Page 94 of Sense and Suitability
They hadn’t been this close since the balcony—or perhaps his veranda at Ravenscross. And they certainly hadn’t been this close since she realized just how much she’d never stopped caring for him. How bothersome feelings were—especially right now, when her body wanted one thing, and her mind—bless it—proved entirely useless at forming a coherent thought, let alone mounting a defense.
Clearly, her sense was no match for a pair of familiar blue eyes, a velvety voice, and the gentleness of his touch. He studied her fingers with care, his brow furrowing as if this small injury were of the gravest importance. Then, without breaking eye contact, and with an infuriatingly tender slowness, he brought her wounded fingers to his mouth, brushing a feather-light kiss over the reddened area.
Sweltering heat rushed to her hairline, her heart stopped, and the world shrank to this—the press of his lips to her skin, the look in his eyes, and the brush of his breath over her wrist.
And she knew that as long as he was anywhere near, there was no escaping him.
Or this overpowering love she had for him.
“Blast it, Emme,” he whispered, her name slipping past his lips like a plea. His gaze traveled over her face with a look so endearing, she stopped breathing altogether. “Why did you have to wear those ridiculous spectacles?”
A helpless laugh bubbled from her lips, barely a sound. He’d always weakened in some mysterious way when she’d worn her spectacles. Distracting, he’d called them, which, in truth, had caused her to wear them all the more.
Her free hand reached for his chest, an instinctive move to steady herself, but the quick rise and fall beneath her palm only drew her nearer. His unoccupied hand slid gently to her cheek, his thumb grazing her skin in a way that unraveled her. How curious it was to love and loathe the effect someone could have on her in equal measure. It never made sense, but at that moment, logic was clearly irrelevant.
There was no mistaking their intentions this time. No hiding behind convenient interruptions from suitors or overbearing aunts. This was madness, pure and unbridled.
Would he kiss her again? Here in her very own garden?
And what about Miss Clayton? And the money?
But as his head dipped closer, the world seemed to fade until there was nothing but him—his eyes, his touch, the heat of his breath against her lips.
Dear heavens, who cared about Miss Clayton or the money?
And then—
A sneeze shattered the stillness.
They froze, heads snapping toward the shrubbery.
Simon recovered first, his jaw tightening as he called out, “Charlotte.”
Charlotte?What on earth was Charlotte doing hiding in Emme’s garden... witnessing a reputation-ending kiss?
Or near kiss.
And Emme wasn’t certain what was worse. Kissing Simon Reeves for the last time.
Or not getting the opportunity of another kiss at all.
Chapter 20
Good heavens, he’d nearly kissed Emme. In her own garden.
When he knew perfectly well that he had no freedom to pursue her.
Not yet.
He could blame the spectacles, but that would be a lie—and he despised liars, especially when the truth was so painfully clear. It was her. It had always been her. No amount of logic or time could diminish the pull she had on him. Every other option, every other path, seemed pale and lifeless by comparison.
And it was driving him mad.
Mad enough to nearly ruin her reputation in broad daylight. At her own home. What in the devil was wrong with him? How had he let himself become so utterly undone?
He was a cad. A heartless rake.
Turning back to Emme to beg her forgiveness, a movement in the shrubbery caught his eye. Charlotte rose, her grin utterly unrepentant as she picked a stray leaf from her skirt, her dark hair in disarray.
