But did she want that kiss? Simply put, yes. And not only to prove something to them both.
But where to begin? Fletcher had always initiated any romantic gestures between them. Interludes limited to private nights and darkened rooms. He’d never kissed her as anything but a prelude to something more.
Would James be the same? Would he take a kiss as the guarantee of further intimacy? Would she mind if he did?
She might not want a husband. But what of a lover?
What an electrifying thought. And a terrifying one, as well.
He saw her hesitation, she could tell. Disappointment clouded his eyes and he took a step back with a rueful smile just as a knock sounded at the door.
“My apologies, Mrs. Eames.”
“It’s quite all right, Banks.”
“I thought you might like to know Mr. Aston has arrived.”
Prim rolled her eyes. “Which one?”
Not that it mattered.
“Mr. Shane Aston, ma’am,” Banks clarified. “He’s gone up to his room to bathe before dinner.”
“Thank you.”
“I thought you lived alone here?” James asked after the butler left them alone again.
“I do,” she told him. “They’re the ones who don’t seem to remember that. Before you say anything, I have already pointed it out on numerous occasion.”
With a soft harrumph, James raked his fingers through his already tousled hair. “I wasn’t wrong, was I? They need something else to occupy their time.”
“Perhaps,” she conceded.
“I’ll see myself out then.”
Always a gentleman, but Prim couldn’t let him leave with that moment hanging over them. “I’m sorry, Jamie, about what happened a moment ago. I’m not…I don’t know.”
“Interested?”
“Ready,” Prim corrected, astounded by the truth of her admission.
James stiffened. “I make no demands of you, Mrs. Eames.”
“I know.”
Lifting herself high on her toes, Prim stretched up and brushed a light kiss across his lips. It wasn’t the one she’d longed to deliver, bursting with passion, but one of affection and tenderness.
“Thank you, Jamie.”
No, he hadn’t demanded anything from her with words, but his unwavering faith in her ability to blossom into the person she wanted to be made her demand more of herself. Made her want to be the person he saw in her.
* * *
The touch of her lips…brief as it was, simple as it was, still elicited a flash of desire. The embers of his fading lust rekindled for a moment before settling back into a low glow.
“What are you thanking me for?” he asked, fighting back the physical evidence of his arousal as much as the compulsion to take her into his arms. To feel her against him. “It is I who owes you an apology.”
Despite his words, James knew he may not have demanded anything from her, but in his sexual frustration, had pressed her to give. He’d wanted to kiss her from the moment she beamed at him out on that icy rink. That smile—the first true smile he’d ever seen from her, he’d realized—wider than he might have thought possible, showing every pearly tooth she possessed, had lit her up like an evening on Broadway. It had transformed her from pretty to extraordinary, giving him an even better glimpse of the passionate woman lurking inside of her.
