Page 23 of The Mister I Married

“Shall we sit?” he asked, extending a hand toward the sofa.

She nodded, perching on the edge with her hands clasped in her lap, her back ramrod straight.

Alex sat down beside her, flicking his coattails aside as he did.

Emmy shifted to face him, and her knee brushed his. “I beg your pardon,” she said with a polite smile.

“Think nothing of it.”

Had there ever been a more awkward, less impassioned prelude to a kiss? His hands were sweating inside his gloves, and his heart still raced, but outwardly, this looked more like an appointment than an assignation.

“Well,” Emmy said before clearing her throat. “I suppose we ought to get on with it, hm?”

She leaned in and waited, her eyes falling closed.

Despite the tension thrumming through his body, amusement tugged at Alex’s lips. How like her to take the bull by the horns.

She’d hesitated before, but now that a decision had been made, it was full speed ahead, fortune favors the bold.

Damn, but he liked this woman.

Gently, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his leather glove a barrier to her bare skin he deeply regretted.

Closing the distance between them, he breathed her in—sweet pea and sunshine—and as the scent of her skin washed over him, he brushed her lips with his, savoring her warmth, her aliveness, the poignant rush of pleasure shivering through his limbs.

Easy. Keep your wits about you.

There was a reason he’d asked for this kiss, a purpose behind it, beyond simply satisfying his curiosity. This was an exercise, a test. If he was going to marry her, he must have proof of passion. Passion requited.

Emmy’s eyes were still shut tight, her posture stiff, but she did not pull away.

Alex deepened the kiss, his hand slipping from her chin to gently cup her nape, his knees knocking against hers.

Softly, slyly, he swept his tongue along her upper lip, wringing a tiny, intoxicating whimper from her throat.

Triumph was swift, the evidence of her enjoyment irrefutable.

He knew she didn’t care about passion. She would marry him with or without it. But he wanted her to care. He wanted her to enjoy this kiss, and when it was done, he wanted her to crave more.

He wanted her to crave him.

Alex pulled back, severing the kiss, and let his hands fall into his lap where he clenched them into fists. His breathing was labored, and he fought to regain his composure. “Thank you, Emmy,” he said, his voice husky.

She looked at him, mute, bare fingers pressed to red, ripened lips, and he wondered if his kiss had rendered her speechless.

And if it had, was that a good thing, or a bad thing?

He let his eyes rove over her face, taking in her flushed cheeks, her dilated pupils, the rise and fall of her chest with each quickened breath. Her gaze seemed affixed to his mouth, as if she were thinking of kissing him again.

Pleasure warmed him. Definitely a good thing.

And rather gratifying considering the kiss had been a brief one, not to mention her first. Satisfaction shot through his body, and on its heels, relief.

He smiled. “Very well, my lady,” he said. “I will marry you.”