Chapter 3
Three
ETTA
Oh my God he was leaning in to kiss her. She gripped the lacey parts of her dress hard and fast. This was it. Her grip tightened.
And then a few whooshes of air—and chaos—ensued.
The first whoosh of air came from the bodice piece of her dress falling away from her breasts, exposing far too much. But it all happened so fast that she didn’t even cover up.
The next whoosh of air was a direct result of Wilhem’s gaze skidding to a stop on her bosom. His eyes snapped onto her twin mounds, and she couldn’t help breathing more deeply as he licked his bottom lip.
Another whoosh. A heavy exhale from him that reverberated through her shoulder—which was now pressed into his chest—skirting all the way down through her stomach and out through her toes.
But then an altogether undesirable whoosh came about. The door to the carriage flung open just as Wilhem hid her with his coat.
“Wheel’s busted,” the driver explained, chomping on a piece of straw. “Gotta head into town. Only a mile away. Looks like rain is coming. Might wanna make your way there.” With that, he took off without a backward glance, leaving the two frightfully alone.
“Oh my God.” Etta scrambled off the protective lap she’d been huddled on, reached for the door, and yelled, “Wait!”
And it was at precisely the same instant that Wilhem’s grip on her tightened and he growled, “Wait,” in her ear.
The shockingly possessive tone throttled her, but she couldn’t pay it any mind. Her hand was on the door, tugging it open.
“Etta, stop!” His hands grabbed her waist, yanking her back.
Oomph! They tumbled to the floor, him on the bottom. Her legs tangled with his. Her hair askew. Her breasts mashed against his hard chest. This was not good. Her palms searched for solid ground.
Drat. That was his chest. Her palms were planted firmly on the solid ground of his chest. It would do. Straightening her elbows, she pushed up and flicked her head to get the hair out of her face.
“Good God in Heaven,” Wilhem murmured, eyes roving her face, her lips, and down her bodice. Her body instantly heated with her gaze locked on his lips. His tongue wet his bottom lip, and she couldn’t help it. She let out the softest moan.
This contact with him. It was all she had ever craved.
To be close to him. It was an unattainable dream, considering his elusiveness.
The man was like the wind. Here one second, gone the next.
And though she had once thought her feelings fleeting, they had never done what she expected.
That is, to flee. No. No fleeing. Giddy, hot feelings had taken up residence like an undesirable relative outstaying their welcome.
They had permanently moved in. What kind of relative did that without asking?
God, she was sick of feeling this way toward him.
It was the one reason she had agreed to marry Ralph.
Perhaps a new husband, a new place, a new future would tear her away from Wilhem.
But, no. Here she was. Lying on top of him. Close to him. Closer to him than she’d ever been.
“Wilhem…” she breathed his name more than she vocalized it. Lost for sound.
“Etta…”
And she wanted to kiss him. Hadn’t he been about to kiss her earlier?
And why not? Why shouldn’t she take this small risk?
No one would know. She’d be home soon. No one would be the wiser.
Wilhem certainly wasn’t going to go around parading the news.
In fact, she’d be lucky enough if he drove by her house, opened the carriage door, and shoved her out to roll up to her front door.
There was no way he was taking the chance of anyone seeing him with her.
His neck was on the line. She knew that much. Though she didn’t know why.
Why was such a useless word sometimes. Sometimes it wasn’t about why. It was about now. And want. No, need.
She dug her knees into the carriage floor and leaned forward.
“Etta,” his tone had changed the second time he said her name. “Wait.”
She leaned back, which in hindsight was a remarkable feat considering how her heart had split in two and leapt out of her chest with his words.
Well…that was that. Rejection. Clear as day. What a fool she’d been. What had she been thinking? Had she even drunk any water today? Her head must not be screwed on tightly. Who was she to think Wilhem, the handsome adventurer, would ever be interested in her, a boring bookworm?
“Why did you pull me back in here, Wilhem?” She snapped at him. “I was trying to stop the driver so we could actually make a plan. Don’t you—”
“Your dress.”
“I don’t care if he knows I’m a bride. It’s not like he was going to tell anyone.”
When her eyes met his, they anchored her. His eyes were dark. Intense. Flush with emotions she hadn’t seen before. His grip on her hips tightened, and a jolt like lightning flew through her body. “It’s not that—”
“Then what is it?” She pressed her palms into his chest. Rubbed deeply. Angrily. “What. Is. It?” She pressed deeper into his chest with each word. “What is it, Wilhem? I could have stopped him—”
“I couldn’t let him see you like that.” His eyes dipped down and traced a path she could feel along her chest, then bounced back up to her face. “I couldn’t let him see…your nipples.”
“What?” she croaked out.
“Your bodice is translucent.”
“Oh.” She’d forgotten about all the whooshes—some might say the most important whooshes—before the final whoosh of the carriage door opening.
An immeasurable flood of fire akin to lava snaked up her legs, and pooled at the juncture between her thighs.
And she should have lifted her hands to cover herself.
That was the only thing that made any sense.
But her hands were so comfortably—rightly—placed on his solid chest where muscles flexed under her grip.
So she did the second best thing, which was not even remotely close to a good thing.
She looked down. Dark hair framed a rugged face. Dark eyes that always drew her in far too deep and far too fast. Then, in an idiotic attempt to provide herself some coverage, she squeezed her upper arms into her sides, effectively pushing her breasts closer together.
“Don’t,” Wilhem’s strained voice rasped out, “move.”