He wasn’t offended when Olive also spooked. But he was a little offended she’d fled his presence like he was a bloodthirsty hellhound. She had bolted down the boardwalk as fast as she could go, her unbuttoned coat flapping in the wind, as she shouted—Olive had shouted—for her brother to reveal himself. As Emil had suspected, the kid had found Old Meany and was none the worse for wear, happily listening to the man’s tall tales. And then his chatty neighbor had fallen silent and gazed at Olive like she was a heavenly apparition.
It was mortifying to learn he and the community nudist were mesmerized by the same woman.
The door to the doctor’s office opened, and Winnie emerged, a glassy-eyed Olive sporting a sling leaning heavily on her arm.
“There he is,” Olive sang, her voice lilting and dreamy. “The man with the perfect face.”
He snorted with amusement and spared Winnie a glance. “Laudanum?”
“A hefty dose,” she replied. “And boy, is she flying.”
“No more pain?”
“None whatsoever,” Olive assured him, blinking unnaturally slow. “I feel wonderful.”
“So I see.” God, she was endearing even when she was under the effects of a powerful drug. His hand twitched with the temptation to reach out and stroke her cheek. “What did the doctor say?”
“He said intimacy between a man and woman can be?—”
“About your arm, silly,” Winnie interrupted with a grimace. “Oh, she’s going to regret that one tomorrow.”
Emil’s mouth went dry, and a fire curled low in his abdomen. She’d asked the doctor about intimacy? In general, or with him? Before or after the laudanum had taken effect?
“I have so many questions,” he managed.
“I bet you do.” Winnie’s attention flicked past him, then her features lit up with exaggerated curiosity. “Say, I wonder if that lamppost is made from steel or wood. I’ll be right back.”
Before he could react, Olive was transferred neatly to his arm, and Winnie was halfway across the street in what had to be the fastest, most suspicious retreat he’d ever witnessed.
“I always liked her,” he said.
“Me, too.”
“We probably only have two minutes before her scientific research concludes.”
“We should make the most of it,” she said, gazing up at him with an endearing smile.
“I agree.” He tucked her uninjured hand in the crook of his elbow. “Why were you asking the doctor about intimacy?”
She glanced around, then stood on her tiptoes. She miscalculated the distance, her lips hitting his ear and sending a shiver down his neck before she found her balance.
“Because,” she said, her breath snaking through his scarf. “I would like to be intimate with you.”
“I would like that, too,” he whispered back.
“I want to know what an orgasm is.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. Dear God, he had not been ready to hear that admission while standing in the middle of downtown. “We will certainly talk about orgasms. And perhaps have one.”
“Why not two?”
“Why not?” Would she even remember this conversation the next time they met? “I’ll give you however many you’d like.”
“All right.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “Will you take me home now?”
“I will.”
Emil sat across from Olive in the hired carriage, watching her devour the packet of peanuts he’d kept in his coat pocket. Winnie, in another astonishing show of poor chaperoning, had chosen to ride up front with the driver. All he’d had to do was promise her a box of her favorite macarons from Henri’s Patisserie. He’d deliver three, the price well worth a few private moments alone with Olive.
