Then Weston had looked at her with that ravenous glint in his eyes and without kissing her, he’d given her peach. And strawberry. And peppermint. A single searing stare, a promise of what was to come, and she had tasted every flavor there was to be had.
If a gaze could do all that, what might a real kiss do?
Evie was almost afraid to find out.
“You’re welcome to take your new pet and be on your merry way at any point,” said Weston, his large hands anchoring themselves to his hips as his brows pinched together over the bridge of his nose in a hawkish scowl. All he needed was an eyepatch and he’d make a splendid pirate.
“Where on earth would I go?” she asked, tilting her head. “There’s no one around!”
Which was the problem.
They’d been walking for what felt like hours and hadn’t come across a soul. Not to mention the tavern Weston was leading them to. With the sun beginning to set in the west and a cool breeze blowing in from the east, Evie was beginning to experience her first genuine flickers of concern.
When she and Weston had first set out, their task had been simple enough. Walk two miles to the nearest town, find someone to fix their damaged axle, and be back on their way to Hawkridge Manor in no time at all. Then two miles had turned into three, she’d gotten drunk off brandy, stolen a sheep, met themostdisagreeable woman of her entire lifetime, and now…now she didn’t know what they were doing. But she did know one thing for certain: she could not, under any circumstances, spend the night outside in afieldsomewhere.
She was meant for the ballroom, not the bushes. Joanna was the one who had insisted that the sisters sleep out under the stars every summer. And Evie was the one who had retreated inside before the first firefly lit up the night sky.
No, what she required was a bed with a real pillow, not the straw stuffed monstrosities at Lady Privet’s Boarding House. And a bath to soak in. With soap. Lots of soap. Enough soap to scrub every last layer of grit and grime from her skin. Then she wanted a dress. A lovely, fashionable dress like she’d seen the ladies in London wearing. With a bodice lined with ivory linen, and a plaited flounce trimmed in wide velvet ribbon, and beads made of real glass instead of painted tin.
“The tavern should be just around the bend,” said Weston.
Evie huffed out a breath. “You said that three bends ago.”
His mouth twisted in a humorless smile as he swept his arm out to the side. “By all means, take the lead.”
“Why would I do that, if you know where we’re going?” Something in his expression immediately roused her suspicions. “Youdoknow where we’re going, don’t you?”
He scratched under his ear. “Almost definitely.”
“Almost–” Evie cut herself off as a warm flush crept up her neck and spilled across her cheeks. “Do you mean to say we’ve been walking aimlessly for hours? I have blisters! Not to mention the irreparable damage the sun has caused to my complexion. I could getfreckles.” She shuddered at the thought. “I am going to have to soak my face in lemon water for a week.”
“You were welcome to remain behind in the carriage.”
“Which I would have gladly done, if I had known you had all the directional sense of a blind turtle!”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “If you hadn’t gone running after that lamb–”
“Don’t you dare blame this on me,” she interrupted, jabbing her finger at him. “Or Posy.”
“Notblame you?” he said incredulously, taking a step towards her. “This entire debacle has been your fault from the very beginning!”
They were inches apart. Close enough for her to see the throb of his pulse and the tiny flecks of gold in his stormy gray irises that she’d never noticed before. Like slivers of lightning slashing across the sky in the midst of a terrible tempest.
“I haven’t done anything.” She tilted her chin, although in invitation or challenge, she couldn’t be sure. Her entire body hummed with anticipation; a bowstring drawn taut and just waiting to be released.
“Liar,” Weston said hoarsely as his hands slid into her hair, dislodging whatever pins that remained so that her mane tumbled down over his wrists in a spill of black satin and her breath caught at the flash of raw hunger she saw in his gaze. He was staring at her as if she were a tasty rabbit…and he was a starving wolf intent on devouring her whole. “You’ve done something to me.”
“W-what?” she whispered.
His hand glided down her neck, over the slope of her shoulder, and around to the small of her back. A coaxing nudge, and they were together, her legs cocooned between his powerful thighs and her breasts pressed against the hard, flat plane of his chest. He gave a tortured groan.
“I’ve no bloody idea.” Lowering his head, he kissed her, his mouth warm and surprisingly soft on hers.
Evie’s previous kisses had taught her to anticipate a bit of fumbling. Noses that bumped and teeth that clicked and, in one unfortunate instance that she’d like very much to forget, the invasive taste of salmon.
But with Weston, there was no awkwardness.
Kissing him, being kissedbyhim, was…effortless. Just like when they’d danced together, their bodies instinctively knew what to do even without the strains of Beethoven’sFifth Symphonyto guide them.
