2. The Shadows of Men #2
Was that what Peter was at heart? Wicked and immoral? How far would he go to break the rules of society, and how much was he willing to fall out of favor? Perhaps he could help her after all.
“Your lips are red.” His eyes creased in the corners as he watched her over the rim of his glass with that dark emerald stare.
Her fingers rushed to her mouth, and she flushed. Where was that sense of numbness coming from? Her fingers? Her face? She laughed. “I feel a bit like I’m floating on a cloud.” The wine seemed to filter reality as if this were all a dream and the consequence wasn’t real.
“You’re drunk.” He set down his glass.
“After one glass?” Was that even possible?
“I don’t mind a lightweight.” He leaned over her, pressing his hands into the arms of the chair. “I wonder, does your mouth taste sweet like grapes now?”
Her heart skipped a beat as she swept her tongue over her lips. “I think yes.”
“I bet your lips are warm, too, like fresh fruit on the vine.” He stood only a breath away. “Or maybe they’re bitter like tart poison?”
She scowled. “Why would my lips be bitter?”
“Maybe petulance has soured you.” The side of his smile kicked up. “There’s something rigid inside of you, something that doesn’t know how to bend.”
She scoffed. “I’m not petulant.”
“You’re snippy. That’s the exact definition of petulance.”
“Are you suggesting I have a stick up my ass?”
“I’d bet my entire fortune nothing’s ever been near your ass.
” His gaze briefly dropped to her chest, then returned to her eyes.
“You care too much about what other people think. Stuck between society’s expectations and your desires…
It’s why you’re so tense. You’re like a taut rope in a tug-of-war with no give. ”
“You think I’m prissy,” she whispered, a pinch of shame nipping through the numbness.
“I know you’re prissy, but that’s not the problem.”
“You think I have a problem?” Her brows drew together.
“A big problem.”
Should she be frightened? The wine had muddled her thinking, and she was a bit confused. “W-what is it?”
“I think, little darling, you’re wound too tight.
You need someone to give it to you, just like that guy’s giving it to your housekeeper right now—hard and rough enough to rattle your teeth.
” He laughed. “But by the look of shock on your face, I bet you’ve never even been kissed. At least not properly.”
Cold dread crawled through her. Was her naiveté that transparent?
Her gaze dropped, but he caught her chin, forcing her to keep looking at him. “It’s true then.” He cocked his head, a small divot forming between his blond brows. “Is it because you don’t like men?”
“No. I like…men.”
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.
She was putting too much thought into this. If she didn’t get out of her head it was never going to happen. “Liza could come back at any moment.”
He sauntered across the room with the confidence of a wild jungle cat. “It would be rather hypocritical of her to tattle on you, don’t you think?”
Why did she shut the door? Closing herself in with him felt like a mistake. But as long as they were behind closed doors, no one would know what they’d done, and that—strangely—felt right. Something inside of her demanded this moment stay a secret.
That peculiar sense of wrongness called to her, but she still wasn’t sure Peter was the right man. Her inexperience and curiosity scrambled her instincts. She wanted to be kissed. The end. It was time.
“Just a kiss.” She sensed he wanted more, but those secret parts of herself were not for him.
“That’s all I need.” The walls closed in around her as his long shadow blocked the filtered moonlight. The heat of his body warmed her front. “I’m very confident I could surpass your standards once you let down your guard.”
She could not shake the need for caution.
His hand pressed into the door, just beside her head, and her shoulders drew back, but there was nowhere for her to go. He had her pinned. “Tell me you want it.”
“I don’t know what I want,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She only understood this great desire for more.
His hand pressed to her stomach, forcing her spine flat against the door. “What do you feel here—where a woman’s desire grows?”
She felt lots of things. Fear, curiosity, wanderlust, and things she had no name for. Her pulse skipped wildly as shivers danced across her skin. Fate seemed to pull her in toward something unknown.
She leaned in and whispered, “I feel too many things at once.”
“Good. That’s how it should be—confusing and exciting—terrifying and exhilarating.”
The sash of her robe loosened, and cool air needled the thin material of her nightgown as a reminder of impropriety. Despite Peter’s boyish playfulness, he possessed the unmistakable entitlement of a man, and she could not underestimate how dangerous he could be.
His warm fingers curled ever so slightly around her ribs, and her nipples tightened. Painfully aware of her unbound breasts, a mere inch above his touch, she tried not to breathe.
“Show me you're not a priss,” he challenged, closing the distance and sliding his hand higher.
Warm lips pressed into hers, firm then soft and coaxing. Adrenaline spiked in her blood, and her nerves tingled as his tongue swept into her mouth. Her eyes stayed wide as he moaned, then he pulled away before she even had a chance to enjoy what was happening.
Disoriented, she frowned.
“Just as I thought,” he said, tasting his lower lip.
“What is it?”
He sucked his lip and frowned. “You taste like innocence.”
Her heart stopped as mortification drowned her. She ruined it. Why would she think she could impress a man when she had no experience?
Then his gaze met hers, exhilarating promise hiding in the jade pools of his stare. He wasn’t mocking her at all. “I can help you, Wendy. I can teach you. I could show every kind of kiss.”
“There are others?”
A wicked grin curled his mouth. “There are many.” He leaned close, a deep chuckle tickling her ear as he caught her earlobe between his lips and nibbled. “There’s necking.”