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Demeter grabbed his arm and jerked it closer so she could inspect it. “Is that a tattoo?”
He snatched his arm back, closing the flap of fabric over it. “Yes.”
“I’ve never seen one up close before.” Her wide gaze met his. “Did it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you get one? It is hardly the done thing.”
He smirked. There were many reasons at the time, none of which seemed very reasonable now. “Mostly to anger my father,” he admitted.
“I see,” she said but he could tell she didn’t. How could she?
Her gaze kept flitting to his arm and he blew out a breath, offering his arm once more. “Look again if you wish. It’s not very pretty.”
She cocked her head. “It is quite…artistic in a way. I never thought of tattoos as art before.” She narrowed her gaze. “Is it...a bird?”
“Yes.”
“Does it symbolize something?”
“Freedom,” he muttered.
“Freedom? But you are a bachelor of wealth. You have all the freedom in the world.”
Did he? He wasn’t so certain. When she glanced up at him, her eyes wide and curious, her lips slightly parted, he suspected his freedom of choice had long flown out the window.
He had to kiss her.
Blake eased a hand to cup her cheek, cradling her face. She gasped but didn’t retreat, even leaning in a little. He closed the gap slowly, urged on by the need raging through him. Throbbing knuckles, torn clothing, and all the other reasons why he shouldn’t be damned. He needed to taste that delicate mouth.
He touched his mouth to hers. She shuddered beneath his touch. Need gripped him but it was different. He didn’t want to crush her to him or tear her clothing from her. Instead he wanted to savor and taste and learn about her.
This was different.
This was new.
He jerked back abruptly, dropped his hand from her face, and shifted as far away from her as possible. Which wasn’t much given the confines of the carriage.
She blinked a few times and stared at him, her mouth still ajar, as though awaiting him to deepen the kiss.
“Shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured. “Many apologies. Won’t happen again.”
“Oh,” was all she said.
Oh was about right.
Chapter Thirteen
She must be a terrible kisser. Or she wasn’t appealing to men. Perhaps when Blake measured her up against all the experienced widows and elegant courtesans and opera singers, she came out wanting.
Demeter concentrated on putting each foot before the other with such force, she felt the sting of every step through her boots. The balmy day didn’t warrant such vigorous exercise but she needed to do something or she would go mad.
Maybe it was too late. For the past two days, all she thought of was Blake and that kiss.
That kiss.
That brief, sweet, wonderful kiss.
