“Ah,” he said, straightening.“Now that hurts.”
“Perhaps you should try harder.”
He tilted his head, his smile sly.“Or perhaps I’ll try something else.”
With no warning, he stepped closer, close enough that his body blocked the sun.
But just as quickly, he turned away.
“Do you know,” he said lightly, “I think your mother replanted that hydrangea bed near the hedge.The blue variety.They do best in shade.”
Bea blinked.“What are you?—?”
But he kept walking, gesturing casually at the greenery like a man far more interested in horticulture than she guessed him to be.
She frowned and followed.“You changed the subject.”
“Did I?”
“Quite obviously.”
“Ah.”He glanced back over his shoulder.“Seduction is all in the timing.”
She snorted.“That’s convenient.”
But the path curved, and before she realized it, they’d reached the back corner of the garden—the part screened by tall hedges, shaded by an ancient oak, and bordered by that same weather-worn stone wall.
Nicholas stopped, turned, and in a single unhurried motion, backed her against the wall.
The air changed.
He braced one hand beside her head, the other settling lightly at her waist, and leaned in so slowly she could feel her heartbeat stutter before he even touched her.
His mouth hovered near her ear, his voice deep and smooth.“How is this?”
Her breath caught.
He hadn’t touched her skin.
Not yet.
But she felt the promise of it like a tremor.
“How do you do that?”she asked, her voice barely audible.“How do you make everything feel so…?”
“Effortless?”he offered.
“Disorienting.”
He smiled.“It’s a gift.”
She met his gaze, refusing to acknowledge the flutter in her chest.
Because she had reached another conclusion sometime near dawn.He was bluffing.Nicholas might enjoy proximity and implication, but he would not risk his relationship with her father by doing anything truly scandalous.
Which meant this—whateverthiswas—had limits.
And she was about to find them.
