“Why?” she asked, just as he had predicted, and he felt a slight edge of panic seize him. He shook his head. “It is of no importance.”
“It is to me.”
“It is not to me,” he returned a little too quickly.
He could feel her gaze on his face; he could practically hear the gears working in her mind as she waited.
“Unless . . .” she added breathlessly.
He couldn’t resist glancing up to see what was written in her expression, in the form of her lips. They were like a book he would love to read every day, telling of her every emotion, every nuance of her perception. It was delirious, it was delicious, it was utterly damning to his self-control.
“Unless?” he said, desperately trying to keep his features neutral.
She stepped from behind the chair and moved toward him with cautious motions, as if she were afraid of spooking a wild horse. He felt like a wild horse in that moment, unpredictable and wild and utterly foolhardy because he didn’t back away, he didn’t laugh and shrug it off. He watched her, studied her, burned for her.
“After all, you are a great many things, Lord Sterling. But a liar, you are not. So, if you did not find the need to apologize, then that only leaves one option.” She moved closer, her steps not as brave as her words, and his heart ached with the realization that she was braver than he. A vow echoed deep in his soul that it wouldn’t be the truth, that he would rise to the occasion as damnable as the occasion may be, that she wouldn’t need to be the brave one.
It should be him.
She was awaiting his response. “And that option is?” he asked, walking the line of both not wanting to push her into a compromising situation, but wanting it so desperately he could taste it. But not unless she wanted it, wanted him.
Dear Lord, let her want him.
“Unless you didn’t regret it at all,” she finished, her eyes alight with understanding.
“And what if I didn’t?” He found himself asking, turning to face her fully, evaluating the small distance between them.
“Then you’re right.” She hitched a shoulder and stopped her steps.
This brought him up a little short. It wasn’t the response he was expecting, though, to be honest, he wasn’t sure what exactly he had been expecting. But not that. Though, it was nice to hear the words, validating even. Oddly enough.
“If I’m going to be so brave, the least you can do is meet me halfway.”
He came up short at such a statement, confused and afraid to interpret the meaning incorrectly, and then all the fear melted away as her pink tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip.
The memory of their kiss hit him full force, the ironic conversation about how a kiss starts with licking one’s lips that turned from a conversation to an exploration, and he was undone.
He stepped toward her, his hand instinctively wrapping around her waist and pulling her in close. Her eyes widened, and he indulged in the fantasy of touching the blush upon her cheek, the warmth seeping into his very soul, feeding it. Her eyes fluttered closed and he did more than meet her halfway; he went the entire distance and seared her lips with his, immediately wondering why he had taken so damn long to kiss her again.
It was the feeling of home, the sensation of peace and the fire of need all wrapped into one perfect present.
And this time, he wasn’t about to leave the present wrapped.
