She was a woman to be reckoned with—one who would bring a dying stranger into her home and then take it upon herself to nurse him back to life.
He smoothed his palms down her arms, learning her shape, appreciating the slim strength beneath her softness. Then lower, around her waist, anchoring her against him.
Daisy. The name was perfect for her. A flower not only beautiful and sunny but strong enough to endure harsh sun and strong winds.
“We shouldn’t,” he whispered. Not with his future unknown—or his past for that matter. And yet the present was all he had. It was the only thing that was real.
And Daisy was real. Her mouth, her skin…
She broke the kiss and moaned into his neck. “Finally,” she whispered. “It’s been so long.”
Finally?
What the devil?
Alastair froze, his arms still locked around her.
Asbadly as he needed to keep right on kissing her—to act, in fact, on a slew of wicked cravings—her words gave him pause.
“You made up the name…Alastair,”he murmured, testing the name on his tongue. “It’s not a common name.” His voice hardened as realization struck. “The name you gave me.”
He took a step back, arms falling to his sides. “What’s going on, Daisy?”
She stared at him, eyes wide—guilty.
“I want the truth,” he pressed. “Did you know me before?” His gaze swept over her, searching for answers. “I can’t imagine a soapmaker moving in the same social circles as a duke.”
And then a horrid possibility swept through him. “Are you working with them?” It was impossible, and yet. How would he know?
She paled. “Of course not.”
“Then what the devil is going on here?”
Her lips parted slightly, but she hesitated.
Alastair waited.
“I knew you before—” Her voice was soft, almost reluctant.
She dropped her lashes. “A long time ago. My father was a tenant on Woodland Priory, as his father was before him, and his father before that. I grew up there.” A shadow crossed her face. “Until your uncle evicted us.”
She hugged her arms around herself, and the weight of her confession settled over him.
Woodland Priory. An image stirred in the back of his mind—just out of reach.
“You grew up on the Duke of Lovington’s estate?” he asked.
Her expression turned guarded. “Yes.”
That gnawing sense of familiarity—the one that had plagued him since the moment he’d first laid eyes on her—tightened around his ribs.
“And we were… friends?”
Daisy swallowed, the movement of her throat betraying her hesitation. “More than friends.”
The words sent a jolt through him.
His gaze locked onto hers, and suddenly, his dreams didn’t feel like dreams anymore. The kisses, the way she fit against him like she belonged there.
