The air between them shifted, rushing in where heat had been.
He forced himself to stillness, to patience.“Are you all right?”he asked quietly.
“I think so.”She shook her head, a breathless, disbelieving laugh catching in her throat.“No.I just—this—we shouldn’t…” Her voice faltered.
“Please don’t tell me you regret it,” he said gently, searching her face, preparing himself to hear the answer even if it undid him.
She looked up at him through lashes still damp and dark.“No,” she admitted, worrying her lower lip.“It was…astonishing.But?—”
He nodded once, slow and measured, and shifted back to sit beside her…just enough to give her space.Her skirts rustled softly as she smoothed them with unsteady hands.
Nicholas braced his arms on the seat beside her, close but no longer touching, aware of her warmth, her presence, the fragile line between what had been and what must not go further.
“It was only meant to be kissing,” she whispered, as though trying to restore order by naming it.“Just kissing.That’s all.”
Nicholas looked at her—truly looked—and something inside him eased and tightened all at once.
“I don’t think it ever could be just kissing between us,” he said quietly.
Her breath caught, not with fear, but with recognition.With truth.
And she did not tell him he was wrong.
