Page 45 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

He considered a moment. “I wonder what was in the police report, if one was even made.”

“I’m not sure what influence Myra used ... No one at LIKER has mentioned it, so she might have erased the record entirely. But she can’t erase memories. I don’t know.” She took a sip of cider. Swallowed. “I wish I could talk to her.”

“I know.” He reached over and placed his hand over hers, and was rewarded with a small smile. “It will work out, one way or another. God willing.”

“Will it?”

“That or we move west.” Which made him wonder how dire things would have to get for Hulda to choose him over BIKER. Would she choose him here, now, if he asked?

He studied her face. The strong line of her jaw, her high cheekbones, hazel eyes with long lashes, bold nose.

He listened for Baptiste but didn’t hear him.

“You know.” He ran his thumb over her knuckle, feeling ... daring. “You’ve neverreallylet me kiss you.”

That got her attention. Her spine went ramrod straight, and her cheeks took on a pretty hue, warmed by the candlelight. “Pardon?”

“Pardon what?”

Her gaze shifted between his eyes. “Pardon, I’m not sure what you mean.” And her lips parted ever so slightly, looking warm and soft and perfect.

He scooted closer to her. Gazed at her. Took up that slightly curled tendril of hair and wrapped it around his finger.

She leaned forward, and that was all the invitation he needed.

He had always been so careful with Hulda. Knowing she was inexperienced with romance and men, he started carefully. Pressed his lips to hers, soft and sure. Twirled that lock of hair around his finger. Then he tilted his head and pressed a little firmer, and she reciprocated. When her lips parted for air, he took her bottom one between his. Expected her to start, but she didn’t, which encouraged him. Releasing that lock of hair, his hand came around the back of her head, pulling her closer, claiming her, working his lips across hers. She was a quick learner, and hesitated only a second when he ran his tongue across the entrance to her mouth.

God knew it had been a long time since he’d kissed a woman like this. The heat of it coursed down him like a warm shower. The smell of the sea mingled with scents of rosewater and rosemary, like she was an exotic, delicious meal ready to eat. Needless to say, it was a good thing Merritt was sitting down.

Her hands found his shoulders, and she let him in. He tasted cider as he explored her softly, and when her tongue met his, a burst of magic zipped through his chest, and he knew he should pull away soon orreallyget into trouble.

But Merritt took his time, slowing down little by little. He played with her mouth and stifled a groan at how wonderful she felt, and when he finally broke the kiss, her flushed skin and hard breathing felt like some kind of trophy.

She licked her lips, and he resisted kissing her again.

To his surprise, she said, “I don’t even know your middle name.”

Merritt laughed, and all the troubles of the day dissipated under the force of it. “It’s Jacob.”

She mouthed,Jacob.He wanted to taste the name as she said it.

“And yours?” he asked instead, a little huskier than intended.

“I don’t have one,” she admitted.

Her maiden name could become a middle name, but Merritt didn’t voice that. Instead he kissed her again, this time chastely. And while it might have been his imagination, he thought he saw a line of disappointment between her brows at the brevity of it.

Had they been deeper in conversation, Merritt might have missed the knock on the front door. A firm knock, deliberate. His chest soared for an instant at the thought that it might be Beth returned from her bizarre assignment, but Beth wouldn’t knock ... or might she think it necessary, after having been away?

He glanced at Hulda, whose ear was tilted toward the sound. “Mr.Portendorfer?” she suggested.

Shaking his head, Merritt rose from his seat; Hulda did the same. They slipped through the kitchen and into the reception hall. Baptiste had beaten them to the door. On the porch stood a middle-aged stranger, thin framed but well dressed, with a thick peppered mustache. When he saw them, he removed the bowler hat from atop his head and nodded.

“My apologies for interrupting at the dinner hour,” he said, his accent thickly British. “I was told I might find MissHulda Larkin here.”

Merritt straightened as Hulda answered, “I am she ... Might I ask what you need?”

The man nodded. “Simply put, MissLarkin, I’m here to speak with you concerning Silas Hogwood.”

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