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He groaned. “What does that mean, ‘more’?”
“Well...more. I like it when you talk to me. And I, um, I like it when you kiss me.”
“Thank God,” he murmured.
“Zane, I think we should finish our picnic and return to town.”
That was the last thing he wanted to do, but he forced himself to drop his arms and get his breathing under control.
Later, when he had pulled on his trousers and shirt, Winifred set out the fried chicken and lemonade and napkins Sam had packed. Her fingers were shaking.
Zane found he couldn’t take his eyes off her hands. And he couldn’t stop smiling.
* * *
They drove back in the buggy to the road in a silence so complete Winifred fancied she could hear her heart beating. She did like Zane’s kisses, more than Professor Beher’s or even Pierre de Fulet’s on the terrace after the reception following her Boston debut. Zane had kissed her before today; twice, in fact. Both times were startling, not because he had been Cissy’s husband, but more because she liked him, liked feeling his lips touch hers. Last Christmas at the train station she had wanted to kiss him back, but the train was leaving and there was no time.
And now? Her pulse skipped. Today when he kissed her she’d wanted it to go on and on. When his mouth found hers she felt as if her skin would split wide open and she would fly away.
She watched his hands on the reins. His skin was tanned, his fingers long and capable-looking, skilled at probing with surgical instruments or smoothing witch hazel over a sunburn. She was in awe of this man. And she liked sitting close to him and not talking.
She edged toward him a few inches and laid her head against his shoulder. No one would see them; they had not yet reached the road back to town.
Zane made a sound in his throat, pulled the horse to a stop and wound the reins around the brake handle. He turned to her, his gray eyes dark and smoky. He caught her mouth under his, moving his lips over hers slowly, purposefully. She wanted it to go on forever.
He deepened the kiss and she opened her lips. He tasted of lemons and something sweet, and all at once she wanted to weep.
She touched his arms, felt the muscles bunch and tremble. She ached for something more, something...closer.
“Zane,” she murmured against his mouth. “Touch me.”
His hands at her back stilled, then he slowly moved his fingers to the top mother-of-pearl button of her shirtwaist. He slipped it free, then moved to the next. Her skin felt as if it were spangled with stars.
He spread her bodice and kissed her collarbone, pressed his mouth along her neck, her throat. Her breasts began to swell. Dear God, this was heaven.
She arched toward him, desperate to feel his hands on her skin. He stroked one finger over her nipple and she gasped. A tingly, hungry sensation shot straight to a place below her belly.
His breathing grew rough, and the sound flooded her with a sense of power. This was like nothing she’d ever experienced, not even during a piano concerto when she felt the orchestra soaring with her and she knew she held the audience in the palm of her hand. This was so strong and beautiful she wanted to scream.
He slipped her shirtwaist off her shoulders, bent his head and drew his tongue over her breast. Heat danced along her veins and up her spine. Her nipples throbbed. She felt as if a slow fire were melting her bones.
Suddenly she wanted to be naked, wanted to feel his hard body pressed against hers. She moaned, and he lifted his head and looked into her eyes.
“I thank God we are sitting up,” he murmured.
Winifred laughed softly. “And on a hard buggy seat at that.”
This time he laughed, then his smile faded. “I hear someone coming.” He began to rebutton her shirtwaist, then freed the reins and flapped them at the horse. His hands shook.
When they reached the road back to town they met Teddy MacAllister and another boy on horseback, fishing rods clutched in their hands. Zane let them pass and turned to Winifred with a wistful smile. “They almost got a lesson in lovemaking,” he quipped.
“Aren’t they too young?”
Zane gave her a long look. “They’re male, aren’t they? Boys notice girls early. By the time they’re my age, they don’t care anymore.”
“Zane, you cannot be serious.”
He sucked in a long breath. “Of course I’m not serious. Look at you and me and what is happening between us.”
Oh, my. Winifred knew her face was turning scarlet.
* * *
Sam met them at the door. “Boss needed at hospital, quick!”
