Emeline didn’t know how to make herself unjealous.
Setting down the cocoa, she made her voice sound light andcarefree. “Sure. Of course.” Not wanting him to see the thoughts in her eyes, she kept the blanket wrapped around her and rose to her feet, walking to the table where her clothes were folded.
“What’s wrong?” he asked from behind her.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s late. I should get home.”
Except there was no one waiting for her at home. Pa was inCleveland this weekend, playing music with his button box group. She could stay as long as she liked and no one would even know.
“There’s another reason for stopping,” he said suddenly. “The real reason.”
Emeline, who was about to let the blanket fall and start pulling on her clothes, turned to find him directly behind her.
“You’re not getting anything out of this.” He looked to the darkened windows. “But I am. Far too much, I’m afraid.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
His throat worked audibly as he swallowed.
“I never should have accepted your offer. It was wrong of me.”
She frowned, holding the blanket closed at her throat. “Wrong?”Was he ashamed of drawing her? He wasn’t ashamed of drawing those other models.
Maybe she really had ruined things by volunteering herself.
A panicked feeling clawed through her. She didn’t want to go back to being only friends. She wantedthis.Whatever this was that they were doing. Her voice came out shaky. “Why is it wrong?”
He ran both hands through his hair. “Isn’t it obvious, Emeline?”
It wasn’t obvious to her.
Seeing it, he stepped in closer.
“You’re not supposed to want the model you’re drawing.” He bent his head to hers. “You’re not supposed to think of her every night before you fall asleep.”
His eyes were feverish as he reached to touch her hair, letting theblack strands spill through his graphite-stained fingers. His other hand slid behind her neck as he slowly ran his thumb along her jaw, trembling as he traced her.
Oh.
“Is it obvious now?” he whispered.
It was becoming obvious, yes.
Emeline swallowed. Hearing it, he froze. “Do you want me to stop touching you?”
No. Not ever. But Emeline was overcome by an unexpected shyness, and she didn’t know how to answer.
Hawthorne pulled away, trying to find the answer in her face. His absence was like a physical ache, and Emeline wanted him back.
She suddenly knew how to answer his question.
Emeline released her grip on the blanket. The fabric rushed through her fingers, falling to her feet. As the cold air raised goose bumps on her skin, she shivered and stepped towards him. Wanting his warmth.
Tangling her fingers in his hair, Emeline pulled his mouth down to hers.
It was a messy, fumbling sort of kiss. Soft and hungry.
Hawthorne quickly recovered from his surprise and pulled her tight against him, his palms sliding over her bare hips and up her back, his mouth tracing her jaw and throat.
