She licked her lips. “Would you think me wicked if I did?”
“Ah, Christ.” He buried his face in the curve of her neck. Never in his life had a mere thought caused him to ache with such need, but the vision of her mouth moving over every inch of his flesh—
She squirmed beneath him.
“Please lie still.”
“You’re poking me.”
“That’s my body signaling that I want you.”
“Oh.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever been wanted before.”
“I rather suspect you have.”
“Why?”
“Because, Fancy, you are a delectable delight.”
She laughed lightly, her entire body shaking beneath him. God, he loved the airy sound of her laughter, like the chimes at Christmas.
“How do we make it so you don’t want me?”
That wasn’t going to happen. Even if he took her fully, he’d want her again. He knew that with certainty. But also knew what she was asking. “To distract myself, I’m going through Aesop’s fables.”
More laughter from her. “I don’t know that there is one that applies to this situation.”
No, but she’d distracted him. Taking a deep breath, he shoved himself off her and stood, turned away from her, and adjusted himself. “We should probably call it an afternoon.”
He hadn’t heard her get up, but her arms came around him and she pressed her cheek to his back. “Kissing is like reading, isn’t it? The more you learn, the more comfortable you become with it, the more you want to do it.”
“I’m glad you found it enjoyable.”
“You’re a very good tutor. If you ever make a bad investment and need funds, I think you could make a living giving kissing lessons.”
Laughing, he spun around and wrapped her in his embrace. “At the moment, the only person I’m interested in kissing is you.”
Chapter 17
The following afternoon, using a thin but sharp blade, Fancy was carefully removing the leather cover from the book Timmy Tubbins had brought her when Marianne rapped on the doorjamb. Looking up from her desk, she wondered why her clerk’s brow was furrowed so deeply and her mouth pinched. “Is something amiss?”
“There’s a gent here what wants to talk to you.”
“Whowants to talk to me.”
“The gent. The gent what’s out here.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them. Marianne was sharp but had grown up with very little education. Although her grammar had improved greatly since coming to work at the shop, challenges still presented themselves. “It’s the gentwhonot the gentwhat.”
Marianne appeared even more flummoxed. Fancy waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind. We’ll discuss it later. Send him in.”
She rose to her feet. Not even half a minute later, a slender man of rather short height—she doubted the top his head would reach the shoulder of any of her brothers—entered, holding his hat and a satchel in one hand. “Miss Fancy Trewlove?”
“Yes, sir. How may I be of service?”
