Page 22 of The Mister I Married

Emmy, with her furrowed brow and pursed lips, looked as impressed as he was, even as she said, “Of course. If you insist.”

He shook his head again, frustration warring with embarrassment. “I won’t force you, Emmy. If you don’t want to kiss me, that is your right. But I won’t marry someone who beds me only out of duty and finds no pleasure in my touch. I cannot. So, if the idea of kissing me displeases you…”

He trailed off, his heart thudding with anticipation, though he knew her answer could excite as easily as it could injure.

“It isn’t that it displeases me,” she said, her gaze falling to her lap. “It’s only that I…”

She shook her head, her frown deepening as she stared at her hands, avoiding his gaze.

Alex watched her, waiting, unsure what to make of her show of vulnerability. “It’s only what, Emmy?”

She raised her head and met his gaze. “I don’t know how,” she said irritably. “I’ve never kissed a man before.”

Alex blinked in surprise. “Never?”

How was that possible? Emmy was a gorgeous girl. She should have been peppered with kisses by now.

“It isn’t that I haven’t had opportunities,” she said, as if reading his mind. “Men have tried to kiss me, but I always declined.”

“Why?” Alex asked, curious in spite of the absurd shard of jealousy burning his gut.

“I don’t know,” she answered, surging to her feet. “I suppose I simply didn’t wish to kiss them.”

She began to pace in front of the sofa, her fingers laced behind her back, and Alex started to rise from his chair, but she waved him away. Reluctantly, he sat again.

“I am not a romantic girl,” she said. “I never have been. My friends always seemed to be swooning over some boy or other, but not me. I don’t seem capable of feeling those romantic emotions other people feel.”

Alex considered her words, uncertainty rendering him mute. He’d never tried to kiss an unromantic girl before, although, admittedly, his experience with women was limited. He had no desire to make her do anything she did not wish to do, but neither would he marry a cold fish.

“Answer me one question, Emmy.”

She paused in her pacing to look at him as he rose to a stand.

“Were you attracted to any of those men who tried to kiss you?”

She scrunched up her nose, her answer an immediate: “No.”

Excellent. A promising start.

“And are you attracted to me?” he asked, slipping his hands into his pockets with forced nonchalance.

She cocked her head to one side and gave him a thorough once-over from stem to stern. Alex stood stock-still, refusing to squirm beneath her perusal, though he was suddenly, acutely aware of his well-worn boots and too-long hair.

At least his coat was freshly pressed.

“Yes,” she answered an eternity later. “I do find you physically appealing.”

Her tone was almost clinical, and for some reason, this amused him. It was no passionate declaration, but it was better than nothing.

“I also find you physically appealing,” he said, matching her formal tone. “And this leads me to believe there is a chance we would enjoy kissing each other. Shall we test this theorem?”

She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip for an unflatteringly long length of time, until finally, she nodded. “All right. Let’s.”

The sofa table stood between them. Alex circled it, his pace unhurried, though his heart hammered madly against his ribcage. He wanted this kiss, yes—he wanted it more than he’d wanted anything in a very long time—but, damn it all, he was no pimple-faced pup, slavering after a pretty girl. He was a man, and he had his pride.

He also had his suspicions that even a glint of eagerness on his part would send Emmy sprinting for the door.

Or earn him a swift knee to the bollocks.