15. The Uncomfortable Journey #2
“Hush,” she whispered, slowly sliding that same finger downward, along his chin, until it reached his neck, and completely unrolling the tie. “There. Isn’t that better?”
The silk slipped away, leaving his throat exposed, vulnerable. Kate’s fingers lingered for just a moment at his collar, and Jason felt panic rise in his throat like bile.
She must has taken his stillness for acceptance, for her fingers moved to the top button of his shirt. The small mother-of-pearl disc slipped free easily, exposing the hollow of his throat.
That single undone button was his undoing. Panic crashed over him like a cold wave, and he stepped back abruptly, his hands shooting up to catch Kate’s wrists, stopping her before she could continue.
“No,” he said sharply, his voice rougher than he intended.
His face went completely pale.
Kate noticed it even in the dim firelight, and her face changed suddenly. The tenderness and warmth of a moment ago vanished from her expression, replaced by the confusion of yet another rejection. Her hands remained still in his grip, betraying her with a tremor that he could also felt.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, releasing her wrists as if they’d burned him. “I… I’ll sleep in the chair.”
He moved around her, putting distance between them again, heading for the safety of the chair by the fire where he could at least control the space around him. Kate remained where he’d left her, one hand over her chest, as if his rejection had been a strong punch.
The silence that followed wasn’t passive, it pulsed.
Not with tension exactly, but with a dull, slow ache, the kind that settles into bone.
Kate stood motionless, as though any movement might betray just how deeply the gesture had landed.
She had offered proximity, not seduction. And still, he had recoiled.
A part of her wanted to retreat too, to match his withdrawal with her own. But another part, the one shaped by years in boardrooms and cold drawing rooms, refused to be diminished.
When she finally spoke, her voice was level, every word placed like a stone in a foundation she would not let crack.
“Don’t be ridiculous. The bed is more than adequate for two,” she said it coolly, too proud to let him humiliate her, too stubborn to let him pretend they were strangers under the same roof.
“I wouldn’t want to disturb your sleep,” he replied with the same stubbornness.
Kate dared a glance in his direction from across the room. Her chin lifted slightly in defiance, though her stance betrayed something more fragile. The big bed stood between them like a boundary, or like a battlefield.
“My sleep will be disturbed by your mere presence anyway.”
The words struck him hard and fast. His head snapped up. Their eyes met, and in hers, he saw it. Not anger, not challenge. Hurt. Unmistakable and raw.
He looked away, retreating into the fire’s glow as if it could warm the space she had just made cold.
“Jason.” His name, spoken low but steady, halted him. Her voice had this authority quality that raised the hairs along his neck. “You’ll share the bed with me tonight.”
There was no tremble in her tone. No room for negotiation.
He turned again, slowly this time, and found her watching him with the same steel-eyed resolve she wore in business dealings, but behind it, there was pain. He knew it so well.
After a beat of silence, he rose from the chair.
“As you wish,” he said, offering her this small but meaningful concession.
Her expression shifted, not quite a smile, but a flicker of something softer. A fleeting glimpse of relief that vanished almost as soon as it appeared.
Then she turned her back to him, revealing the partially loosened laces of her bodice, illuminated by the firelight.
“Would you help with these laces? My lady’s maid usually assists me.”
Jason froze for a moment.
But then he stepped forward, lifting his hands to hover uncertainly behind her back. The lacework was delicate, the moment even more so. Every instinct screamed caution, but refusal would invite questions he could not afford.
“I… I’m not certain I’d be particularly skilled at such a task,” he said quietly.
Kate glanced over her shoulder. “For someone with such capable hands, I imagine you’ll manage.”
He swallowed.
Then, with a care that seemed to surprise her, he reached out and gently gathered her loosened hair, sweeping it over her shoulder to bare the line of her back. His fingers barely grazed her skin, but the contact stole the breath from her lungs. Slowly, he began to undo the laces.
The ties loosened beneath his fingers, and with each one, his pulse quickened.
“You’ve never helped a woman undress before?” she asked, voice light but edged with curiosity.
“It hasn’t been my custom,” he replied, too carefully.
Kate turned slightly, meeting his gaze over her shoulder. “How curious. Most men would boast of such experiences.”
As the last lace came free, Jason took one step back. “There. You’re… released.”
She held her loosened dress against her chest, studying his averted gaze with growing puzzlement. “Thank you, husband.”
He only nodded.
Without another word, she disappeared behind the folding screen, the soft rustle of fabric marking each stage of her change.
Jason remained standing near the window, his gaze fixed forward, though every quiet sound from beyond the screen pulled at his attention like a siren sound: skirts falling, stays unlaced, the faint splash of water in a basin.
She was washing quickly, efficiently, as though her body was a detail she were trying not to think too much about.
He didn’t move a single muscle.
When she emerged, she wore a simple nightdress that shifted gently around her legs as she crossed the room barefoot.
Her dark hair, completely loose, fell scattered all over.
She didn’t glance at him as she passed, but he couldn’t stop watching her.
Each motion felt intentionally unhurried, from the whisper of her steps to the way she leaned to pinch the candlewick between her fingers.
The flame died with a soft hiss, leaving the fire’s gentle glow to flicker across the walls and warm the charged silence between them.
She pulled back the coverlet and slipped into the bed with a soft exhale, adjusting her pillow, then settling herself to face him.
When their eyes met, she patted the empty space beside her. Once. Decisive. Unmistakable.
“Come,” she asked.
Jason hesitated only a moment before moving, his limbs heavy with caution. He crossed to the bed, still fully clothed save for the cravat Kate had taken already. He took his boots once he sat at the edge, and lay down slowly.
He arranged himself carefully along the edge, every muscle drawn tight, maintaining an invisible boundary between them.
The room settled into silence once more, lit only by the silver spill of moonlight through gauzy curtains and the low flicker of firelight that kept the chill at bay.
Yet warmth had little to do with embers.
Their bodies were already burning—kindled by proximity, tension, and the too many possibilities that Mr. Moore so deeply feared, and Kate, despite everything she had once believed about men, now found herself so desperately wanting.
Between them, the bed stretched wide, but the space felt narrower than ever.
* * *
The middle of the night found them lying side by side in the large bed.
Jason did not move, every muscle drawn taut.
He had turned his back to Kate, as if the inches between them could become miles if he just refused to acknowledge her, refused to feel her so close.
A fragile barrier of silence and willpower was all that stood between Kate’s body and his… or hers.
Kate lay beside him, her breathing steady but not the deep rhythm of true sleep. After what felt like hours, she turned to face his rigid back.
“Are you awake?” she whispered.
He didn’t respond, though his breathing changed subtly, betraying him.
Kate shifted closer, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Jason tensed but didn’t pull away, caught between the desire to flee and the dangerous pleasure of her touch.
“Look at me. Please.”
Slowly, as if moving through thick water, he turned to face her.
In the dim light, their eyes met, and he saw there the same desire that resided deep inside his body.
“What are you hiding from me?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know what you mean.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.
“I think you do.”
She moved closer, her hand coming to rest on his cheek with a tenderness that nearly broke his resolve. Jason held his breath for a heartbeat, afraid that breathing too deeply might shatter the fragility of his identity.
“We’ve been married for months now,” Kate continued, her voice only a whisper, “and I still feel as though I’m living with a stranger.”
“Kate…” he began, but the words died in his throat at the vulnerability in her eyes.
Before he could find his voice again, she leaned in completely, closing the distance between them with deliberate slowness. Her lips pressed gently against his, without haste or demands, just there. For one suspended moment, nothing else happened.
The world narrowed to this single point of contact, soft and warm and eternal.
Jason’s eyes fluttered closed, and Kate’s followed. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he could pretend, just for this moment, that this was simple. That he was exactly who she believed him to be. That there was nothing wrong with…
Then something deeper stirred, and he found himself intensifying the kiss despite every warning screaming in his mind.
His lips moved against hers, gentle but sure, drawing her upper lip between his own with a tenderness that made her moan into the kiss.
His hand rose of its own accord to rest on her waist, fingers spreading against the soft cotton of her nightgown, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath.