Her tight muscles relaxed and her spirits lifted as she inhaled the sweet scents of spring. Idly, she picked up a stone from the soil and tossed it into the water. The stone made a pleasing plop, accompanied by a sparkling series of ripples.
Smiling to herself, she glanced toward her feet in search of another rock, then sent it arcing up and into the still water.
“You’re doing it wrong,” came a low, male voice behind her.
Gladys gasped and spun about, one hand to her bodice. “You.”
Reuben Medford smiled at her. “You were expecting someone else?”
“I was expecting to be alone.” She narrowed her eyes. “Were you following me?”
“If I was, I wouldn’t have brought my ‘dusty old history tome’,” he said ruefully, lifting the large volume so she could see.
He had also come from the opposite end of the path, which meant Medford had either entered the woods via a different path, or Gladys was the one following in his footsteps.
So much for a moment of peace, by herself.
“I suppose you brought your novel, as well?” he asked.
“You suppose wrong.” She turned her back to him. “We are not as alike as you think.”
Except she might have brought a book, if she’d known the path was here, and she’d left herself an unread chapter or two. And they had indeed both chosen to come here, to this same bucolic woods, rather than join the throngs celebrating the May Day festivities.
“I would have thought any rakehell worth the name would have been up much too late to awaken half this early.”
“Hmm.” The low rumble of his voice was far too close to the back of her neck. “Thinking about how I spend my nights, are you?”
“No,” she snapped. Yes. Constantly.
“You could join me tonight and find out.”
“I’m busy.”
“Well, you’re not busy now, are you? Such good fortune. What better opportunity for you and I to—”
She spun around. “If you think for one moment that I have any intention of rutting with you in the dirt next to a river—”
His wide brown eyes blinked innocently. “Who said anything about pleasures of the flesh?”
She glared at him. “Then what were you referring to?”
“Teaching you to skip rocks properly, of course.” He placed a smooth, flat stone in her palm, then closed his fingers around hers. “But if you’d prefer a different sort of lesson…”
“I’m happy to teach you what a rock to the head feels like.”
“Skipping stones it is, then.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the stream. “The first step is choosing the right rock. Do you feel the smooth, flat shape of the stone in your hand?”
He had taken her by surprise, that was all. That he looked as impossibly handsome in the middle of the morning as he did in the middle of the evening came as no surprise. Today, he’d left his hat behind, allowing the wind to tousle his hair, which ought to make him appear slovenly and disheveled, but instead merely gave him an air of youthful mischief.
Gladys was glad he could not see the consternation on her face. Reuben had her off-kilter. He’d interrupted her peaceful morning, and instead of lashing out… she had a stone in her hand, and his hands on her hips.
She had not meant to let him touch her. Not yet. She’d plotted every step of her seduction-then-public-rejection, and he had not yet earned curve-touching privileges.
Then again, now that they were clear that there would be no illicit liaison here on the bank of the stream, perhaps this was a perfect time to allow him to feel as though his seduction of her was going to plan.
“All right,” she said. “What do I do now?”
She could feel him smile behind her. He thought he had won. How precious.
