Page 29 of The Scent of Intuition
“You want me to kiss you?” Alfie couldn’t believe his luck. This had been too easy, and he needed to be absolutely sure that it was her wish—it was undoubtedly his.
“Mother says twenty seconds is enough. So, in twenty seconds of lip contact, show me that you can do better,” she said, her chin raised high, and her neck stretched in his direction.
Alfie took a steadying breath.
His pulse raced as he stood before her, the air thick with anticipation. He had a mere twenty seconds, a brief window toeclipse all her past kisses, to make them pale in comparison. He couldn’t merely take her with all the vigor shooting through his veins; it had to be for her. He’d gladly make everything about her. Confidence surged within him—he was more than capable.
The first step was simple yet intimate; he reached forward, his fingers deftly untying the ribbon that held her bonnet and veil in place. As they fluttered to the ground, a cascade of curly strawberry blonde locks tumbled around her shoulders, framing her face in a wild, natural beauty.
Carefully, he gathered those errant strands, tucking them behind her ears. The simple action drew a visible shiver from her, goosebumps blossoming across her skin in a silent affirmation of their effervescent connection. Her breath hitched, growing heavier with the anticipation that Alfie hoped matched the pounding of his own heart.
In her eyes, he found silent questions and whispered hopes. This was his moment, his singular opportunity to prove the depth of his desire. To prove the sincerity of his affection. Though he couldn’t say it to her lest he betray her trust as a client, and as Pippa’s cousin. What was worse was that he’d led her on a path that could assure her of her prince, while she was like a princess to him, and he wasn’t allowed to chase her. The daughter of an earl could be with a prince—not an apothecary.
Yet, he’d take a kiss. Nobody would be for the wiser if they never mentioned it to a soul, and Alfie could lock it deep in his heart to cherish forever.
He needed the perfect angle, the ideal proximity, to ensure that this kiss would be equally imprinted upon her memory, forever casting a shadow over any before it.Or after.But Alfie didn’t dare think of the same effect for the future, even though he wished he could lay a claim on Bea.
With a tenderness born of genuine care, Alfie placed his right hand upon her left cheek, his thumb softly tracing the delicatecurve of her reddened cheekbone. Her skin was irritated and flushed from her condition and demanded a gentle touch. He obliged, applying enough pressure to stir her senses without causing discomfort.
At this moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of them suspended in a bubble of their own making. The air between them crackled with an unspoken promise, a prelude to the passion and connection that hovered on the brink of realization. Alfie leaned in, guided by an instinctive knowledge of the contours of her face, the sweet anticipation of her lips.
This kiss was an admission, a declaration without words that spoke of nights spent longing, of days filled with hidden glances and unspoken yearnings. He was about to cross a threshold, to venture into the uncharted territory of her embrace, driven by a desire that had simmered beneath the surface far too strong and far too long, to remain contained.
*
Surprise. That wasthe first sensation that washed over Bea as Alfie leaned in, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. It was an immediate, tangible connection, a prelude to the contact that hadn’t yet happened. His proximity was an invasion of the space around her, yet not unwelcome. The freshness of him—his clean, crisp scent with the earthy undertones, reminiscent of a dense, ancient forest just after the rain, and mixed with a spicy edge that hinted at hidden strength and resilience—filled her senses, drawing her in, making her crave more.
In previous encounters such as this, she’d braced herself and started counting, eager to break it off. Not this time.
Not with him.
She pursed her lips in anticipation, a silent invitation, a readiness for the touch she assumed would follow.
But it didn’t come. Instead, Alfie held back, his lips a mere half an inch from hers, lingering in the space between promise and fulfillment. Her breath hitched at the audacity, the deliberate tease. It was a dance on the edge of desire, a test of patience she hadn’t known she possessed.
With his lips so tantalizingly close yet not touching, Bea became acutely aware of every detail—the heat radiating from his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faintest hint of stubble along his jawline. Time seemed to stretch, each second elongated by the intensity of her focus on these minute sensations.
The absence of contact, the deliberate pause, heightened her awareness to a level for which she hadn’t been prepared. Bea’s heart pounded, a rapid drumbeat echoing in her chest, reverberating throughout her body. The urge to close the distance, to initiate the contact he so purposefully denied, was almost overwhelming. Yet, she remained still, caught in the spell of anticipation he’d woven around them.
And then there was the realization, a dawning understanding that this moment—this deliberate withholding—was itself a form of intimacy. In his restraint, Alfie communicated trust, a willingness to let the moment unfold at its own pace, to savor the build-up as much as the culmination. It was an unexpected form of seduction that spoke to a depth of feeling Bea hadn’t dared to consider.
When should I begin counting if he hasn’t touched my lips yet?
Then he did, softly at first. His fleshy lips sank onto hers, and a jolt of heat shot through her.
One.
The sensation was unexpected, like the first ray of sun breaking through a persistent winter cloud. It was warmth and light, and it spoke of promises whispered in the dark, now brought to life in this single touch.
Two.
His lips moved against hers with a gentle insistence. This was an unfamiliar yet welcome territory. She kept her lips pursed but felt them growing hot against his. There was no rush, no demand, only an unhurried quest for connection. The sweetness of the moment unfolded slowly, like honey dripping from a spoon, thick and golden.
Three.
Her senses were alight, each one heightened to an exquisite degree. His taste was intoxicating, a blend of mint and something that made her feel like a fairy dancing from one mossy rock to the next in the sparkling dew of a forest after a summer rain. Their breaths, mingling and hesitant, became the only music she wished to hear.
Four.
