They had once shared an ill laugh when he had crossed the distance separating two sofas. Orlagh had stepped out for a moment because a ruckus sounded in the corridor, but Talia had not been alarmed. In fact, she had been excited. His personality was best enjoyed in his nearness.
He had whispered a naughty joke, and she had fallen into him as she laughed. His lips were fixed felicitously, but his eyes told a different story. They glazed over, smoother than obsidian orbs. Hunger seeped from his pores and through his clothes. The look on his face was not one Talia could forget. Orlagh had come into the room just as he drifted away. It was suspect, and she had been suspicious. That was when she had called him ‘bold.’
Talia had not seen the emotion since then. Except now, they stood by the window where anyone could see them from the garden below, and he watched her with such an intensity that she could almost feel it on her skin.
Instead of a thrill, she felt guilty.
“Why?” She uttered the single, pitiful syllable and then returned to the sofa.
He watched her, one shoulder pressed against the floral wallpaper, his arms crossed. She knew he would not approach because he wore a satisfied expression, the object of his satisfaction being her décolletage. She was proven right when his eyes slid up and fixed on her lips. Indignantly, she took her own lewd inventory of him.
“I ken ye’re seeing other suitors, and I wish to be yer favorite,” he said with a hint of melancholy.
If he weren’t such a good actor, she would have believed him, but she was a normal person, so a part of her was affected nonetheless.
“So ye intend to stand out from the rest by seducing me?”
“Ye have to forgive me natural charm.” He seemed to take her assessment as an invitation, and he came to her.
“Practiced charm, ye mean?” She tried not to sound like a jealous shrew, adding a velvety edge to her voice to allude to being a seasoned coquette, which was not what a respectable lady aspired to be, but he smiled as though he believed her.
“As for me early visit, I wished to join ye for breakfast. I refuse to break me fast without ye.”
“Liar.” His breath was cold against her cheek. “I can smell the sweetness of toast on yer breath.”
He did not have the rectitude to look aghast. “How can ye tell that?”
“Because ye’re too damn close,” she said in one breath
“If ye wish, I shall withdraw…” He moved back an inch. She thought the movement gave him more leverage.
“And if I daenae, to what extent will ye take this?”
“Are ye merely askin’ or consentin’?”
She was awfully excited for someone about to be snared in a trap by an expert hunter. She glanced at his lips, the sheen on the tender flesh, the nearness of them. He inched closer, and she could tell just how many sugars he had had in his tea.
“Are ye nae supposed to wait for me consent?”
His breath brushed against her lashes, as though he wanted to capture her from the bottom up. “Ah, I believed I had it.”
“What makes ye say so?”
“Well, ye watch me as if ye’re about to devour me.”
“I could say the same thing about ye.”
“Therefore, we have each other’s consent.”
He didn’t seem like the type of man who could be content with a peck, a soft, infinitesimal brush of lips. He was intense, confidently depraved, betraying a past of dissolution.
He would kiss her wholeheartedly with tongue and body, with hands gliding up and down her waist. Was that what she wanted, to have him explore her?
As if she manifested it, his hand dropped to her knee. She looked away from the tender grip, and he searched her face, seeking her permission.
Darragh had said she needed to learn how to kiss to find a husband, then kissed her for one fleeting moment, which did not lend any new revelation to the act.
As of now, she was more clueless than she had ever been. Ewen’s lips should not have looked so soft, but they were. He should not have been capable of such gentleness, but he was.
