96. George #2
“Just try to stop me. I ask you now for the dinner waltz at Macy and Buddy’s engagement ball.”
“I accept.”
“My favor is embarrassing.”
“I’m beyond curious.” Sarah tilted her face so her breath tickled the hairs on my neck. “Go on.”
My thoughts scattered.
“Are you going to make me guess?”
“I want you to teach me to ride a bicycle.”
Sarah sat up. “Really?”
“I meant to learn but never got around to it. It looks fun.”
I remembered her laughing, hair streaming, flying through the park on her bicycle. Knew I wanted to be the one tearing along beside her.
“We’ll have to wait till spring.”
I liked the idea of making plans that were months in the future. “Perfect.”
“Do you even own a bicycle?”
“Is that necessary?”
“George.”
“Only two left, a smile and then clarity.” I cupped her cheek and ran my thumb over her unsmiling lips. “But it’s not fair.”
“Fair?” She tilted her head into my hand. Her long lashes fluttered once.
One wrong move and everything between us could shatter.
Her slightly parted lips filled my vision, and I knew I would kiss her. All the sardines in the world couldn’t stop me. Not an ambush. Not a rush of broken restraint. But slow. Real. A beginning. Please let it be a beginning.
I whispered, “Unfair because I can’t look at you without smiling.”
The corner of her lip curved up. I brought my other hand to her face, though my fingertips shook.
I wanted this.
I chose this.
Her quiet exhale trembled warm against my cheek.
I leaned in and pulled her lips to mine.
Finally.
Hot and sweet with the hint of chocolate. Gentle and slow. I kissed her just as I had imagined over and over.
And by some miracle, she kissed me back.
I wrapped around her and pulled her close. A noise sounded deep in my chest, like the rumble of printing presses in the basement. A sound from my foundation as it settled into place.
Our lips moved together like kisses were air, and we’d both held our breath far too long.
And my fingertips slid through her silky hair, along the curve of her neck. I nuzzled her ear. “Sarah.”
It was her turn to make a sound in her chest as her fingers traced my jaw and slid to my nape.
Entwined together, we collapsed sideways onto the couch, my mouth on hers. I hovered over her, cradled her, but it was not close enough. I pressed into her and deepened the kiss.
Her hand raked through my hair and pulled me closer. If only this moment—this kiss—would stretch on forever.
A new feeling filled me. One I could name with certainty.
Love.
A cough.
Footsteps.
We froze. Damnation. Not now.
Viola said, too loudly, “I’ll walk you to the door, Jacob.”
Another cough. We untangled from each other and sat up. My face burned. I said, “Found it,” and lifted my book. “Must have fallen to the floor.”
Viola and Jacob stood arm in arm, smiling in our direction.
I glanced at Sarah. Her face had flushed pink.
Jacob said, “A Merry Christmas to you both.”
Viola wrapped a scarf around his neck and went up on tiptoe to kiss his lips.
I looked away, struggling to catch my breath. Sarah’s hand pressed to the couch beside me. I laced our fingers together and pressed a quick kiss to her fingertips.
I smiled. Perhaps she would name it my we-got-caught-kissing smile.
She smiled back. “Number six is a smile.”
I said, “Let’s do number seven tomorrow. Otherwise, my chest might explode.” I held her hand over the place where my heart thudded violently.
The door opened and closed behind us, and we turned to see Viola alone in the entry area. I pulled Sarah to her feet and kept her hand in mine as we moved to the stairs.
Viola led us up. “Merry Christmas and good night.” Then she winked and skipped into her room.
It was impossible to release Sarah’s hand when we reached her door. I tethered my free hand to the frame and braced myself against the urge to go inside.
She pushed her door open, but I still held her hand.
I tugged her back, twirling her so that when she stopped spinning, our clasped hands pressed to the front of her waist. I held her flush against me in the hall, her back to my front.
When she tilted her head back to rest on my shoulder, my lips pounced on the soft spot below her ear and moved down her neck.
I needed my other hand to push back her hair. So I released the door frame and lost my anchor. Lips locked together, we stumbled into her room and stopped face-to-face just inside her door.
A fire burned low on her hearth. Her beautiful face glowed with a light that blinded me.
I crushed her to me with one hand spread wide on her back, and the other tangled in her soft curls.
She gripped the front of my shirt to pull me closer.
When I came up for air, the open door admonished me. I sighed heavily.
“Sarah, I shouldn’t be in here.” I pressed my forehead to hers. “I… I’m losing control.” I wouldn’t let my desire outrun sense. I refused to be that man. I took a half step back.
My hands rested on her shoulders. Oh, damnation, how I wanted to stay. To never leave. I forced my hands to knot in my hair instead of hers, and I tugged. The pain brought focus.
Must. Walk. Away.
I staggered backward until I passed through the door and stood in the hall.
Sarah trailed after me. “Merry Christmas, George.” She rose and kissed the corner of my mouth.
“Merry Christmas, my… dear.” I closed the door between us and stood with my forehead propped against the sturdy wood until I heard her steps cross toward her bed.
Merry Christmas, my love.
Ifloated from my room the next morning. I’d made it out of Sarah’s room in time last night. Barely.
After last night, would she be shy in the morning light? Would I? Would she see how desperate I was for her? How in love?
On the other side of the landing, Father lingered in the chill hall. Waiting? How long had he been there? I glanced at Sarah’s door. Did he hear something last night? We bid each other a good morning.
I struck out for the stairs. He motioned me into his room. “Need a word with you.”
Great. I shuffled past him and into his room. I crossed to a narrow chair. He leaned against the wall in front of me, arms crossed. He wasn’t smiling.
“George.” He pinned me with his eyes. “You need to be careful.”
My chest tightened.
His stern face gave nothing away.
Don’t admit anything. “What do you mean?”
“Sarah.”
I couldn’t move. Fire burned across my face. The open door. My loss of restraint. He must have known. I stared out the window at the snow and the windmill, slumping in the chair, wishing I could disappear.
His words hit me like a blow. “She is here under our protection as Viola’s guest. Remember propriety. She is vulnerable. Do not press her. Not here.”
Damnation. He was right. I was taking advantage of the situation. I was such an ass. Last night. I let go of the doorframe. Lost control—if only for a moment. She probably thought I was a horrible person. What if she regretted it? I should apologize. Ask her forgiveness.
But it wasn’t lust. Not a momentary hunger. This was entirely new—a longing meant to last a lifetime.
I held his steely gaze so he would see the truth in my words. I drew in a shaky breath.
“I love her.”
Everything slowed. My breath, my heart, the windmill. All stunned by my earnest admission.
He looked into me. Then, his lips curved slightly and he nodded.
I shook my head. “Can hardly think straight.” The memory of her lips moving against mine flooded me. I must wait. Must keep my distance. Duty. Honor. Propriety.
“I recognize the look of a man undone by love,” he said and his face softened. “I wore it myself, ages ago.”
“I’m a mess.” I stood and hauled my foolish, faltering, lovesick self to the window. The cool glass soothed my burning forehead.
His low chuckle followed me. “A normal reaction, I’m afraid.” He stepped behind me and laid a hand over my shoulder. “That’s why we are having this conversation.”
“I… you’re right. I’ll control myself.” Somehow. I raked my hand through my hair. But it only reminded me of her tentative fingers, pulling me close, last night, when she was crushed beneath me…
“You must wait until we are back in Chicago to court her properly.”
“Yes…”
“You two are well matched, and I couldn’t be more pleased for you.”
My body relaxed at his approval. I blew out a long-held breath, fogging the chill window.
“But you need to act with honor and restraint in order to deserve her.”
I wanted to protect her forever. And for the next week, that meant protecting her from me. “I’ll never deserve her, Father. But that won’t stop me from trying.” I turned to face him. Straightened my shoulders. “I will be the very definition of control. For her.”
“That’ll do, George.”
She’d be mortified if she knew Father and I spoke about this. I could never tell her.
How had I been so reckless? We would be back in Chicago soon. Only a week. A whole blasted week.
I must not touch her. Though it might kill me.
Stay. In. Control.
Then, when we were home—when it was proper, when her honor was safe—I would win her forever.