“Do they?” she asked, her gaze locked with his.
“Yes.” He was hardly speaking now as his glance moved to her lips. So pretty, so kissable.How could he resist this vanilla-scented angel?
Still cradling her hand and holding the honey jar, he couldn’t draw her to him with either of his hands, but he lowered his mouth to hers. She could step back easily if she wanted, but she didn’t.
Greer kissed her, and, surprisingly, she kissed him back, her satin-smooth lips applying firm pressure. Slanting his head, he opened his mouth a little, making it easier to fully encircle hers. And then, wondrously, her lips parted slightly, and the kiss quickly escalated to a new level of excitement.
If only both his hands weren’t occupied! He wanted to take hold of her waist, or at the very least her head, and hold her in place. He reached out with the sole appendage he could, his tongue, feeling her gasp against his mouth when he stroked her tongue with his. She stroked right back, not boldly but tentatively, with an exploring caress along its length.
At her startling retaliation, he moaned, breaking the silence, and Beatrice stepped back, as he’d expected her to do from the beginning.
Since he still held her hand, she didn’t go far, looking up at him with a confused expression.
“Mr. Carson, are you dallying with me?”
Dallying? Was he?
“I ... I...,” he couldn’t finish. He had enjoyed female company before, but kissing a girl who wasn’t paid for the pleasure or hadn’t indicated herself ready for a romp in the hay of some mid-western barn to stave off the sheer loneliness of the plains—no, he’d never done the like before!
But she had kissed him back.
“Areyoudallying withme, Miss Rare-Foure?”
She narrowed those beautiful eyes. “Absolutely not. I’m going home. And if our maid Delia says this honey was a mistake, I shall throttle you the next time I see you, even if it is at a ball and I am in my finest gown.”
She was in high dander, for sure. He still intended to see her home, but he wished he could talk to her about the kiss, if he only knew what to say. Apologizing would be a lie, so he decided to pretend it never happened.
“You normally walk. Let me hail a hackney and get you home more quickly and in comfort.”
“I like to walk,” she insisted.
“Very well, I will accompany you. Is there anything else we need to do here to close up shop?”
“Yes,” she bit out. “I must cover the toffee trays if they’re cool enough, and bank the coals in the stove, but since my hand is now slathered in honey, I don’t see how I can help. And how can I put my glove on without ruining it?”
“Keep the honey on until your maid tells you what else to do. And forget your glove. We should wrap your hand in a clean cloth.”
She indicated the drawer beneath a cupboard, and he pulled out a white cloth.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “If the cloth sticks to the honey, won’t it tear my skin when I unwrap it?”
“Let me think a moment.” Greer glanced around then saw a butter pot. Lifting the lid, he dug his fingers into the creamy, pale grease, and before she could gainsay him, he coated the honey with the thick butter. She remained silent, probably with utter disbelief, as he wrapped her hand loosely with the cloth.
“Now, I’ll cover the toffee and we’ll be on our way. Four trays,” he muttered. “You’ve been busy.”
She said nothing to that, still looking at the wrapping on her hand.
He used flat sheets of tin to cover the trays, stacking one atop the other, and then banked the coals, feeling more useful than he had since he’d stepped off the boat.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Will you at least tug my glove onto my other hand? I shall feel exposed otherwise.”
Greer took the white glove Beatrice held out. She raised her hand to him, and he slid the soft cotton over her fingertips and tugged it down. Unexpectedly, he felt a tightening in his loins at the intimate act, one he’d never done for any other female.
When he glanced up from the glove to her face, her intense blue gaze caught his and captured it, and more than anything, he wanted to kiss her again. If he did, he certainly could be accused of dallying with her, and a futile dalliance at that for they both knew she could not be his wife.
She licked her lip, and he groaned, causing her eyes to widen and her glance to drop to his mouth.
