She hesitated before she took a place there and watched him take his own. Not too close to her. Not quite far enough.
“It seems we have few enough years on this earth not to experience as much as we can,” she replied with a shrug.
She waited for his expression of shock, for an admonishment. After all, most men didn’t approve of her desire to truly live. Ladies were not supposed to crave adventure or excitement or…anything.
But he didn’t scold or sniff. If anything, his smile grew wider. “Then you and I are of a mind,” he said. “I feel the same way.”
“Yes, butyouare allowed to pursue life’s pleasures,” she said with a sigh that wracked her from head to toe. “As a woman, I’m not. My options are far more limited.”
He seemed to ponder the words for a moment. “I suppose I haven’t thought of it in those terms.”
She glared at him. “Of course you haven’t.”
“You know me so well, do you?” he asked.
She turned her gaze away. “I know your type,” she said. “Rakes with no troubles who do as they like and never have to deal with the consequences.”
He leaned back. “Did I harm you in some way that I am not aware of? I do not think I deserve such censure.”
She jerked back toward him. She had said too much, let her rumbling feelings overflow in the presence of someone she didn’t exactly trust. And now he stared at her like she had grown a second head or begun speaking in tongues.
He also had a look of…hurt. Like she’d actually said something that pricked him.
She sighed. “I’m…I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair. I’ve been out of sorts tonight and I shouldn’t have spoken to you in such a fashion. You’ve always been a friend to my aunt. And I certainly don’t know you well enough to accuse you of anything, do I?”
“Why don’t you know me well enough?” he pressed, scooting just a touch closer.
She blinked in confusion, both caused by his question and his proximity. Something about him set her on her head. “I beg your pardon?”
He leaned in a bit closer, his masculine scent winding its way into her nostrils. Pine, leather, warm skin. “Why don’t you know me, Sophie? As you say, I’ve been a friend to your aunt for many years. And yet you avoid me.”
“You are forward, sir.”
“I’m honest. And I’m asking you to be. Do you not like me?”
She bit her lip. “Yes. No.”
He laughed gently. “Which is it?”
“I don’tdislikeyou,” she conceded. “I like that you are kind to my aunt. But I don’t know you. I…I avoid knowing you because you make me…make me…”
“Yes?”
“Nervous,” she squeaked out at last, turning her face as heat flamed in her cheeks.
He didn’t say anything for what felt like an eternity. She felt his stare on her even though she didn’t dare look at him. Not when she’d said something so…true.
“I see,” he said softly. He reached out and his fingertips brushed her chin, tilting her face back until she was forced to look at him.
He felt so much closer now. So much bigger in the small room on the small settee. And she swayed toward him ever so slightly.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” he said, his deep voice low and hypnotic in the otherwise silent room. “You can trust me.”
She shook her head. “No, I think that is not true.”
His lips twitched in another hint of a smile. “My reputation precedes me. Perhaps trust is too strong a word. But you needn’t fear me, Sophie. You never need fear me.”
They sat like that, too close together, for what felt like an eternity. And Sophie realized, in that moment, that she wanted this man to kiss her. To touch her. She found her eyelids dipping closed and her lips tingling as she tilted her face up ever so slightly.
