be friends, not since...”
“Since I proposed marriage?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Does that ban extend to my daughters? I must say, they’ll be very disappointed not to be allowed to visit you or play in your garden. They haven’t stopped talking about it ever since you climbed that tree with them.” She gave him a troubled look, and he added sadly, “I would have brought them today, but I was worried you’d send them away.”
“I would never send them away!” she said, shocked.
“So you would still welcome their visits?”
“Of—of course.” She’d finally perceived his trap.
He glanced out the window. “Perhaps we could talk in the garden?”
“In the garden? Why?”
“Because it’s spring, and the sun is out, and who knows how long that will last?” And because he wanted her to lose a little of the tension that currently held her as tight as anoverwound clock. He presented his arm, and, with a bemused expression, she allowed him to escort her into the garden.
They strolled along, the woman on his arm pretending to enjoy the delights of the garden in the intermittent mid-spring sunshine and filling the silence with determinedly inconsequential chatter. They admired the flowers, picked some catmint for the kitten’s basket, observed the budding lavender where she explained, in detail and rather desperately, how she made lavender bags to keep her linens fresh and fragrant, a subject in which he wasn’t the slightest bit interested.
Since the garden wasn’t doing the job, James decided to get straight to the point. “You know, marriage with one man might be unbearable, but it could be quite different with another—with me, in fact. Because you must admit, as friends we’ve done quite well.”
“Yes, but there is... a distance between friends that makes it... easier.”
“And that’s what troubles you about marriage? Its intimacy?”
She flushed and looked away. “I wish you would not—”
“I’m fighting for my future happiness here,” he said. “Ourfuture happiness. And I don’t wish to distress you, but if some plain speaking will help—” At that moment large raindrops started to fall. He glanced up. Where had the sun gone? It was all dark clouds and—blast this wretched climate!—rain, getting heavier by the minute. He glanced around. “Here, that summerhouse.”
Taking her hand, he ran with her toward the summerhouse. He tried the door. “Blast. It’s locked.” Rain pelted down.
“The key is here.” She took an ornate key out of the nearby stone lantern, and he unlocked the door. They fell inside, breathless, laughing and damp from the sudden downpour.
She shook out her skirts, which were clinging to hershape in a most enticing—and deliciously improper—way. James simply stood and watched her.
Her hair clustered in damp curls framing her face. Her complexion, burnished by the rain and the exercise, glowed like a pearl. Damp, disheveled, unselfconscious and natural, she purely took his breath away.
“Lord, but you’re beautiful,” he murmured, and without thinking he stepped forward and cupped her face between his hands. Her skin was like cold silk, her mouth lush and damp and sweetly curved, and he was drowning in her eyes, her sea-deep, sea blue eyes. James couldn’t help himself
Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers, watching her eyes widen and then flutter closed. She was tense, but she made no move to pull away as he brushed his mouth across her lush, tender lips. He nibbled gently on them, teasing and tasting, and she pressed against him, her mouth closed tight, her lips pursed as she pressed baby kisses on him.
He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. Her eyes flew open, her breath hitched, and her lips parted, and he was in, and oh, the glory of her. She tasted of surprise and rain and sweet, sweet woman.
Heat sizzled through him, setting his body alight. He wanted to take her now, here in the summerhouse, with the rain all around them, cocooning them in their own private world.
He deepened the kiss and felt her hesitation, and then the first shy touches of her tongue against his.
He pressed deeper, pulling her pliant body against him, feeling himself hardening.
Awareness finally trickled through to his brain and hit him like a dash of cold water. It wasn’t just shyness here, not just inexperience; it was a level of innocence that shocked him.Baby kisses.She had no idea how to kiss. Eighteen years of marriage, and she had no idea how to kiss.
That bastard!
