“Who would not wish to kiss you? A beautiful, willing woman.” He was leaning even closer.
She parted her lips and could almost taste the whiskey now. She lowered her lashes. “You would be surprised.” Her answer held all the self-derision she’d fought over the past decade. He had not kissed her earlier that afternoon—not even after she’d essentially propositioned him.
For Posy’s sake.
Don’t be a hypocrite. Violet chastised herself. If this had been for Posy’s sake, she would have returned to her chamber ten minutes ago.
Alone.
“It’s late. We should go to bed. I should go to bed. And you should go to bed. Both of us—but separately.” She stepped backward, caught by his gaze and feeling as awkward and silly as she had with Christopher nine years ago.
Mr. Cockfield’s gaze softened, and both corners of his lips tilted up. “Not quite yet.” He followed her, dropping his good hand to her waist, his other remaining trapped in the sling. And then he dipped his head, not quite kissing her but close.
Very close.
He hovered so closely that a feather would barely fit between them.
Later, Violet might question her actions.
But for now, wild horses couldn’t stop her from sliding her hands up—one to his shoulder and the other over his injured wrist. “Does it hurt?” she whispered.
At the slight shake of his head, she moved her hand up farther and wound it around his neck.
Pressing up on her toes, Violet closed that last fraction of an inch between them so that her mouth was touching his.
And she kissed him.
Simon wasn’t foxed. He’d only had a few drinks, and that had been much earlier. But, knowing his brother could be called back to the front at any time, and also learning that Lucas was nursing something of a broken heart, he’d returned feeling not quite himself.
The last thing he’d expected upon his return was to find Miss Faraday waiting for him.
She tasted like tea—sweet tea. She surprised him with parted lips—and again when she ventured to taste him as well. The kiss she bestowed, her embrace, enveloped him in a deep sense of well-being. He felt as though he’d returned home after a lifetime of travels and the temptation to lose himself had him forgetting where they were, who they were. All he knew was that she fit, and that she felt…
Perfect.
But that was the opposite of what this was. She wanted pleasure, she wanted affection. What had she said? Before it was too late?
It didn’t matter who he was.
Simon checked himself from gathering her closer, which, unfortunately, was made easier by the throbbing in his wrist.
But that didn’t keep his good hand from exploring the curve of her hip or deepening the kiss, memorizing her taste.
He suspected she’d gone quite some time without kissing—her confession led him to believe she’d avoided romantic encounters since the disappearance of her betrothed.
Which had been almost a decade ago.
She broke the kiss and went as though to move out of his arms. “I’m sorry.”
Simon held her in place. “For what?”
“You are a servant. I-I’m taking advantage of you.”
This woman.
He reclaimed her mouth, taking control so that she was under no delusion as to who was taking advantage of whom.
He explored the flesh behind her teeth now. Along with the tea, he tasted mint from her tooth powder. Her fresh scent fluttered through him, down his throat, into his chest, and of course, the sensation stirred his cock into enthusiastic readiness.
