His head tilted back, and she missed, and she saw his lips instead.
Yes, his lips, and she kissed him, kissed his lips, so firm.
So ... stiff.
Else pulled back. Hemming’s eyes stretched wide.
An elevator cable snapped in her chest, and her heart and lungs plummeted to the basement.
What on earth had she done? What on earth? What must he think of her?
She stumbled backward and rushed for the door.
“Else, wait!”
Her head shook, and she fumbled with the doorknob. How could she explain herself? Explain why she’d misinterpreted his friendship? Explain why—
His chair scraped. “Else!”
A sob filled her throat, spilled from her mouth. She flung open the door and staggered out, ran up the stairs.
Footsteps, hard and fast. “Wait! Else!”
As her arm swung back, a big hand enveloped hers, stopped her, threw her off balance.
A sob escaped, and she spun back, fell into his chest, fell into his kiss, his arms around her, lifting her, embracing her, his mouth covering hers, moving with restrained ferocity.
Oh, goodness!
He felt the same way.
She returned the kiss full measure, one hand splayed on the solid expanse of his back, the other worked deep into his hair, holding his head so she could kiss him better, deeper, with all the affection and passion she felt for him.
For the first time, they spoke and listened with the same vocabulary, and romance was more than possible. It was right.
Her toes found the step beneath her, one or two steps up from where he stood, so they were face-to-face, at the same level, as they had always been and would always be.
She burrowed kisses along his cheek, right above his beard. “Hemming, my Hemming, my wonderful Hemming.”
He drew in a sharp breath, and his chest jumped against hers. Then he pulled back. Recognition flashed in his eyes. Alarm.
He groaned and closed his eyes, and his head wagged back and forth. “Oh no.”
“Hemming?” She stroked the soft cotton of his shirt. “What—”
“Yes, Hemming. Hemming.” He settled her fully onto the step. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Sorry? Her fingers tried to grip his shirt fabric. Failed. “What—what’s wrong?”
“We can’t—” His voice came out strangled. He opened his eyes, full of tortured regret. “Oh, Else. I’m not who you—I’m not.” He smashed a kiss to her forehead and thumped up the stairs.
Else caught herself on the banister. Her mind reeled. “Hemming!”
He waved his hand at her, shook his head, kept climbing.
Else sagged back against the wall, and the banister jutted into her back. She’d never felt so defective as a woman. Discarded.
Her breath came out hard, and her lips tingled, almost numb from his kisses. His fervent kisses.
