Page 61 of And Then There Was the One
He grinned. “My dearest Georgie, are youflirtingwith me?”
“Does my professing to long for your departure count as flirting?” she asked him with a stony look.
“Coming from you? Absolutely.”
And the worst of it, Georgie realized, was that he might well be right about that.
“My point is, I cannot possibly leave the village.”
“I believe thatyoubelieve that,” he said diplomatically. She stopped in her tracks, dropping his arm and putting her hands on her hips.
“Don’t patronize me,” she said, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and eyed her warily. “I wasn’t patronizing you. I can’t think of anyone I’ve ever known that I’d belesslikely to patronize, frankly. You’re the most intelligent, competent person I’ve ever met.”
“I—you—” She found herself actually at a loss for words; everything about this conversation was infuriating. How dare he ask her uncomfortable questions, then raise points she’d rather not consider, then offer her what was possibly one of the loveliest compliments she’d ever received?
It was maddening.
It was maddening, too, that they were standing on the village high street, just outside the Sleepy Hedgehog, and that it was therefore unquestionablynotthe correct moment to do something as silly, as reckless, asscandalous(to the ladies of the St. Drogo’s social club, at least) as kiss him.
And yet, despite those considerations, she somehow found herself taking two quick steps forward, reaching up to place her hands on his face, and proceeding to do exactly that.
For a split second, she caught him off guard, and could sense his hesitation in the slight delay before his hands rose to rest at her waist. After another moment, however, his mind evidently caught up to the situation, and suddenly it was no longer Georgie kissing him, but something mutual—something shared.
There was no longer any hesitation in his touch, no uncertainty—no doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing. Andof course he did, because how many other women had he done this with before? But Georgie firmly shut that thought away, not wanting to think about it, not now—not, perhaps, ever, because it suddenly struck her as slightly unfair that she judged him harshly merely because he was handsome and liked going to bed and had done it with a number of willing women. What, truly, was the harm in that, other than the fact that she didn’t like to think of him doing that with anyone other than her?
There was little room for that thought, however—or for any others—because logical reasoning was rapidly fading from her mind in the face of the relentless onslaught of sensation:
The heat of his mouth on hers.
The firm press of his hand at her jaw, tilting her mouth up to meet his at just the angle he wanted.
The smell of his skin, all around her.
The tight grip of his arm around her waist, tugging her closer to him until she was pressed flush against him in what felt like shocking intimacy, the feeling of his heart pounding against hers.
And—best, perhaps, of all—the sound of a moan workingits way up from his chest when her tongue darted out to trace the seam of his lips, deepening the kiss, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.
She didn’t know how much time had passed before he pulled back. Her lips felt swollen, and she reached a hand up to touch them, unthinking, and his eyes dropped to follow the motion, darkening at the sight. He pulled her forward, placed another lingering kiss on her mouth before finally, regretfully, releasing her.
“You shouldn’t compliment me like that,” she said at last, after a moment of silence filled only with the sound of their ragged breathing. She became once again conscious of the fact that they were on a public road, in plain view of anyone who might have happened to be passing, but a quick glance around confirmed that they were still, mercifully, alone, and not giving the gossips of the village a story to dine out on for the next year. (Or until the next corpse materialized, at least.)
“If that’s going to be your response, then I think I ought to do it more often,” he said, his normally smooth voice rougher at the edges than she’d ever heard it.
“I—we can’t—what are we doing?” she asked helplessly, a hand rising to touch her tingling lips. His eyes tracked the movement, gleaming with satisfaction.
“Solving crimes and kissing in the great outdoors?” he suggested, and a laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it.
A slow smile crept across his face. “I love when you do that.”
“What—laugh?”
“Laugh as if you can’t help it,” he said simply. “Laugh against your better judgment.”
She stared at him, speechless, and his smile widened. “Come, Georgie!” he said, offering her his arm once again. “Sandwiches await, and then you will have to help me pick my most alluring jumper for the evening’s entertainment.”
“None of your jumpers are alluring,” she said, recovering sufficiently to lie through her teeth.
