Page 119 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
George patted her back. “Try to compose yourself. I don’t have my smelling salts with me.”
“I do.” Perliett gestured toward her apothecary chest in the corner. She had not noticed it there before, hidden behind a palm plant, but she noticed it now.
George’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm, I’d prefer to burn it.”
“You can burn the heroin,” she replied and gave a watery laugh, relief breathing oxygen into her blood.
George chuckled. “I can, can I?”
“Yes.” She wiped at her eyes.
George pushed a handkerchief into her hand. “Your house is a fine mess.”
“I know.” She couldn’t argue with him, as George Wasziakspoke the truth.“My mother and Jasper, they’ve been creating ruses...” Tears choked out the rest of her explanation, but George nodded his understanding.
“Do you see now why I was worried—cautioning you, attempting anything I could to get you to listen to me? Your mother and you were so set in your ideas, and I knew. I knew your father did not wish that for you.”
“You’ve been a brute.” Perliett scowled through her tears.
“Everything short of manhandling you.” George nodded. “Yes. Your father was a man of faith. We attended church together. We spoke often of the things of the Lord, and you were following in the ways of your mother, which had your father quite concerned.”
“You could have told me that.” Perliett pushed his shoulder out of frustration.
George drew back. “And would you have listened?”
“Well, no.”
“See?”
“You’re an oaf.” Perliett slumped back in the couch, clutching his handkerchief to her nose. “Where is Mrs. Withers now? And the girl?”
George frowned. “I hailed Mr. Hannity. He’s fetched Detective Poll. Leave them to the authorities. Let them sort it out.”
Perliett pursed her lips. “I will not just sit by and—”
“And what? What will you do, Perliett. Will you walk? No, no, will you run? Is that it? Into the fray of chaos with a dead man lying in the road, a child without a conscience born out of a love affair, and a woman who has been abused by the entirety of her life’s choices?”
“Yes.” Perliett nodded stubbornly.
“No.” His dark eyes, bottomless pits of arrogant confidence. Resolute stubbornness. He was so sure he was right. So sure of everything. So sure of her.
Well, it was not to be!
Perliett sat up and leaned into the man kneeling before her. She leveled a strict eye on him. “Yes.”
George’s eyes narrowed. “God help me.”
He kissed her then. Palmed her by the back of her head, threading his fingers in her already-mussed hair and yanking her into him. He didn’t release her either. He made sure Perliett knew that his no meant no, but if she kept saying yes, then ohhhh my ... that yes would most definitely lead to more kissable trouble.
Perliett whimpered beneath his kiss, his lips claiming hers with a possessiveness that fit his authoritative, irritating, God-help-her, fascinating and altogether intoxicating personality.
Finally, George pulled away. He leveled a look on her that made her shiver rather delightfully. Perliett licked her lips for the sheer need of it, and his eyes followed, then rose back to meet hers.
“Do you understand the answer is no?” He finished his argument a bit belatedly.
She would let him win. This time. And because she was letting him win, she didn’t feel as though she was at all diminished or devalued in the slightest.
“Yes,” she answered.
