Miles paused, considering how best to proceed. “It’s just sometimes…sometimes your recollections of him seem so vague.” And he gently pulled the rope that connected with the pulley above so that the boat moved a little faster and a little higher.
Verity narrowed her eyes. “It was all such a long time ago, my lord. In truth, my recollections of you are also somewhat…vague.”
Ouch.
“Just so. But tell me again the reason you didn’t marry Locksley? Or even go to Devon… Or was it Cornwall?”
She crossed her arms. “Bad breath, bad teeth, then he died.”
Miles lightly pulled once more. “Unfortunate fellow.”
“You’ll be an unfortunate fellow if you pull that rope again.”
He smirked. “This rope?” And he waggled it in front of–
Verity lunged, endeavoured to grab it, but she’d not considered the added momentum of the boat and she tumbled on top of him, all cotton-clad woman – breasts crushing and legs tangling.
With far too much grappling, she endeavoured to shove herself up and Miles failed to prevent a groan as her hips wiggled against his groin, hands on his chest as she rose to–
The boat swung back and she tumbled into him again, lips brushing the bared skin above his cravat.
“Hell and damnation,” he muttered as her perfume of orange blossom besieged his senses with memories of old – searing kisses and youthful frustration. “Stay still, woman.”
This time she merely raised her head. “Miles, I…”
“Ah, hell.” And before he could stop himself, he placed a hand to her nape, tugged her near and kissed her.
Not tentative or sweet but with fervour and abandon as he ravished her mouth.
He’d thought all the self-control forged in the dragoons over the years akin to a fortress wall – impenetrable – but instead, the passion that still bound them struck like cannon fire at a wall made of plaster.
Yet he was not alone, her lips opening to his as his hand clenched and unclenched at her spine, then lower at her derriere, the boat’s movement a steady push and pull, bringing their bodies together in a rhythm as ingrained as breathing.
Lips travelled to her cheek, her neck and, damn her, but she arched into him…
A little interrogation, that was all this was meant to be, to make sense of the past.
Miles groaned low as her hips merged with his. “Why, Verity?” He bit at her earlobe and she shivered. “Why are you lying?”
Verity stilled.
Then abruptly dug her fingers into Miles’ chest and, with the momentum of the boat, flung herself backwards, landing in a heap at the far end.
For she had to nip this…this desire in the bud.
No good could come of it. The past a shadow, such a dark shadow.
Nothing had changed. It was all for the best.
And no wonder Aunt had warned her about swingboats.
“You mauling bottle-headed oaf,” she cried, straightening her shoulders. “How dare you!”
The oaf smirked. “Er, you were on top of me, Verity.”
Irrelevant. “Stop this infernal contraption. I wish to return to my cousin.”
For a moment, she thought he’d deny her request but then after a heavy sigh, he placed two fingers to his lips and whistled with quite some force.
