Page 73 of A Stranger’s Kiss

“Most certainly, Mrs. Lambert.” He offered a gallant arm. “A good evening to you, Miss Mackenzie.”

Olivia smiled her farewell. It was a disappointment, truly. She’d envisioned such a different ending to the day, but not with her father in such a state.

“Come, father.” She drew him behind the curtain and toward his room. “Shall I read to you?”

“No, no,” her father yawned. “I am rather tired, my child.”

“Then, this way, Father dear.”

She guided him to his room and settled him into bed. To her surprise, he fell asleep almost at once. Olivia poked her head back through the curtain only to see the shop lying still, silent. With Mrs. Lambert gone, it was most unfortunate that Nicholas had left when he had. With a sigh, she ascended the stairs to her room and began to undress.

She might as well work, she still had music to print, but work was a sore substitute when she wanted Nicholas’s mouth on her, suckling her breast and more. For the first time, she understood the pull of attraction, the desire to abandon everything for the love of a man. Love. Did she love Nicholas? She already knew the answer. She’d battled that attraction from the very start.

Quickly, she shimmied out of her gown and shift, then took her father’s printing clothes from the clothing chest and slipped them on. She was too agitated to sleep. She might as well put the time and energy to use.

Forcing all thoughts of Nicholas from her mind, she left her room and returned to the floor below. The night was a hot one and the work of pulling the Devil’s Tail, forcing sheet after sheet over the type, would make it hotter still.

Already, the print room was stuffy. She lit the candle on the counter and another on the press before heading to the windows to open the shutters. The cool night air would chase away the stuffiness. It was risky, of course. She’d have to keep watch to ensure Mr. Peppers didn’t slip through to wreak havoc with his paws.

A cricket sang in the alleyway as she returned to the press and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her father’s linen shirt. She grinned. She was half tempted to divest herself of clothing altogether. What did it matter? There was no one here to see.

She loosened her belt a notch, letting the breeches slide lower over her hips and then tied the shirt tails above her waist. Cool air kissed her skin. She sighed in relief and reached for the handle. She started. Nicholas lounged against the doorframe and watched her under heavily lidded eyes.

“How did you get in here?” she demanded in a voice that was far too breathless.

He grinned and unfolded his arms. “I never left.”

It was impossible not to smile.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” he murmured as he joined her.

Olivia drew a deep breath. Yes. He was close, as he should be. “Forgive you?” She peered up at him through her lashes. “Perhaps, I shall consider it.”

“Perhaps?” He grinned and, leaning back, snuffed the candle on the counter with the palm of his hand, then blew out the one on the press.

Darkness filled the room.

Olivia’s heart began to pound.

“Perhaps there is a way I can convince you to think positively in my favor,” his deep voice whispered in her ear.

There were so many things he could do—that she wanted him to do.

Moonlight streamed through the windows, bathing the room in silvery light, enough so that she could see the outline of his smiling lips.

“You are so beautiful, Olivia.”

That brought a laugh to her lips. “In the darkness only,” she teased. “I am untidy, wearing breeches—”

“I rather think all women should wear breeches,” he interrupted, placing a hand on the press behind her and stepping forward to press his body against hers.

Yes. That’s what she wanted. To feel him, every inch. “Women wear breeches? Would it not be rather confusing to tell them apart from men?”

Nicholas lifted a wicked brow. “I rather think not. The shapes, I assure you, are decidedly different. There are advantages to such attire, I might point out.”

The seductive purr in his voice made her heart sing. “Advantages? Pray tell?”

He ran a palm down the front of her shirt, lazily, the replied, “To begin with, the shirt. It’s much easier to…open.”