Page 37 of She, Wolf, Him.

"There's nothing in this room for staying," I say.

"There's the widow's soup," he says. "She'd be hurt."

Cold lifts from my damp skirt. He remains by the table, waiting.

"Stop looking at me like that," I say.

"Like what."

"Like I've brought you something. I didn't come to be kind."

His mouth gives at one corner. "That would have worried me."

I almost laugh. This is Gaspard, rough at the jaw, dry when he ought to be solemn, waiting because I haven't crossed the space between us yet.

"There's wine," he says, and nods at the cup. "The widow's idea of a vintage."

"I didn't come for wine either. Do you always open your door with a rifle behind you," I ask.

"Only when the parish loves me."

"It doesn't," I say. "Not tonight."

"Tonight it doesn't," he agrees.

"How's your pride," I ask. "The whole village watched it take a beating this morning."

"It'll mend," he says. "I've had it beaten cheaper."

I cross the space between us.

I put my palm to his cheek. The stubble catches at my skin, and his jaw tightens under the touch. I feel the effort it costs him to stay still. My hand shakes once. I leave it there.

His voice comes low. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

The word is small and mine. I rise and kiss him.

He lets me set the shape of it before he kisses back. Warmth, the rough edge of his cheek, the taste of wine. Nothing careful enough to be polite. I draw him against me, and his touch spreads warm over the wool at my back.

I've wanted the thought of him in lonely rooms. The man is better. He makes a quiet sound when I catch his lower lip between mine, and hearing what I can do to him changes the kiss. I want this man, the kiss answering mine and the patience coming apart by degrees.

My shawl falls first. He catches it before it reaches the floor and drops it over the stool without breaking the kiss. The act is so plain, so absurdly useful, that I laugh against his lips.

"A well-kept seduction," I whisper.

"The widow charges for sweeping."

I laugh properly then. The laugh surprises him. For an instant he's younger. I kiss him and keep him that way.

The ties at my bodice have gone hard with cold. I work at them until impatience makes me pull.

"Here." He reaches, then stops short of the cord.

I turn my back and lift my hair.

His knuckles graze my nape. The knot comes free at once.