Page 12 of Hush Darling
She didn’t want to confess her innocence was the result of captivity, that she had the autonomy of a child, always accounted for, and never allowed to roam free. He would laugh and make fun of her if he knew the extent of her parents’ control.
“Then why has no one kissed you?”
“There hasn’t really been the opportunity?—”
“Oh, please.” He released her and paced to the desk. “If a woman wants to be kissed, she is kissed. You obviously don’t want such things.”
She sat up. “But I do!”
“Then why has no one kissed you yet?” He was back to leaning over her again, his quick movements leaving her dizzy.
What excuse could she offer? The truth was, she lived the sheltered life of a child. Perhaps it was better to be seen as a priss. “No one has impressed me enough to earn my kisses. Did you ever think of that?”
He grinned. “That was my first thought.”
Relieved, she sighed.
But then he was in front of her again, leaning closer as he whispered, “Do I meet your high standards, Ms. Darling?”
Her back pressed into the chair, and her heart raced. Did he meet her standards? She wasn’t sure they were all that high when it came to kissing. It was only a kiss, and she hated not knowing what such simple things felt like. But she was hardly going to throw herself at him. He’d enjoy that too much.
“I’m still deciding,” she said, tipping up her chin.
He gave her space, so she set down her once again empty glass and straightened her mother’s sewing box on the table, hoping to relieve the fidgety energy that bounced inside of her. When she accidentally knocked an antique thimble onto the floor, it plunked softly onto the carpet and then rolled noisily onto the planked floor.
“Shoot.”
“I’ve got it.” Peter scooped the thimble up like a handful of jacks and tossed it casually in the air. He held open his palm, and she stared up at him as if it were a trap. “Take it.”
Her lungs tightened as she held his stare. Touching him felt like consenting to something unknown, so she held her palm open below his. The slight weight dropped into her hand, and she closed her fist and then frowned in confusion when something sharp poked her. She opened her fist and found not a thimble but an acorn in her palm.
“How…?”
He tossed the thimble in the air, flashing an arrogant grin as he caught it with the dexterity of a magician. “Things aren’t always as they seem.”
A strange shiver rushed through her as if marking this moment in time with a stitch. She felt the shift in her soul as if her decision in the next few seconds would change the trajectory of her entire life.
“Why did you come here, Peter?”
“Because there’s something different about you. I knew it the first time I met you. You’re not like the others. You try to be, but you’re not very good at it.”
She scowled. “What does that mean?”
“Trust me, it’s a compliment.” Her breath hitched as he shifted closer without noticeably moving. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered, delicately tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. His warm breath mingled with hers as his head slowly tipped?—
“Wait!” She ducked under his arm and jumped to her feet.
“What’s wrong?”
She shut the door, pressing her back to the wood and ensuring they had privacy. But when his green eyes settled on her, something twisted in her chest.
This was wrong. Not because it was improper but because it was Peter. A strange sense of deja vu flooded her as if she’d been here before. Perhaps it was the wine, but something unsettled her stomach and made her doubt everything she was about to do.
“I…”
“You don’t have to fear me, Wendy. We’re more alike than you realize.”
How did he know what she was like? She was overthinking. The kiss needed to happen. It was time. So what if Peter was the first man to kiss her? Kisses were meaningless in the grand scheme of things.
