Jason closed her in his arms, scooping her closer. He slid a hand up her spine to cup the back of her head. With the slightest pressure, not breaking the kiss, he tucked her face against his cheek. She allowed it, sliding her knees on either side of him, fitting herself astride.She gripped his biceps as if she might be ripped from his arms.
His body responded, a reaction that would be impossible to miss, and Jason swore in his head and pulled his face away, sucking in air.
To the watchman he called, “Give us a minute?” His voice was gruff. He coughed. Isobel tensed, veritably vibrating beneath his touch. He held her tight against him.
“Square closes at sunset, sir,” ventured the watchman. He took a step closer. Isobel burrowed deeper.
“Right, right, sunset,” Jason said, imbuing his voice with posh authority. “I’ll—My friend and I’ll move on. Sorry to be a nuisance. Just a bit of fun... summer moon, et cetera.”
The watchman took another step and Jason had the momentary fear that he would not be put off. Jason raised his chin, allowing the lantern to illuminate his face. The watchman would not know him—they’d not be so lucky in that—but he would recognize the expensive coat and boots; he’d see the cut of Jason’s hair, his aristocratic nose, the lazy expression. Everything about him said,I do as I please.
“Very good, sir,” the watchman finally said, falling back. “See that you do. The neighbors don’t take kindly to cavorting in the park after-hours.”
“Good for them,” said Jason on a cough. “We’ll need a moment to, ah, set ourselves to rights. If you’ll indulge us.”
“Yes, sir,” said the watchman, but he seemed disinclined to go. Jason wondered how long Isobel could remain motionless on his lap. Could she breathe? Had he crushed her? She was lodged so very tightly against his erection that Jason’s own mobility would be in question.
“Here’s something for the disturbance,” Jason said, releasing Isobel long enough to fish a coin from his pocket. He tossed it to the watchman with a good-natured flip. As the watchman struggled to catch the coin, Jason ducked his head against Isobel’s neck and breathed deeply. A silent dismissal.
Jason intended to hold that pose, but Isobel shivered. The pulse in her throat raced beneath his lips. She squirmed on top of him, a slow, small, grinding motion. She squeezed her fingers on his biceps.
And just like that, Jason forgot about the watchman and the lantern and even bloody Iceland and he found her mouth again. One more kiss, a final peck, to make it look rea—
Isobel pounced. Her lips opened immediately; her tongue flicked against his bottom lip. He slanted his head and answered. Their tongues met, and he was levitated into another hallelujah moment.
She canted her head to the right, following the ebb of the kiss. Jason redirected, curling them left, keeping her face averted.
He glanced up, checking the clearing, the path, the bushes. The watchman was gone.
Gone, he thought, but he couldn’t say the words. He might never speak again. He might only—
Isobel Tinker kissed him like a drowning woman in search of breath, and he returned the kiss as if he wanted to save her life. While she feasted with her lips, her hands roamed his body. Gloved fingers dug deep, moving from his shoulders, down his chest, beneath the lapels of his greatcoat. His only thought was,Oh God, yes, that, that, that.
His mind homed to the sensation of her small hands, boldly kneading his pectorals, walking down his ribs,twining beneath his arms. She locked him to her in a desperate embrace. Her thighs squeezed his flanks, squirming her urgently closer.
Jason palmed her hips and lifted her, ever so slightly, resettling her closer still. She moaned against his mouth.
He wondered how long it would take the watchman to make another circuit. Thinking was difficult. Remaining upright was difficult. Kissing her was the easiest thing he’d ever done.
How could he end this kiss? Would it be ungentlemanly to pull away? Or was it ungentlemanly to carry on?
The faint sound of whistling on the opposite side of the park pierced the haze. The watchman doing as requested, giving them time.
“Miss Tinker,” Jason panted softly, pulling back. He rested his forehead against her temple. “Isobel.”
She ducked her head, breathing hard. She nodded. She knew.
For a long, charged moment, they sat on the bench, bodies throbbing, hearts racing. They sucked air in small pants.
Jason tried to listen for the watchman’s tune, but he heard only her. She swallowed hard. Her gown rustled and her hood fell back. He saw her face in the moonlight, flushed skin and bright eyes. She would not look at him.
“Here,” he said, reaching for her waist, “let me steady you. Can you stand?”
She nodded and slid from his lap. She turned away, pulling from his fingers.
“Keep to the shadows,” he whispered, adjusting his coat and pushing from the bench. He was painfully aroused.
She shuffled to the darkest corner of the alcove, facingthe bushes. Jason recovered his hat and stood in the path to block her from view. She patted and smoothed and tucked. She was silent except for her breathing.
