The ball whistled through the space where his head had occupied.
There came a crash as it bounced through the breakfast things before thumping to the grass.
“Hold!” Gideon called out, “I value my head and my housekeeper values my crockery!”
Catherine dropped the mallet, mouth falling open. She ran to Gideon’s side.
“Oh, Aaron! I am so sorry! Did I hit you?”
Gideon straightened, patting down the creases in his ivory shirt. “No, though I felt the wind of your cannonball’s passage.”
She looked so stricken that Gideon grinned, trying to put her at ease.
“You did not quite remove my head from my shoulders, though wemayneed a new teapot. Perhaps I should acquire a learners’ croquet set made with knitted balls?”
Catherine’s face went pale still, and she stared at him with wide eyes before a bubble of laughter escaped her.
“Perhaps that would be safer for everyone concerned!” she replied with a lilt.
“Here, let me show you,” Gideon coaxed.
He led the way to where the hoops were set up and picked up the mallet she had dropped. He handed it to her, and she took it as though it were a loaded rifle. Gideon guided her with hands about her waist to stand in front of a ball.
He placed his hands over hers, adjusting her grip on the long wooden handle.
“Feet just over shoulder width apart,” he instructed.
Catherine’s hips shifted as she adjusted her stance. Gideon stood mere inches behind her and felt every delicious movement. His eyes were transfixed on the back of her neck. She wore her hair pinned up, displaying the pale perfection of her throat. Except...a small mole at her nape, which might ordinarily be hidden by her hair.
That tiny imperfection was the single most erotic sight Gideon had ever glimpsed. It took her beauty, which had been ascending in his regard to almost Olympian proportions, and brought it down to earth.
It did not take away, but by making it the feature of an ordinary woman, it enhanced the rest. He found himself wondering what birthmarks, scars, or beauty spots might be elsewhere, deposited upon her skin by the Creator as random differences between Catherine and the rest of womankind. He wondered if there was a beauty mark beneath one of her breasts. A childhood scar upon her knee or the perfect, milky expanse of her inner thigh. A birthmark of cherry red upon her bottom?
“And then I just stand here for a few minutes?” Catherine spoke suddenly, wrenching him from his thoughts.
Gideon saw the flush spreading through her cheeks and realized, belatedly, that he had not spoken for several seconds. His hands remained upon hers, and she made no effort to remove them. He was close—so close that the thin barrier of his breeches brushed against the fabric of her skirt. Only that slender layer separated them, but if his desire grew any stronger, it would be all too evident.
“Then you pull back into the backswing, keeping your eyes on the ball.”
He moved her hands to one side, swinging the mallet like a pendulum.
“Then swing back, and follow the path you want the ball to take with your eyes, the mallet, the ball, and the hoop. All in a line. Not too hard.”
He slowed her over-enthusiastic swing by applying pressure with his hands. As he did, he moved forward inadvertently, and their bodies came together. Catherine’s head twisted to the side, but it was to look at him, not follow the ball. It rolled past the hoop, grazing its side.
“That was… better,” he murmured, his lips inches from hers.
“It did not break anything,” she giggled.
“And almost found the mark. Had you followed the ball with your eyes, you might have reached the target.”
“I was distracted,” she smiled coyly.
Gideon’s hands on hers had abandoned all pretense of instruction. His fingers drifted across the backs of her hands, drinking in the silk of her skin. Higher, along the delicate bones of her wrists, the tender inside of her forearms where her pulse fluttered wildly.
Catherine shivered, straightening until his cheek rested against her temple.
She turned her head, and their mouths were suddenly a breath apart.
