She huffed. “I was not near death.”
“You screamed.”
“It was a startled sound.”
“It was quite… notable.”
Hazel narrowed her eyes at him, but her palm stayed obediently in place. “I simply thought the book looked intriguing.”
“You don’t know what it is?”
“No,” she admitted. “I only saw the binding. Dark green, with gold filigree. It caught my eye.”
He worked the splinter gently to the surface, forcing himself not to linger over the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. “Green and gold,” he echoed. “Top shelf, far right?”
“Yes.” Her eyes brightened. “Do you know it?”
Greyson inclined his head slightly. “Travels in the Northern Provinces.An older edition. Heavy on landscape descriptions, and lighter on accuracy.”
Hazel’s lips parted in surprise. “You’ve read it?”
He paused. “Once.”
She smiled in a small, pleased curl of her lips that made his chest tighten. “You have read more things than you pretend.”
“I do not pretend,” he said, carefully sliding the splinter free.
She winced, then relaxed. “You do.”
“I present only what is relevant.”
“You present only what you find useful,” she corrected.
Greyson glanced up at her, meeting her eyes briefly. “Is there a difference?”
Hazel tilted her head thoughtfully. “Yes. I think so.”
He looked back down at her hand before she could see too much in his expression. “There,” he said. “It’s out.”
That was when he should have stood up. He should have stepped back the moment the splinter was removed, folded away hisknife, offered some polite remark and restored the safe, proper distance between them.
But he did none of those things.
Instead, before he could recall all the reasons restraint mattered, he lifted Hazel’s hand again and, without thinking, pressed his lips to the spot where the splinter had been.
The kiss was brief and soft, barely more than a breath on her skin. But the instant he did it, he knew he had gone too far.
Hazel inhaled sharply, just loud enough for him to feel the tremble through her fingers. He lifted his head slowly, his mouth still inches from her skin, and their eyes met. She didn’t move away, and neither did he.
Her lips parted in the smallest, softest sound of surprise. Her pulse fluttered at her throat, quick and delicate. That rebellious curl had fallen entirely free now, brushing the edge of her cheek. He desperately wanted to tuck it behind her ear. He wanted even more desperately to kiss her properly, fully, with every ounce of longing that rose unbidden in him since their first dance.
He could feel her breath on his jaw. He could feel his control slipping, dissolving under the weight of her nearness.
“Hazel…” he murmured in a half warning, half plea.
Her eyes widened, but she did not pull back. Instead, she leaned in almost imperceptibly, but enough that he felt the warmth of her breath mingling with his. His hand rose to her cheek.
Just one touch. One moment. One?—
