And she was separated from him by mere inches.
How easily he could sidle closer, slip his hand along the nape of her neck, angle his face down, and… kiss her.
None of which he could do, in reality.
He shot to his feet, instead. Safer this way.
He began a close inspection of a rock formation. Or pretended to, all the while attuned to Miss Tait’s movements as she drew nearer. It only now occurred to him that she might be curious as to what had so utterly captured his attention.
“What have you found?” he heard at his back.
Blast.
Didn’t she understand she was in danger of a thorough kissing?
He was just pivoting to achieve greater distance between them when his worst fear—and truest desire—came to pass. Miss Tait emitted a startled, “Oof!” as her feet slipped out from beneath her on moist clay. Without thought, his hand shot out and grabbed her before she could tumble to the ground. Then she was in his arms, mouth parted, bright eyes fast on his, the length of her lithesome body flush against him, the only sound in the cavern the rapid in and out of their breath—hers from a scare, his from… something else…
Desire.
Then her eyes did it.
They lowered to his mouth.
And her tongue swiped across her pouty lower lip.
And there was nothing else for it.
His head angled down, and his mouth touched hers in what could be called a whisper of a kiss.
If it hadn’t gone farther.
A tiny groan escaped Miss Tait, and she lifted to her toes, her arms sliding around his neck, deepening the kiss, her tongue slipping between his lips.Sweet.She tasted sweet, as he’d known she would, her floral scent of subtle lavender combining with his of sandalwood. One hand found the small of her back and pressed into the undulous curve, drawing her closer. Though small, she wasn’t without feminine curves, his body was quickly discovering… and responding to—the hard length of his manhood making itself known between them…
Which was the snap of reality he needed.
Somehow, he tore himself away from her mouth, taking her shoulders in both hands and setting her apart from him. They stared at each other, panting.
“I shouldn't have done that,” he said, not as firmly as he should have.
Her head canted. “Why not?”
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Because you’re good and an innocent.”
Blast.
She stared at him for three ragged heartbeats too long, then did the impossible.
She laughed.
When she finished, she regarded him with a quizzical expression, as if assessing something about him and finding difficulty reaching a conclusion.
“What is it?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“Is being an innocent the only way for me to be good in your eyes?”
“Pardon?” He hadn’t expected that. He would much prefer a justified slap across the face.
“It seems men think that about women.” She shrugged. “I think I’m good.” She swallowed. “But I’m no innocent.”
