“Or perhaps you’re my ideal reader.”
He was closer. How’d he get closer? Had he moved? Or had she? Maybe it was the two of them, coming together like a knot being slowly cinched.
“I made myself a promise downstairs.” He smelled as if he’d sat close to the fire. It was nice. Cozy, even. “I was going to wait the full hour. I wouldn’t come back earlier. I would let you have space.”
Her laugh was husky. Had she ever laughed like this? “You’ve been practically attached to me at the hip since I discovered you.”
“I can’t seem to stay away.” He reached out and smoothed back a lock of her hair.
She arched into his touch like a cat.
“You are very close.”
“Oh, no, this isn’t close.” He slid his hand to the back of her head. “This is close.” He leaned in. Their foreheads were touching. “Closer still.” His breath was warm on her skin, but for some reason it made her shiver. “Are you okay being... close, Lizzy?”
He said her name in such a way, as if it were precious, as if she were valuable to him. Without knowing the destination, they’d arrived at some sort of crossroads. One word from her, a single no, and they’d head down a safer road, one that was well trodden and well lit. But with another word, they’d just as easily take a more dangerous path, one that came with sharp curves ahead, where she couldn’t see what was coming next.
All her life, she’d taken the dull, safe paths. Until the day Tuck had arrived. Now she kept feeling uncertain of what was before her, but rather than being terrifying, it was as if she was waking up to herself, aware of her wants, her desires, for the first time. And understanding they mattered. They weren’t instincts or sensations to overcome through diligence and prayerful reflection as she’d been taught her whole life.
“This is your idea of close?” She wrinkled her nose, half impressed and half aghast at her forwardness. “I’m very confident we could be closer.”
“Is this a dare?” His voice dropped an octave, the provocative question curling her toes. “Because I could get a hell of a lot closer.”
“And...” Lizzy’s breath caught in her throat. “Is that what you want?”
He remained statue still. “I’m much more interested in what you want.”
Her gaze flicked to his mouth. “Close sounds interesting.” All either of them had to do was reach out a fraction, and their lips would touch. The scent of bay rum from his hair oil mingled with the faint trace of woodsmoke from the downstairs fire.
“And are you interested?” His voice had such a rough timbre, it sanded away her resolve.
She’d never been kissed, and the idea hadn’t truly captivated her until this moment. But now she longed to be read like a map, for Tuck to learn all her secret valleys, deserts, seashores, and shadowed woods.
“I—”
A deafening crash shattered the tension as the room’s door banged open, sending them flying apart.
Chapter Fourteen
Tuck thrummed as he drank in the sight of Lizzy, those perfect-ten curves barely concealed beneath that oh-so-innocent nightgown. She set his blood on fire. It took every ounce of his self-control not to sweep her into his arms and tell her all the ways he could make her body sing. That, and the drunken idiot who’d ruined his chances to make a move.
He’d bodychecked the stumbling, bleary-eyed intruder back out into the hall with a growled “Get out,” before slamming the door and facing Lizzy.
Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. The charged atmosphere between them was palpable as her lips parted, as if to speak. He couldn’t do this. Panic surged through him. He couldn’t bear to hear whatever she might say, rejection or encouragement. Either would set them down a new path.
“I’m going to grab a little fresh air. You better get some sleep.” Jesus, his voice sounded strained, even to his own ears. Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and left. He needed distance, a chance to regain a hold over his emotions. Only then could he face her, to accept whatever fate had in store.
And shit. He tugged at his pants with irritation. He needed todeal with this hard-on that was going to rip through his breeches if he didn’t find release. He stalked through the pub downstairs, ignoring the inviting gaze of a woman at the bar who’d be more than willing to assist him for the right price. He was only captivated by a single woman, the one he knew he shouldn’t desire, as it would only complicate an already complex situation. Clenching his jaw, he resolved to keep his feelings in check. Despite the intense pull he felt toward Lizzy, he couldn’t afford to let his heart deviate from his ultimate goal. He would find a way to beat the odds and get home—he had to.
Without a word to anyone, he made his way out back. He needed privacy, and the only place he could find was some out-of-the-way corner in a barn. It was quiet and no one was around. The stables in the back were empty, and he entered the furthest one on the right. Bracing his forearm on the back of the stall, he let his head fall forward and tried to breathe through it.
“Fuck,” he muttered after a long pause. There wasn’t a choice. He needed release.
With quick jerking movements, he had himself free, his hard shaft rising to greet his hand. He gave himself a rough squeeze, frustrated, angry almost that he had to be here, that he couldn’t bottle up this need and throw it far out into some great internal sea. But the extra pressure felt good. How long had it been since he’d been this worked up, since he’d wanted with such urgency?
Maybe never.
Earlier, it had been enough to send him to a second and even third whiskey knowing Lizzy was upstairs flicking through pictures and descriptions that would surely do more than raise questions. She’d be excited. But he hadn’t imagined that he’d come back to find her pink-cheeked and hazy-eyed. Her nightgown bunched at her knees. And the room filled with the scent of herdesire. He knew now how she’d smell if he pressed his face between her thighs. It was imprinted on his mind, to be carried to his goddamn deathbed.
