Page 46 of In Want of a Wife
She shot up in her seat and leaned onto her elbows, softly smiling at him. “Best not to laugh.”
“Hard to do with you around, love.”
There it was again, that small endearment, so innocent and sweet. And somehow, it suddenly belonged to her.
The candlelight flickered around their small room, making it appear smaller. Or perhaps it was because her heart raced in her chest and needed to do something other than sit still and wait.
“It’s getting late,” she said at last. Lily closed the book and peered out of the window. Echoes from the village filtered through the trees and the open window. “And we’re missing the festival.”
“Do you wish to go?”
She shook her head, her mind so far away from that moment, spinning wicked thoughts of Rafe touching and kissing her. Going toa festival wouldn’t change that. No, they had kissed. Everything had changed now.
Everything became real, and it was growing difficult to pretend what lay between them was an accident or a small moment after a terrifying morning. It had been building between them for days.
And now Lily needed Rafe. Needed his lips on hers, his hands skimming over her warm skin, and the weight of him resting against her body. She craved it.
It was madness. Perhaps she had hit her head earlier harder than she first thought.
“Go back to sleep, Rafe. You need rest.” She pushed to her feet, filled the wash basin, and slipped behind the dressing screen. She hummed to herself as she dipped the cloth into the water and traced it down her neck, thankful for the brief, cool retreat from the summer heat.
She closed her eyes, imagining Rafe standing behind her and slowly undressing her, tilting her head to the side so he could kiss along the column of her in throat in a long, slow quest of more.
One room. One bed.
One impossibly long trip now that she knew how his mouth tasted. With a quick sigh, she pushed away her frustration and folded the cloth, emerging from behind the screen. Rafe lay in the bed, his focus on that screen, and his eyes dangerously narrowed upon her.
“I think we both can fit in bed.” His voice nearly cracked. “If…”
She scratched the back of her neck, suddenly feeling as if the room was spinning. She swallowed hard, flashed a smile, and broke his heated gaze.
Lily fetched another cloth and dampened it, then slowly padded next to the bed beside Rafe. He lifted his hand, gesturing for her to sit down. Somehow, even in between forgetting her name and wondering how hazel eyes could hold such fire, she sank down to the mattress beside him.
“It’s best to keep this cloth cool.” Her voice was ragged, and she cleared her throat once more. “It will help with the swelling and bruising.”
“I’ve had much worse.”
She refused to look at him, certain the last sliver of self-preservation within her would crumble. “Even so.”
“Hmm.”
Her hands trembled as she peeled off the warm cloth draped over his bruised ribs, trying to avoid touching his skin. How she wished he would touch her. How she wished this fevered longing would pass.
That damn, troublesome kiss.
“You can look at me,” he whispered.
She shook her head, swallowing the knots lodged there even as her heart drummed in her chest.
“Please?”
She replaced the old cloth with the new, cold cloth and gasped as his hand draped over hers and squeezed.
“I was thinking of you,” she whispered.
Rafe licked his lips. “Me, too.”
He sat up, hissing as he reached his mouth to hers and claimed it in a long, slow kiss. A prickle of awareness swept over her skin before desire ignited, burning deep within her. No, it was more than simple longing.
