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They ambled aimlessly until they found a quiet, picturesque bridge overlooking a canal. Here they paused, listening to the faint strains of the orchestra waft through the trees. Alone with Rhys, she felt more safe.
He looked at the orange she still carried. “Don’t you want to eat it?” When she hesitated, he motioned to her. “Give it here. I’ll peel it for you.”
She surrendered the orange to him, and he bit the rind to make a flap. She watched as he carefully shelled the sectioned fruit within, removing every bit of peel and membrane, tossing the bits into the canal. Watching him reminded her of that first breakfast they’d shared, and the way he’d balanced an egg in his big, strong fingers.
Her mouth watered in anticipation. She removed her gloves. The aroma of orange grew stronger and stronger, and perhaps it was only her fancy, but the distant strains of the music seemed to grow more melodic, more sweet. The pleasure gardens began to live up to their name.
Dividing the fruit with his fingers, he offered her half. She accepted, separating one section and popping it into her mouth. The juicy tang of the orange flooded her tongue, and she gave an involuntary moan.
Side by side, elbows propped on the rail, they remained there. Two people who would never belong to the crowd, happily belonging to each other. Eating an orange in sticky, blissful silence, until it was completely gone.
Meredith licked her lips. They tasted of orange, sweet and tart with just a hint of bitter rind. She wondered if his lips would taste the same. But even dressed in a courtesan’s gown, she wasn’t bold enough to kiss him in a public park.
“Another?” he asked, withdrawing a second orange from his pocket.
She nodded and held out her hand. “Allow me, this time.”
As she lifted it to her mouth, she reconsidered. It would look unladylike, perhaps, to bite the rind as he had done. Instead, she dug in with her thumbnail to separate the peel. She misjudged and pressed too deep. Juice erupted, splattering her hand. She bobbled the orange, and down it went. Down into the canal, meeting its poetic end with an extravagant splash.
“Oh!” Sticky hands frozen helpless in front of her, Meredith leaned her belly against the rail. “I’m so sorry. What a waste.”
“Not at all.” He took her juice-spattered hand and lifted it to his lips.
To the casual observer, it must have looked the most innocent thing imaginable—a gentleman chastely kissing his lady’s hand.
The casual observer would have been deceived. Most wickedly so.
Pressing his parted lips to her knuckles, he licked each one. Then his tongue traced the sensitive seams between her fingers. Each furtive swipe sent a bolt of lightning shooting to her thighs, curling in the space between.
Once he’d finished her knuckles, he turned her hand palm up and bent his head.
“Rhys,” she whispered. “There are people about.”
He ignored her, lifting her hand to his face and curling her fingers over his cheek, so it would look to anyone passing by as though she were cupping his face. All the while, his tongue did wicked things, tracing the lines of her palm and loving the delicate pulse at her wrist. Her nipples went hard, and her sex went oh-so-soft.
And just when she thought she could not possibly become more aroused by a kiss on the hand, he proved her wrong.
He sucked her thumb into his mouth.
She almost cried out; it was a close thing. But his eyes held hers, forbidding her to make a sound as he swirled his tongue in insidious circles, then pulled with delicious, bone-melting suction. Her eyelashes fluttered and her breath came quick. A sudden weakness in her knees had her gripping the rail with her other hand and leaning her weight toward him.
At last, he gave her back her hand. He said simply, “There. Nothing gone to waste. Shall we walk back?” He offered his arm.
Still reeling from his kiss, she took it gratefully. “I’m not certain I remember how to walk just now.” Licking her lips, she added, “There’s still another orange, isn’t there?”
“Oh, yes. I’m saving it.” He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I’ll finish you later.”
Well, and now she lost all sense of coordination.
Fortunately, he was tall and strong and steady, and he kept her tucked close.
“Wearein Bath,” he said as they crossed back over the River Avon. “It seems we ought to at least walk by the baths and Pump Room. They’re on our way back to the hotel.”
Meredith couldn’t imagine why he would wish to prolong the walk back, but she said, “If you like.”
They strolled a few blocks down the bank. The faint odor of sulfur reached her nostrils as they approached a grand stone building fronted with plate windows and a great many steps.
“The Pump Room,” he announced. “You can’t see them from the street, but the baths are just there, to the side.”
