He looked exhausted. Unshaven. Far too serious.
“You know the other reason,” he said.
She exhaled.
Yes.
She did.
He had stayed away because of Groby.
But also…
Because of her.
Because he had wanted to kiss her.
In that charged moment, neither of them moved.
Then Beatrice turned toward him. A shift of her knee against his. Her hand on his shoulder.
That was all it took.
For the second time that morning, their mouths met in a rush. Beatrice couldn’t tell whether she had kissed him or he had kissed her.
But it didn’t matter because his hand was gripping her waist. Hers slid to his jaw. When he pulled her closer, she went, skirts catching against his leg, her breath breaking against his mouth.
There was relief in it. Desire. Yes. And heat. But also…
Relief.
Like she’d been underwater for all of her life and finally come up for air.
The kiss on his front step had been unexpected, a thing that had happened before either of them could stop it.
This was different.
This was not an accident.
Gideon made a low sound against her lips, and the last sensible thought in her head vanished.
His tongue touched hers, slow at first. A question. A warning. Then again, claiming her with a hunger that felt almost indecent. As though denying himself the taste of her mouth had left him aching and empty.
Such a possibility made her heart flutter.
He tasted of tea beneath the smoke. Warmth. Weariness. A faint trace of something bitter and clean that was only him. His tongue traced the edge of her teeth, drew a needy sound from her throat, and then she was tasting him back, clumsy only for a moment before instinct took over.
It should have embarrassed her.
It did not.
Nothing had ever felt like this.
Beatrice drew back just enough to breathe, and her gaze locked with his.
Hazel eyes, now gone darker at the center, pupils large, gold and green reduced to a thin, burning ring around all that black.
He looked focused.
