Page 101 of A Convenient Fiction

She drew her fingertips along his cheek. “Many, many years later.”

“The only thing good to come out of any of this.”

Her eyes searched his. “Do you really believe that?”

“I do.” His heart thumped hard as she lifted her hand from his to cradle his face. Her thumb moved over his jaw in a slow caress. There was a tenderness in her touch. A possessiveness, too.

“I’m a little nervous,” she confessed.

He set his arm about her waist, drawing her closer. “So am I,” he said. And he bent his head and captured her mouth with his.

Laura’s hand slid from Alex’s cheek to curve around his neck. His lips were warm and firm, the evening scruff of his beard deliciously abrasive against her skin. Warmth infused her veins, just as it had when he’d kissed her beneath the yew tree. But this time…

This time, there was nothing impulsive in his touch.

He held her fast against him, so close that she could feel the heavy beat of his heart, and he kissed her slowly, deliberately. Deep, drugging kisses that turned her limbs to melted treacle.

It was impossible not to respond. Impossible not to tangle her fingers into his thick hair, and to kiss him back with soft, half-parted lips.

She inhaled a tremulous breath. He smelled of railway smoke and polished leather; of travel, and adventure, and endless, thrilling possibility. Her stomach clenched as his mouth moved on hers. Had she been standing, she was certain her knees would have buckled beneath her.

“Was that any more memorable than last time?” he asked when he finally pulled away.

She gave him a dazed look.

His forehead came to rest gently against hers. There was a smile in his voice. “Better than a buss on the cheek from an aged uncle?”

Her sharp words from the pond came back to her in a flash. She exhaled a breathless laugh. “Yes. Much better.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, his voice a deep murmur as he nuzzled her ear. “Let’s go to bed, shall we?”

She should be anxious. Lord knew she’d been half dreading this moment since they arrived in Paris. She was so worried about disappointing him—and about being disappointed herself.

But as he held her in his arms, she wasn’t afraid anymore. She wasn’t even the least bit skittish. All she knew was that she wanted him.

And that he wanted her.

“Yes,” she said. “Please.”

For the rest of her life, Laura would remember that week in Paris with Alex Archer. They spent every hour together. Mornings breakfasting in bed. Afternoons exploring the city. And evenings. Long, intimate evenings spent in each other’s arms.

Her new husband was a changeable lover. As chameleonlike as in every other respect. One moment touching her with a gentleness that bordered on reverence. Another moment teasing her and making her laugh. He was frequently romantic. Always solicitous of her smallest desire. But it was in their most intimate embrace when she finally felt she knew him. He held her, and took her, and loved her.

And she dared to hope that the feelings he had professed for her in Lower Hawley were deepening to something stronger. Something more than mere caring or attraction.

Because her own feelings were certainly deepening for him.

At the end of the week they departed for Grasse. There was no more postponing it. As much as she didn’t like to dwell on the matter, their future depended on what they found there. Not only hers and Teddy’s future, but Alex’s, too.

Despite the new intimacy between them, he’d still not committed to staying with her.

Laura owned to a certain sense of bitterness on the subject. As they settled into their first-class compartment on the train from Paris, she couldn’t help but press him. “I daresay you’re beginning to grow bored with me.”

It was a stupid thing to say. She realized it as soon as she said it. Stupid and childish.

Alex cast her an amused look. “If I was any less bored, we’d still be at the hotel.”

Heat crept into her cheeks.