15 #2
But his sister was far too concerned over the other woman’s health to waste any more time on him.
She transformed into a veritable hurricane of concern.
“Oh, Iris, you are growing sick. Goodness, look at your nose. It’s the most alarming shade of pink.
This blanket won’t do for protection against the elements.
That breeze will chill you straight to the bone.
No, don’t come with me. The wind is much brisker out across that open field.
Stay here in the sun, and I shall run back home and fetch something to dry you with.
” Then, with a quick glare Oliver’s way that told him he would be lucky if she brought him back a washcloth, she was off, skirts above her knees, sprinting for home.
Leaving Oliver and Iris quite alone.
Suddenly acutely aware of her presence—not that he hadn’t been aware of it before, but then he’d at least had Verity for a distraction—Oliver shifted from foot to foot. “I’m sorry I startled you,” he mumbled.
She remained silent. His tension grew until, with a sharply exhaled breath, he looked her way. She stood gazing at him with a faintly hurt expression in her wide green eyes, an expression that was like a punch to the gut.
“Do you truly think so little of me,” she asked quietly, “that you believed I could harm your sister?”
And he had not thought he could feel any lower. He considered lying, telling her he had not thought anything of the sort, that she had misunderstood his intentions.
But he knew that would be the worst insult. Instead, he said, with the same honesty she used with him, “I don’t know if I believed you were capable of it, so much as I feared you were.”
Most people would have demanded he explain that further. Iris, however, nodded as if she understood completely.
“I know it won’t mean much, but I truly care about your sister and would never do anything to harm her.”
Which, for some reason, made his eyes prickle in the most disconcerting way. “You know,” he mused softly, “I actually believe you.”
She huffed a small laugh. “Well, I would certainly never lie about something of that sort.”
“Many people would.”
The smile she gave him was pained. “As we have discussed already, I am not most people .”
The words I prefer you that way nearly escaped his lips.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, considering how cold she was—she shivered violently, halting the sentiment in its tracks.
In a moment he was before her, ducking his head to examine her face.
To his alarm, her lips were turning a faint shade of blue.
“My God, you’re freezing.” His fingers came up, cradled her cheek. Her skin was chill to the touch.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes flying to his, wide and stunned.
But she did not draw back. Instead, to his surprise, she actually leaned into his palm.
His fingers curled around the soft curve of her cheek seemingly of their own accord.
He told himself he was simply offering his warmth to her.
But before the thought had even formed he knew it for the lie it was.
The truth of the matter was, he simply wanted to touch her, no matter the excuse.
But she did not appear to be growing warmer. Instead, she shivered even more violently than before. Without a bit of hesitation, he drew closer to her, wrapping his arms about her and drawing her flush against him.
Her entire body went rigid. “Oliver, I don’t think this is proper,” she mumbled into his chest.
But Oliver was far too distracted by his name falling from her lips to comprehend the rest of her sentence. “What was that?” he asked hoarsely.
“I said I don’t think this is proper.”
“No, not that.” He swallowed hard. “My name. You said my name.”
“Well, of course I did,” she said, as if it made perfect sense and he was a simpleton for not seeing it. “We kissed, after all. It seems silly to fall back on formalities.”
A choking laugh tumbled from his lips. Truly, she was incredible. “I suppose I cannot argue with that logic.”
“Of course you cannot.” She paused, and when she spoke again he could fairly hear the frown in her voice. “But you must be as cold as I. Why don’t we share this blanket then?”
Another choked laugh. Truly, the woman never failed to surprise him. “You just declared that this whole thing isn’t proper, and now you wish me to share the blanket with you?”
She shrugged, her slight shoulders lifting beneath his arm. “Why not? No one is about. And there’s no sense in you getting ill because of some silly society rule.”
“My God, you are a treasure,” he said into the top of her head.
It was her turn to bark a surprised laugh. “Now that is something no one has ever called me in my life. But we waste precious time. Come along now.”
She wiggled in his grasp until, arms loose, she wrapped them about his waist. Which brought their damp fronts together, which in turn made him recall just how revealing her wet garments had been.
He had not realized how cold he had been this whole time until heat shot through his body. Though this heat wasn’t entirely from the blanket swaddling them.
“There,” she said, obviously pleased with herself as she adjusted the blanket more securely about him, “isn’t that better?” And then she snuggled in.
She fit perfectly against him, like a puzzle piece, the top of her head tucking just beneath his chin.
Stunned witless, he couldn’t even think to protest or pull back.
Her body was slight against his, and still quite chilled.
Though wasn’t it warming considerably now that they shared this cozy space?
As if to give proof to that, she sighed contentedly. “Oh yes, I’m warming up nicely now.”
Warming up? That was a tame way to frame what his own body was going through. As she shifted against him, each slight curve and soft line was made clearer to him, turning his skin molten.
A fact she was blissfully unaware of if the way she sighed and snuggled her head more comfortably against his chest was any indication.
He swallowed hard. If he didn’t incinerate into a pile of ash on the spot, he would be surprised.
How the hell did she not feel anything? Could she be that immune to this strange attraction between them?
But apparently she did feel something. In the next moment she hugged tighter to his waist, her cheek rubbing against his chest. And then she said the thing that put him over the edge.
“You feel wonderful. Would that I could stay here in your arms the rest of the day.”
Oh God. “Iris,” he rasped.
She pulled back, just enough to look up at him, eyes large and wide in a face that was equal parts pale and flushed. “Yes, Oliver?” she asked, voice quiet and sweet and husky with some unnamed emotion.
He groaned, hand cupping her cheek as his head descended. And then her mouth was under his and all was right with the world.
How could she taste so damn sweet? How could it be like the headiest ambrosia to him? He wanted to drown in her and never come up for air, to take her very essence into his lungs.
And it was made all the more potent by her response.
There was no shyness on her part today, no hesitation.
She opened her mouth readily, tongue rushing to meet his, dancing along it, slick and eager.
His fingers threaded through her damp curls, his thumb pressing gently into her cheek, tilting her head ever so slightly as he deepened the kiss.
She went willingly where he led, lips moving in concert with his, back arching so her body pressed more firmly into his.
Her hands, still holding tight to the blanket, pressed more firmly into his back, as if she could not get close enough to him.
A sentiment he understood all too well. Her mouth was not nearly enough.
Tearing his lips free, he trailed them across her cheek, down the long arch of her throat, that graceful neck he had admired more than once.
Small noises escaped her lips, sounds both surprised and eager, transforming his kisses into a frenzy.
He dragged his teeth ever so lightly against her skin, and her head fell back on a sigh, offering more of herself up to him.
He growled against her throat and was rewarded when she shivered in response.
Though this was no shiver of cold; she was like fire in his arms, her pulse pounding out a rapid beat against his mouth, her breath fast and ragged in his ear.
He needed more of her. He needed all of her.
One hand released her back, came to settle just below her breast. It was small, fitting perfectly in the cradle of his thumb and forefinger, her boning and the layers of damp fabric doing little to hide what was beneath.
Desperate to see her there, to kiss her there, his lips danced lower, tracing her collarbone, down to the slight swell at the bodice of her gown.
Just as his fingers found the edge of the dress, eager to pull it aside so he might see the wonder that were her breasts, a sudden noise sounded, a bird call piercing the air.
Reality crashed over Oliver’s head like?.
.? .? well, like the cold stream water that he’d recently been submerged in.
What the hell was he doing? They were out in the open, for anyone to see—namely Verity, who would be returning any moment.
Swallowing a curse, he reluctantly drew back from Iris. Her head was still thrown back as she arched over his supporting arm, eyes closed, lips parted. His chest ached just looking at her. He nearly said to hell with it all then and resumed kissing her.
Verity , he reminded himself brutally. Pushing down the last remnants of his regret, he gently straightened Iris, supporting her as she found her balance and slowly, so slowly, opened her eyes. And then she smiled, and said the thing he least expected—not that anything she said was expected.
“Oh, that was lovely.”