When Mistress Kinnaird disappeared, Ariella turned.
“Maxwell,” she said.
He looked at her, unreadable. “Aye?”
“There is nay need to do that,” she said. “Truly. The others are more than enough.”
He shrugged, as if it cost nothing. “I said appearances matter. That silk will serve well for formal occasions. It suits ye.”
Her knees went a little weak at that simple, gruff compliment.
“It is too dear,” she said, still protesting for form’s sake.
“I did nae ask yer opinion on the price,” he said quietly.
Her lips parted. “Ye are impossible.”
“Ye’ve said as much, me lady.”
Mistress Kinnaird vanished fully into the back, leaving them alone in the bright front of the shop, the bell above the door silent, the world outside feeling very far away.
The gratitude swelled in her chest until it had nowhere to go.
“Thank ye,” she said softly. “Truly, Maxwell.”
He shifted, as if the words made him uncomfortable. “It is nothin’.”
“It is nae,” she insisted.
He lowered his gaze slightly, looking not at her face but at the space between them. For once, he seemed just as unsure where to put his hands as she often felt.
That did something to her.
Before she could think it through, before she could ruin it with overthinking, she stepped closer, rose on her toes, and pressed a quick, light kiss to the corner of his mouth.
A soft brush. Barely there.
He went still.
Absolutely still.
Her heart stopped. Oh saints. What have I done.
“I… I am sorry,” she began in a rush. “I should nae have done that, I just meant to thank ye, and I did nae think, and I ken ye wanted distance, and I keep ruining it, and I am sor?—”
He moved.
In one smooth motion he caught her around the waist and pulled her in, his hand firm at the small of her back. Her breath caught as her body collided with his, the solid warmth of his chest against hers.
Then he kissed her back.
Not a brush this time. Not a question.
His mouth settled over hers with deliberate care and restrained hunger. The world dropped away. The fabrics, the light, the shelves, all blurred into nothing.
She made a small sound, half surprise and half relief, and he swallowed it.
His other hand rose, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck, tipping her head just so. She clutched at his shirt, and her knuckles pressed to hard muscle.
