Temptation and Surrender (15 page)

I
f only they knew what Em was searching for, hey’d very likely be able to help her to it, and then…

And then he might be able to get her to concentrate on him and what was evolving between them, rather than on her search.

The following morning, Jonas cantered through his father’s fields, following the line of the River Coly upstream from where it joined the Axe. He’d been to check the weir downriver; finding all was well, he was heading back to the Grange, casting his eyes over his father’s domains and thinking of Emily Beauregard.

His wish to have her undivided attention wasn’t the only reason he wanted her search brought to a quick and satisfactory conclusion. It had finally occurred to him just why her secret project made him so uneasy—because her very secrecy implied there was potentially danger involved, from some direction, one he couldn’t begin to identify given he didn’t know what she was searching for.

The thought of her being in danger wasn’t one he could bear with any degree of equanimity; having finally accepted what she meant to him, he even understood why.

Frowning into the morning sun, he guided Jupiter, his black gelding, on.

He wouldn’t have spotted the errant pair making their way through the corn if they hadn’t giggled—loudly enough for Jupiter to take exception, to shake his head and lay back his ears.

Reining in by the side of a copse, Jonas watched the two bright heads striking across the field—directly for the riverbank.

The Coly was a small enough river, and given it was October, wasn’t running high, but beneath the gently rippling surface, the current was, in places, strong, and there were deep pools scattered along its length.

Too deep for young girls to risk slipping in.

Jonas hadn’t intended to reclaim their attention, not until they’d forgotten about his promise to take them driving. Besides, as Em had foreseen, the pair made him, if not nervous, then wary. He’d grown up side by side with Phyllida, but dealing with a sister wasn’t the same as dealing with the twins, prospective sisters-in-law though they might be.

Still…they continued on, skipping and leaping through the corn.

Jonas sighed and urged Jupiter into a walk—toward the pair. He angled closer, then before they saw him, he tapped his heels to Jupiter’s sides, setting him to a trot, bringing him onto a line between the girls and the river.

He drew rein directly in their path.

Startled, they halted. They looked up at him—recognized him—and smiled. Brilliantly.

Before delight could completely overtake them, he arched a brow at them. “Do your sisters know where you are?”

The question brought them up short—cut off their exclamations of joy. Instead, they exchanged a long glance, deciding what to tell him, then looked up at him.

“No,” said Gert.

“We’re supposed to be upstairs
drawing
.” Bea made the activity sound like the biggest waste of time ever invented. “But it was far too nice to stay indoors.”

Their expressions stated that they fully expected him to understand and sympathize; the truth was, he did. He pulled a face, letting that show. “Understandable,
but
…while these fields and the river might look safe enough, there’s dangers aplenty. For instance—” He let his imagination free and listed a number of potential hazards. While the girls didn’t look all that deterred, when he pointed out how upset their sisters would be if anything happened to them, and no one knew to save them because they’d slipped out without permission, their expressions turned serious, enough to encourage him to conclude with, “And just at the moment, what with the inn and her search, Em has enough to worry about without you two adding to it, don’t you think?”

At that they exchanged glances, and looked truly contrite.

“We just wanted to explore, just a
little
.” Bea offered him a wavering grimace.

Convinced, now, that they wouldn’t run from him, he swung down from the saddle. “Come on—I’ll walk you home.”

They turned away from the river and cut across the field, then followed the next hedgerow back toward the wood. The girls ranged on either side of him as he tramped along, Jupiter’s reins in his hands. The big gelding snorted, not pleased by having to walk instead of run.

“We wanted to see what was out there,” Gert stated, eyes on the ground as she marched along. “To explore a bit, seeing we’re going to be here for a little while.”

If he had any say in the matter, they’d be here for a good long while.

“It’s what Colytons do,” Bea stated, as if that explained all.

Jonas knew the stories of the village’s founders, all of whom, so the tales went, had been irrepressible adventurers; it seemed the twins had heard the tales and decided that simply living in Colyton demanded such enterprise—at least gumption enough to learn what lay over the nearest horizon.

“Be that as it may,” he said, “I doubt your sisters would approve.”

Bea pulled a horrendous face. “Pr’bly not.”

“They like us to be safe.” Gert was eyeing Jupiter. “Is he a
good
horse?”

Jonas glanced back at his steed, who appeared to have resigned himself to having his gallop cut short. “Good enough.” He glanced at Gert, then Bea. “You must be getting tired—would you like to sit on his back for the rest of the way?”

They did, of course. He lifted them up, but didn’t shorten the stirrups. Jupiter’s back was wide enough that they were in no danger of sliding off. “Don’t giggle,” he warned as he started off, leading the big black. “He doesn’t like giggling—most horses don’t. He might decide he doesn’t want you on his back if you giggle.”

They were suitably silent for the next ten yards. Then they started asking questions about what they could see from their elevated perch.

As he knew the area—could see it in his mind’s eye—he could answer with ease. They were still posing questions when they walked into the stableyard at the back of the inn.

John Ostler stuck his head out of the kitchen door, then drew back. A moment later, Em emerged. Looking thoroughly surprised, she hurried up.

Jonas answered the question he could see in her eyes before she got close enough to utter it. “They’re well, unharmed, perfectly fine.”

Halting, locking her hands on her hips, Em looked up at her half sisters. “Where were they?” She narrowed her eyes at the pair, who appeared not one whit abashed.

“I found them heading for the river. I’ve explained to them why that isn’t a good place to explore. Nor yet the further woods.” Jonas reached up and lifted Gert down, then turned back for Bea. “I’ve suggested they confine themselves to the wood this side of the path for now—and to always make sure they get your permission before they venture forth.”

He stepped back and looked at the pair. They returned his gaze and nodded solemnly—first to him, then to Em.

She looked at them and wondered.

She held to her awful silence for a moment more, then said, “You’d better get inside and apologize to Issy, then take yourselves upstairs and resume your lesson.”

With identical angelic smiles, the two skipped off.

She watched them go, then sighed. “I’ll have to remind Issy that they need breaks—she’ll have to take them out and about in between their indoor lessons.”

“That would be wise.” Jonas remained beside her, showing no inclination to leave.

She glanced at him, met his eyes. “What did you promise them?”

He held her gaze for a moment, his expression uncommunicative, then he grinned. “I told them about various places round about—places they can’t possibly reach on their own—then suggested that if they behave and don’t go wandering alone and without telling you for the next month, that I might—just might—find time to take them to explore one or two of those distant places.”

A carrot perfectly fashioned to keep the twins in line. “Thank you.” She heard the relief in her voice, knew she felt it. “That’s…very kind of you.”

His horse snorted, shifted, coming between them and the house. He glanced at the big black beast, who obediently settled.

Then he looked down at her.

Considered her for a moment before saying, “I didn’t do it for them—I did it for you.”

Looking into his dark eyes, she knew he spoke the truth, tried unsuccessfully to steel herself against it. She inclined her head. “Once again, thank you. I…Issy and I would have been frantic when we discovered them gone.”

He nodded. He made no move to depart. Instead, his eyes still on hers, his lips curved in a distinctly unsettling way, as if he knew something she didn’t.

She frowned at him. “What?”

“I was just thinking that I deserve a reward.”

Every instinct leapt—in various different directions. “What reward?”

“This reward.”

His arm slid around her waist and cinched her to him, scattering her wits even before he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. First his tongue teased her lips apart, then plunged into her mouth and tasted.

Taunted, tempted.

She kissed him back, her best intentions flown, dimly aware that his huge horse stood between them and the house, an effective screen should any look out. Their legs might be visible, their nearness suggestive, but no one could see as he angled his head, deepened the kiss—and she slid her arms up, wound them about his neck, and stretched up against him.

The better to kiss him. The better to revel in the sweet exchange. To give, and receive, and share the moment in all its simple yet exciting, illicit yet thrilling, pleasure.

It was just a kiss, she told herself. A kiss and nothing more. Yet within seconds the exchange became a game, a battle of give-and-take, although who was taking and who was giving kept changing and blurring. Which was better, which each preferred, which was the route to greatest delight were all considerations whirling in her brain when, to her dismay, he brought the kiss to an end.

Lifting his head, Jonas looked down into her face, watched her eyes blink open, read in them her utter and complete distraction.

He could barely contain his triumph.

Ignoring the proddings of his baser self, he forced himself to ease his hold on her. Once assured she was steady on her feet, he released her and stepped back.

Saluted her; he couldn’t keep a smile from his lips as he murmured, “Until next time.”

The next time he did a good deed for her, or the next time she rewarded him—or possibly the next time he found her alone.

From the look in her eyes, she couldn’t tell which he meant.

As he didn’t know either, he tugged on Jupiter’s reins, led the gelding a little way on, then swung up to the saddle and rode home.

Leaving her watching him, wondering.

L
ate that afternoon, Jonas returned Henry to the inn after another drive down the nearby lanes. Reins in his hands, Henry drove the curricle sedately into the rear stableyard, surprising Em, crossing the yard from the kitchen garden.

Startled, she halted in the middle of the graveled expanse.

“Drive around her,” Jonas suggested.

Henry carefully guided the grays around his sister, who looked at first amazed, then, pirouetting to keep them in sight, laughed and applauded.

Drawing up before the stable, Henry turned a beaming face to Jonas. “Thank you! I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

“Nonsense.” Jonas smiled. “I’ll think of something.”

Henry laughed, then, still beaming, handed over the reins and leapt down to face his sister. “It was wonderful! I drove for most of the time. Jonas says I’ve got good hands.”

“Indeed.” Tying off the reins, Jonas stepped down from the curricle. John Ostler stuck his head out of the kitchen door to see if he was needed; rounding the curricle, Jonas waved him away, then smiled at Em. “He’ll be a creditable driver with very little effort. It’s easy to teach someone who understands the difference between steering and pulling.”

Henry glowed.

His expression easy, Jonas nodded his way. “I’ll call by in a few days—see how you’re getting on with your lessons and arrange a time for another drive.”

“Again, thank you!” Henry saluted him jauntily, then turned and hurried off to the inn.

Jonas and Em watched him go.

Em frowned. “I suppose he’s hungry.” Her tone suggested that reason accounted for much strange behavior in males of Henry’s age.

Jonas suspected Henry’s abrupt departure was occasioned more by the conversation they’d had while tooling about the countryside—a conversation initiated by Henry, regarding Jonas’s intentions toward Em. Once he’d assured Henry those were honorable—that he wished to marry Em and the only true hurdle was finessing the moment and getting her to agree—Henry had brightened considerably; his rapid exit was blatant encouragement.

“These aren’t your horses.”

He glanced down to find Em frowning at the grays. “No—they’re my father’s. They needed the outing and they’re much more staid than my chestnuts. Much as I approve of your brother’s hands, I wouldn’t trust him to them.”

She cast him a look. “Him to them, or them to him?”

He smiled tightly. “As I said. They’d sense his inexperience and make off with him. He’d probably never try to drive again.”

She studied him for a moment, then shook her head. “So I find I must thank you again.” A suspicious glint lit her fine eyes. “You aren’t, by any chance, being kind to my siblings in order to curry my favor, are you?”

Leaning one shoulder more definitely against the curricle’s side, he smiled down into her eyes. “The thought did occur, I’ll admit, but against all expectations I’m quite enjoying my times with your brother and sisters. They’re entertaining, not boring as most children of their age are.” He held her gaze for a moment, then added, “You’ve guided them well.”

A faint blush rose in her cheeks. “They’re inherently good—just sometimes high-spirited.”

He nodded. “Sadly not everyone appreciates the difference. You’re to be commended for not suppressing their verve. It can’t have been easy with no parents.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. She considered him for a moment more, verifying he was sincere. Before she could thank him again—then try to go in—he reached for her, smoothly drew her to him.

“What…?” Her hands grasped his arms, but she didn’t try to hold him off. The glance she cast was a furtive one directed toward the inn.

“No one can see us,” he murmured, then covered her lips with his.

Kissed her—drank in her sweetness for the second time that day. Wished he could taste her more often. Safe in the shadow of the carriage, he straightened and drew her fully to him, determined to savor that, too—the inexpressibly heady sensation of her slender, slight frame hard up against his.

She tried to hold firm, perhaps meant to resist; she quivered on the cusp, but then relaxed into the kiss, into his embrace. She was all softness and feminine curves, feminine mystery and allure. Her body called to him on some primal level; she wasn’t at all what he’d previously thought his ideal—she was more, better, infinitely more appealing.

His palms itched to sculpt her curves. He longed to lift her in his arms, off her feet, and take her to where he could; only an instinctive tracking of what she would allow—what would and wouldn’t alarm her—prevented him from doing just that. From lifting her and waltzing her into the empty stable behind them.

But he had to woo her step by step, kiss by kiss. Had to gradually awaken her—awaken her desire—until she wanted him. Until she needed him as he needed her.

Already needed her—not a thought to soothe his more primitive side.

He pushed the taunting, incendiary truth away, concentrated instead on keeping his hands still while he savored her luscious lips, the honeyed delight of her mouth. While he took, steeped his senses, and drank his fill—at least for now.

He had to end the kiss, had to lift his head, had to set her down, had to let her go. He forced himself to do so, then to look into her flatteringly dazed eyes, and smile—with just the right amount of teasing taunting. He couldn’t let her see more—see how much he wanted her, what he wanted of her—not yet. Later, yes, but not now.

Now he didn’t want her to take fright, to draw back.

Today, he wanted her curious, tempted, lured.

Seduced.

Into wanting more.

Her bright gaze refocused, searched his face. A frown started to form in her eyes.

She opened her lips—

Before she could say a word, he tapped the end of her nose. “Good afternoon to you, Sparrow. I’ll see you later.”

With an inclination of his head—as jaunty as Henry’s had earlier been—he stepped around the curricle, climbed up, loosened the reins, then with a last salute, gave the grays the office and steered them out of the yard.

Left once again standing in his wake, her lips throbbing, her wits only just settling, Em narrowed her eyes on his departing back. “Sparrow?”

Admittedly she was wearing brown.

She narrowed her eyes even more, inwardly berating her Colyton self for growing far too fond of his kisses. She should resist, refuse, yet
not
resisting was so much more interesting. So much more intriguing. More thrilling, more exciting. And despite all, with him, even trapped in his arms, she felt safe.

A conundrum.

How to manage their mutual attraction was something she’d yet to define. With all other men, her instincts would have leapt into action and held them off; with him, they simply didn’t. They lay quiescent, unaroused. Accepting. Yet another conundrum.

She stared after his curricle until he turned into the road and disappeared from sight, then with a shake of her head, she headed inside.

H
e should never have told the terrible twins about the local sights. Too late Jonas realized his error.

Too late he learned just how expert in the art of badgering the pair were.

They cornered him that evening in the tap. The instant he sat down and placed his customary pint pot on the table before him, they appeared and promptly set about cajoling him into taking them to see one of said sights the following day.

He smiled and tried to distract them—then tried to confuse them, overwhelm them, delay them, dismiss them. Nothing worked.

In the end, he agreed to take them for a ramble to a nearby lookout the following afternoon, simply to gain some peace.

Simply to be able to sit back, sip, and watch their elder sister flit about the inn as she did every evening, smiling and nodding to the patrons, stopping to chat with many of the women. Many looked for her, even the men, although most just nodded and went back to their ale.

As did he, with a sense of peace he hadn’t previously known, but was quickly growing accustomed to.

He duly reported at the back door of the inn the following afternoon. His nephews might routinely forget arranged outings in the bustle of their innocent young lives, but the twins, he now accepted, would be waiting.

They were. Em stood in the corridor behind them; from her expression she wasn’t sure whether to depress her sisters’ pretensions and rescue him from the coming ordeal, or smile at the sight of him in thrall to the two terrors.

In the end, she stood in the doorway and waved them off. In somewhat horrified trepidation, he tramped off for the Seaton lookout flanked by two angel-demons chattering like magpies.

They returned a little before dusk and found Em waiting to gather them in. “How was it?” she asked.

“Lov-er-ly,” Gert averred. “Lots of views all about the countryside.”

“All the way to the sea.” Bea yawned. “We might draw some tomorrow.”

Em’s brows rose. She looked at Jonas, arched a brow as the twins headed for the kitchen.

“It was…” He thought, then admitted, “Better than I expected. They kept up quite well, but they’ll be tired.”

“Come in and have some tea. Hilda’s experimenting with buns—come and give us your opinion.”

He needed no encouragement beyond the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen. Following Em into the warmth and cheery bustle, he couldn’t help but recall how cold, dull, and empty the inn’s kitchen used to be.

Now it was literally a hive of activity. As well as Hilda and her two helpers, Issy was there, and John Ostler. The twins helped themselves to buns, then escaped upstairs.

The big ovens pumped out warmth and delicious aromas. At Em’s wave, Jonas pulled out a chair at the big deal table and sat—more to get out of everyone’s way than anything else.

Henry was already seated, a half-eaten bun in one hand, a pencil gripped in the other, a book open on the table before him, and a frown on his face.

A bun on a plate and a mug of tea appeared before Jonas. He looked up, smiled his thanks at Em, then picked up the bun and bit into it.

The tang of preserved fruit and cinnamon burst on his tongue, tantalized his taste buds. It was so good he might have moaned.

Em shot a glance his way. “Good?”

He simply nodded, and took another bite.

In contrast, Henry ate his bun absentmindedly, without reaction. Curious over what could deaden anyone’s senses to such a degree, Jonas peered at the book. “What is it?”

“Latin homework.” Henry glanced up. “I’m not as advanced with my Latin as I need to be. I have to catch up.”

Jonas took another bite of bun, then nodded to the book. “So what are you wrestling with—declensions?”

“Among other things.”

Jonas inwardly shrugged and volunteered, “I still read a fair bit in Latin—in the interest of saving you from premature wrinkles, I might be able to help. Which verb?”

Passing behind the pair, Em heard Henry answer. Heard Jonas reply. While she moved about the kitchen checking this and that, slipping out to the tap, then returning, she kept an eye on the pair at the table. They’d quickly become oblivious to all around them, sliding deeper into discussion of both verbs and the philosophy text Henry was translating.

He didn’t accept help easily; of them all, he was the most reserved, the quietest and most private. She often worried that if something were wrong, he wouldn’t say, not wanting to add to the burden already on her shoulders.

The only male in their small household, he felt both responsible, and largely helpless. Em understood enough to sympathize; he felt he should take care of them, but his age and inexperience meant she and Issy had always taken care of him.

Although she’d never told him of the bargain she and Issy had struck with their uncle—their unpaid labor in return for his schooling—she’d long suspected he’d guessed, if not all, then enough to feel obligated to her and Issy evermore.

Neither she nor Issy expected nor wanted such thanks; that wasn’t why they’d made their bargain. But she understood that Henry felt that way—she would herself in such circumstances—and that his inability to repay what he viewed as a huge debt chafed.

She wanted to find the Colyton treasure for all of them, but for Henry most of all. Not just so he could have his share of it, but so he would know they—all his sisters—were provided for.

The treasure and her hunt for it loomed large in her mind—all day, every day, through every hour. Now that she’d focused on the Grange, as she’d done with Ballyclose she was checking all the available sources, hoping to verify its claim to being “the house of the highest” in the late sixteenth century before she undertook the far more difficult task of searching its cellars.

Unlike with Ballyclose, she’d found mentions aplenty to confirm that the Grange had at least been in existence as a major house in the village all those years ago.

She hadn’t yet reached the point of mounting a sortie on the Grange, and this week she had numerous matters to settle at the inn, but soon…

Movement at the table drew her eye. Jonas—when had she started thinking of him by his first name?—pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

Henry glanced up at him and smiled. “Thank you. I didn’t think I’d finish this tonight, but now I will.”

Jonas grinned. “Ask Filing to give you Virgil—he’s rather more interesting.”

He glanced around the room and located her. Em waited by the back door as he wended his way around the table and the benches to her.

Having found her, his eyes didn’t leave her; by the time he reached her and took her arm, she had, to her irritation, stopped breathing.

She drew in a breath, let him turn her to the door. “Again I owe you more thanks.”

He was looking ahead as he opened the door; he glanced back as he drew her through and down the single step, letting the door shut behind them. “I don’t want your thanks.”

Dusk had closed in; the rear yard was full of shadows. She was about to arch her brows haughtily when he smoothly grasped her hand, twirled her about—

And she suddenly found herself with her back to the wall, with him before her, head bent as he leaned closer.

“What I need”—his voice was a gravelly purr—“is my reward.”

Her lips throbbed, softened, even before his closed over them. This time she didn’t wait, didn’t try to fight the inevitable, but pushed one arm up, over his shoulder, and with one hand clasped his nape and kissed him back.

Eagerly. Fervently.

He moved closer, his long, hard frame pressing into her, the planes of his chest hard and welcome against her peaking breasts. He angled his head and deepened the kiss, and she clung and held him to her.

The yard was wreathed in thickening shadows; there was no one about to see as they—he and she both—sank ever deeper into the embrace as she surrendered to the kiss, to sensation, to the thrill and excitement of new experience. As she reveled in discovering more.

She knew that he was luring and tempting her—seducing her in truth—yet she couldn’t hold back, couldn’t hold against him. At least, not knowing she was a Colyton, he couldn’t know why he was succeeding, couldn’t know on what plane he was appealing to her—he couldn’t know that like all Colytons, she possessed an explorer’s soul.

His tongue stroked hers, and she inwardly shuddered, felt a hot lick of desire slide down her spine, felt the heat pooling within swell and grow—hotter, more urgent.

He was all strength and latent power, all muscle and heavy bones, before and around her, surrounding her. The wall at her back was a mere prop; his hands—one spread at the side of her waist, gripping, the other cradling her head—held her securely. Trapped her, anchored her, as he filled her mouth, and fed.

She met his hunger, sensed it, tasted it—did her best to appease it, yet knew he wanted more. The kiss had changed, his desire no longer so restrained, no longer veiled or screened, but still reined, so she could see it, sense it—wonder at it—but not feel threatened.

Whether he’d intended that or not she didn’t know—was too inexperienced in the ways of seduction to guess. Regardless, the sense of being able to go forward without risk was tempting.

To her Colyton soul it was the ultimate lure.

Why not?
If there was no good answer forthcoming, then she would. That had proved the guiding principle in her life—her natural, innate lodestone. So she gave in to the need to touch—pressed her other hand, trapped between them, to the hard planes of his chest, felt the heat and strength of him burn her palm.

Jonas felt the deliberate touch to his marrow. Had to drag in a ragged breath and kiss her again—even more deeply—to quell, to suppress, his response. That exploratory touch was a message—a sign; he knew it, but equally knew he had to give her time to pursue the new avenue at her own pace. He couldn’t force her to go faster. Couldn’t force her to want him. She was a curious blend of innocence and abandon, of determination and caution. Before she moved, she thought, considered, weighed, but once she’d made up her mind there was nothing tentative about her actions—just as there’d been nothing tentative about that touch.

She possessed boldness and naïveté—an explosive mix. One that could shatter his control. He clung to it as her small hand explored, learned, assessed.

Fought not to yield to the impulses she evoked—battled not to permit his will to be suborned. His primitive side was wide awake and ready to take charge, to bring to life, into being, the images that rolled through his mind. That more primitive side whispered—about how easy it would be to slide his hand down between them and touch her, caress the soft flesh between her thighs, even through the cotton of her gown.

And once he had, and she’d melted, he could lift her skirts, lift her, and…

He kissed her more fiercely, even more ravenously, fighting to banish those images from his mind.

The way she kissed him back—all hot and eager sweetness—defeated him. Without conscious thought his hand eased from her waist, skimmed up her side, and closed about her breast.

She gasped through the kiss, swayed—but then kissed him back, and the flames between them flared hotter, higher.

He dived into them, into her mouth in greedy desperation; she met him, matched him, clung as his fingers stroked and learned, sculpting her firm flesh, then he located the tight bud of her nipple, circled it slowly—when she shifted and pressed closer, he gently squeezed.

Her response, uninhibited, unrestrained, flagrantly inviting, left him giddy.

A giddiness no amount of ragged breathing while still kissing her could cure. A giddiness that weakened his hold on his baser impulses.

And still she pressed on. Still wanted, still avidly sought…

They had to stop. Now. Before his impulses overcame him and he pressed her for more—and she acceded.

Taking her against the inn wall was definitely not part of his plan.

He told himself to draw back, to ease back, step away.

He tried to tense his muscles and force them to work, but her clinging nearness sapped his strength. He was fighting a battle he didn’t want to win, and his baser self knew it.

It wasn’t possible for her grip to be strong enough to hold him, yet he couldn’t break free. Desperate, he lowered both hands to her waist, gripped, then swung around—swung her around, too, so his back was to the wall and she stood before him.

Lifting his head, he dragged in a breath, rested his head back against the hard wall, locked his eyes on hers, shadowed and unreadable as with considerable effort he straightened his arms and set her back—away from him.

She was breathing quickly, ragged and urgent. For one long moment, their gazes held, locked, merged.

He swallowed. “Go inside.” The words were a dark, deep rumble. “Now.”

Instead of turning and fleeing from the threat any featherbrain would know he posed, she stood blatantly studying him as the moments ticked by.

Finally,
finally
, she inclined her head. “Very well.”

She turned to go, but with her hand on the door, looked back; he couldn’t be sure, but he thought her lips had curved. “Good night. And…thank you.”

Her eyes on his, she smiled—definitely smiled—then turned and went inside.

He let his head thump back against the wall, stayed slumped against it as the minutes ticked by, staring blankly into the gathering darkness, waiting to catch his breath, to let the cool of the evening douse his heat, while he wondered. Pondered.

He wasn’t at all sure he approved of that smile.