Page 32 of Hunted By the Headless Horseman
“Evelyn is a ridiculous, little flirt,” she mutters. “She’s gorgeous, and she flaunts it, especially with me since she sees me as some rival. As if I care if she steals all the guys. But I’m not about to let anyone stealmyman.”
I wrap an arm around her waist, stopping her in her tracks. Her breath catches in her chest as I capture one side of her face, leaning closer.
Yourman, hmm…I purr darkly, approvingly.
“You know what I mean.” She shifts her weight, her fingers fumbling with her dress.
Indeed. But have no fear, my Belle.I comb my fingers through her curls cascading down her chest.I have no intention of allowing anyone to steal me from my summoner. I’ve already found the apple of my eye.
“You made another joke,” she teases and slides her hands inside my jacket to touch my waistcoat.
I would make more, but they would be quite uncouth in our present environment. Best if you lead on, Miss. Holloway.
The spring in her step returns.
Through the next couple of hours, Belle takes me on a sensory journey. She mentions the children engaged in rousing games of bobbing for apples, gunny sack slides, or pony riding. We sat for a short time for a caricature illustration—one I long to see soon. A petting zoo with a few goats, rabbits, ducks, and a llama or two proved to be stimulating for the touch when Belle urged me to remove one glove, guiding my hand to each animal.
I focus on the rhythm of her footsteps, the sounds around us, the shifting textures beneath my cane. I catch snippets of conversation. Due to our strengthening bond, I swear I can smell warm cider and fresh-baked bread as I faintly hear the hiss of caramel apples being dipped in a hot, sugary glaze and the sound of children jumping into the massive pit of shelled corn.
Belle describes each scene with vivid detail. I smile internally at the scarecrow-building contests and welcome her head leaning on my chest as we linger for a live music performance.
As evening settles, and bonfires cast smoke into the air, Belle pulls me along, her voice breathless. “Jack, this is it—the corn maze!”
Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I sense there is more to this maze than she is letting on.
After giving my hand a reassuring squeeze, she leads me onward, her grip firm and steady, as if daring the maze to challenge us.
I tap my cane against the ground and accompany her inside. With nightfall unfolding around us, the chill in the air, and the proximity of the stalks affording potential threats, I fully intend to remain close to her side.
The more Belle’s body brushes against mine, the deeper the thrill runs through my spine. Belle’s charm rivets me, arouses me as she practically dances her way through the twisting paths and towering corn walls.
Strange, I remark at the dwindling presences.
“Most are getting ready for the haunted forest walk. We’ll go soon, but I want to do something first,” she gasps out, her disposition more flustered than ever, and I picked up on the mischief in her tone.
Oh?
“Yes. It’s my turn.”
Turn?
Before I can inquire further, Belle pushes me right off the path into the towering and tightly nestled embrace of corn stalks. I catch myself in time with my cane but don’t get the chance to recover before she tugs me harder, deeper into the thick stalks.
I growl my frustration?—
—until she stops, kneels before me, and starts undoing my belt.
By thunder!
13
“It’s a head. Well, no. It’s a skull face.”
BELLE
I’m not waiting any longer.
What are you up to, you saucy, little strumpet?He stiffens, hovering the gloved fingers of one palm along my cheek while gripping the cane in the other. But I breathe a deep sigh of relief that he doesn’t stop me.
