The two men milling the wooden boards left the working benches and exited the room.
“Well, when it’s love at first sight, it’s always quick.” Florence brushed a grain of sawdust from the armrest. “Would you terribly mind if I go and buy that oil, missus? The shop is right in front of this one, and the vendor is a friend of mine. I’ll be back in a few moments.”
Mrs Armstrong would’ve never done that. Good.
Pearl sat on the couch and caressed the fabric. “I’ll wait here.”
“Bless you, missus.” Florence’s bustle swayed as she trotted away. Once she walked through the door, Pearl and Christopher were alone.
The temperature of the room rose a few degrees.
He shifted his weight and eyed the door as if wishing to run away.
Silence dropped. Only the voices of the customers in the other room could be heard.
“Don’t you want to try it?” she asked.
His head whipped towards her. “Try what?”
“The couch.” Heat flushed her face again.
Slowly, he lowered himself next to her.
The appropriate distance of eighteen inches separated them. He sat with his back straight, staring ahead, but his hand twitched over his bad leg.
Her fingers itched to rub the pain away. “How were you shot?”
He didn’t turn to her. “I was covering the retreat of my men when the enemy charged. We hid behind a group of rocks, but while we were running towards our line, a bullet hit my leg.” His fingers ran over his thigh. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the field doctor immediately, and the wound became infected.”
“Oh, no.” She clamped a hand on her mouth.
“When they operated me, they had to cut a good chunk of flesh, and the leg didn’t recover as it should have.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. It seemed a casual gesture, but so much loneliness radiated from it her heart clenched for him.
“And the scar?” she whispered.
“Years before the bullet. A grenade.”
Pearl’s stomach churned at what he’d endured. She acted on impulse, her hand moving without her approval, and closed her fingers around his. She should withdraw and apologise, but instead she tightened the grip, her pulse spiking. Hard muscles contracted under her palm.
He stilled. His gaze travelled from their joined hands to her mouth. “You’re so confusing,” he whispered.
“Me? Why?” Pearl leaned closer. Her insides melted under his burning stare.
“I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“You can.” She was bold enough to caress his fingers.
His hand turned upwards under hers, and his thumb stroked her inner wrist over the fabric of her glove. Fire ignited on her skin and coursed through her. He glanced up from underneath those long lashes, then the thumb slipped under her sleeve and touched her skin. The fire now was a raging storm inside her.
All the air flushed out of her lungs as the rough pad of his thumb drew circles on her wrist. Her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, sparked with illicit sensations.
“You’re so soft.” The deep, husky tone of his voice shot sheer pleasure between her legs.
A moan escaped her, a sensual sound she didn’t know she could release.
