When she swiped her tongue over her lips, catching a stray drop, his groin burgeoned with heat. He discreetly adjusted his frock coat to hide his arousal. Devil and damn, he ought to have better self-control, but work had kept him preoccupied. He hadn’t bedded a woman in months.
Which likely explained his current predicament and the problem that was, quite literally, growing larger by the moment. When Peabody passed the bottle back to him, their fingers brushed; awareness sizzled through his veins. With her long, sable lashes shielding her eyes, he couldn’t tell if she’d felt their electric connection. But when he closed his lips around the glass where hers had just been, he thought he heard her breath catch.
His own breathing wasn’t quite steady. Dormant seeds of attraction had burst into sudden, irrevocable bloom, and his senses were inundated by all that was Peabody. Her delicacy and strength. Her subtle yet undeniable sensuality. Her scent combined starch with something floral and intrinsically feminine, making his mouth water. As he took another swig from the bottle, he fancied he could taste her along with the cognac.
Get a hold o’ yourself, man.He battled his lustful urges.You work together. Do not do something you’ll regret.
“Why are you drinking alone, Peabody?” He kept his tone casual and conversational.
“There was nobody I wanted to drink with.”
Although her flat reply would have deterred some, he heard the wistfulness in her tone.
“The place ain’t the same without the Angels,” he replied.
Peabody’s silence confirmed his hypothesis. She missed their charges, who were celebrating with their families, and he didn’t blame her. Truth be told, the house felt empty without the lively chits.
“I hate Christmas,” Peabody said.
Passing her the cognac, he asked mildly, “Why?”
She took a swallow and shrugged. “I just do.”
This sort of answer was typical of her. Absolute and unapologetic, as if she did not feel the need to justify herself to anyone. And, damn, if he didn’t admire her for it.
“Is it the plum pudding?” he asked. “Never fancied it myself.”
Her lips curved faintly. “Dousing anything with brandy improves the taste.”
“Waste o’ good brandy, if you ask me.” Seeing the smile reach her eyes, he leaned closer. “Why else do you hate Christmas?”
A shadow doused her spark of amusement. “That is my business, Hawker.”
“You’re missing the point o’ the holiday, Peabody. We celebrate the Savior’s birth by sharing and giving. By unloading one’s burdens and helping others.”
Her lashes veiled her gaze. “Is that what you’re doing, Hawker…trying to help me?”
He sensed a trap. From their past interactions, he knew that she was an independent female who didn’t appreciate interference.
“Are you wanting help with something?” he countered.
“Perhaps.”
She eyed him in a way that made his blood pound in his veins. Was he imagining her sultry invitation? She moved toward him until they were mere inches apart. With her kneeling and him sitting, their faces were level. His throat went dry when she touched his cheek with a hand that was delicate, small, and capable of breaking a man’s neck.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she whispered.
Sweet Jesus.As his cock leapt to attention, his conscience did the same.
“You’ve ’ad too much to drink,” he said hoarsely. “You’re in no shape for company.”
“I can handle my drink. And I’m sober enough to know what I want.”
She tugged on his cravat, unraveling the linen. Unraveling him.
He fought the desire swamping his senses. “Peabody, this isn’t a good idea—”
“Tonight, call me Pearl.”
