“We are when we are spoken to as if we are a child.”
Scooping up the pages he had set aside, she settled down beside him and tucked her arms in a prim fold high across hermiddle. He hated it when she did that. It plumped her breasts, causing them to round ever so temptingly above the neckline of her gown. She didn’t say a word, just eyed him, waiting for him to open his mouth and make a fool of himself yet again.
His plot to draw out the process of getting her book published so he might spend more time with her was killing him. Literally. He ate little and slept less than that because of his all-consuming need to win his own damn wife. At night, he swore he could hear her breathing in the next room, even though the door separating them remained tightly closed. And her alluring scent came to him wherever he went, taunting him with that which he could not have.
“How many of the changes I suggested did you make?” he asked abruptly.
She raised both eyebrows as if unable to believe he dared to ask that. “I gave you those pages an hour ago. Have you read none of it?”
“How many of the changes I suggested did you make?” he repeated, refusing to admit to anything.
Defiantly tipping her chin higher, she glared straight ahead. “One.”
“One?”
She shrugged and made a face. “You were correct about the scones, but how was I to know? Felicity is the one who loves cooking. Not me.”
Trying to keep his gaze off the rise and fall of her bosoms with her every breath, he shifted on the sofa to conceal a certain part of his anatomy that had hardened with interest as soon as she settled beside him. “What about the kiss?”
Her sideways glare cut through him. “What about it?”
“We agreed they would kiss by now.” He pulled in a deep breath but was careful not to snort it out like a horse. “While I understand you do not wish to mirror John Cleland’sMemoirsof a Woman of Pleasure, your book, yourromance, will be more popular if there is a bit ofdaring behaviorin it, shall we say? Not so much as to have you arrested for obscenity, as he was, but just enough to titillate your readers.” Her increased blush gave him a bit of hope. “Have you read that book yet? As I suggested?” He had purposely given her a copy of the scandalous story about Fanny Hill, hoping to stoke the flames of her desires.
She cleared her throat and stared straight ahead. “I have perused it,” she said with a strained squeak.
“And did you find it informative?”
She cleared her throat again. “Quite.”
He reached over and plucked the papers out of her hand. “Show me where you added the kiss.”
Her glare shifted to him and hardened, matching the irritated flexing of her jaw. “I have yet to add it. Do you not feel more tension between the two is needed before they kiss?”
“No, I do not.” He tossed the pages onto the table in front of them. “I think the gentleman should sweep the lady into his arms and kiss her.” He moved closer, unable to hold himself back any longer. “How would you write the kiss, my little wren? Describe it to me.”
The longing in her eyes betrayed her as she wet her lips. “Since our lady is young and inexperienced, I would describe her as not only excited by his approach but also worried. Perhaps even a little afraid.”
He stretched his arm across the back of the sofa and teased his fingertips into the tumble of her silky curls resting on her nape, then grazed the softness of her skin and made her shudder. “Why would she be worried and afraid? She knows him, loves him. Does she not trust him?”
She wet her barely parted lips again. “Perhaps she fears disappointing him with her naïveté.”
“Nay,” he said softly. “He adores her and is excited that no one else has ever touched her.”
“Does he?” she whispered.
“He does.” He brushed the backs of his fingers along her jawline. “Does she long to taste him as he yearns to taste her?”
She closed her eyes and hitched in a nervous breath. “She does indeed.” Then her eyes flew open, and she jumped up and hurried back to her post by the window. “I shall try to write the scene now, then you may review it, and tell me your opinion.”
Her frown at the papers remaining on the table urged him on. He scooped them up and went to her, but rather than put them in her hand, he held them behind his back. “I know how you feel about research from the drawers full of detailed notes from Society’s parties and balls. Do you not believe you would benefit from firsthand research regarding a kiss?”
She backed up a step and bumped into the window ledge. “I have seen couples embrace and kiss.”
“Seeing is not the same as feeling,” he said, before cupping her cheek and sliding his fingers deeper into her hair. “Do you not wish tofeel?” He leaned in until the softness of her mouth was almost his. “May I show you?”
“I… Uhm…”
“Youwhat, my little wren?”
