Chapter 25 #2
He frowned. “Of course. Though, I couldn’t be sure he heard me at all the first time.
He was near—” He swallowed hard. With a shake of his head, he continued.
“But he came around, the old boy, and I made sure he got your message.” A corner of his mouth lifted.
“He was in grand spirits when I left. All of us were.”
She exhaled softly. “I can imagine. I’m so glad for you all.” She returned her gaze to the hill.
Taking in her profile, her neck, her shoulders and lithe arms, he was reminded of how familiar he was with her form, those freckles, and yet she was not a girl of twelve or fourteen.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed her from afar these past ten years.
Indeed, it had been a mild torture to see her grow into a woman and to deny the effect she had on him.
He’d known her thoughts, her attitude, her wit.
Their childhood spurts of gawkiness and grace.
But this form, the one she wore with such relaxed allure, he’d barely begun to know.
His gaze lowered to her long, toned legs, then rose again to the profile of her lips. He hoped to know more. He dared hope to know more.
Clearing his throat, he gestured toward the school in the distance as he leaned his back against the parapet wall and folded his arms. “How have things been here?”
She glanced in the direction of the school and then back to the trees. “Lovely. Moving forward.” She dropped her chin a moment, then met his gaze directly. “I’m forfeiting the headmaster job to you.”
He huffed out a laugh, but when she remained sober, he stilled. “You’re not serious.”
She turned back to the hill and lifted her chin to the sky. “I am. I’ve discussed it with my parents. We are in agreement.”
He frowned. “I’m not.”
She turned to him, raising her hand to her brow as the sun peeked over a cloud behind him. For a moment, her eyes had become like sea glass before she shaded them. “Majority rules,” she said.
He shook his head. “You never allow a win. Not on purpose.”
“I must be growing up. If I had a white flag”—she brushed her hand to and fro through the air—“I’d wave it. I surrender to the enemy.”
He caught her bare hand in the air, and the entirety of Locke Hill seemed to still. In the silence, he only noted their breaths, syncing as her gaze riveted on his.
He took a step closer, her face lifting in challenge as he did so. But it was there: a flash of uncertainty. A flash of softness. Of wanting.
For him, it was a flash of courage.
“When,” he said, breathless, “will you get it into your brilliant, exasperating, beautiful head that I am not your enemy? I am your ally.” He slid his fingers to interlock with hers. “I always have been.”
She studied him, and he could almost see the memories flipping before her like pages in a book. He brought her hand to his chest and covered it with his other. “I am. Not. Your. Enemy.”
Her lips moved in silence, as if she were selecting the words she needed at the moment. Her jaw firmed, and her brow rose. “Even when you tricked me into believing I could make glue for my paper dolls by stirring wood chips in rainwater and left me stirring for two hours?”
He narrowed his gaze, sensing her shift of mood. “Perhaps not then. In my defense, you were demanding that I play paper dolls with you.” He lifted her hand slowly and kissed her fingers, watching her as he did so.
Her nostrils flared, her eyelids fluttered. “Or … or when you told me an isosceles triangle is more commonly referred to as the pons asinorum? And when I shared as much with our tutor, the man turned purple.”
He bit back a chuckle and moved his kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Nor then either.” Her pulse had quickened beneath his touch.
She gave a slight shake of her head, as if to orient herself. “I had to write lines. A hundred of them. I will not use Latin in an unladylike manner.”
“I’m certain it was just dues.” He kissed her soft wrist again.
“You hid the chessboard from me,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I couldn’t find it for days.”
His hand slid gently up her arm. “Gads, woman, is there anything you do not remember?” He smiled at her shiver.
Her eyes opened, her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she shook her head. “It is a blessing and a curse.”
She moistened her lips and he drew in a ragged breath.
At once they stepped together, meeting in a long, sensuous kiss. His hands roamed her sun-warmed skin as her fingers pressed through his hair. This was not a frantic embrace.
It was a reunion of hearts.
“Violet,” he whispered, pulling his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Home, he thought. She feels like home. After these weeks, years, walking this disorienting maze of life, Violet felt like home.
She responded, humming an insistent sound that sent shivers to his core.
He broke the kiss, nuzzling the contours of her cheek. “You won’t be giving up the chance for the position,” he said before finding her lips again.
She pulled away, barely, at the same time gripping his shoulders. “Are you telling me what to do?” Her words brushed against his mouth.
“I would never,” he said. His grin broke them apart, and they stood for a moment as if wondering at each other for the first time. Her eyes truly held every memory of the two of them, and he read them as if they were yesterday. “You are truly astonishing. Do you know that?”
She gave a little nod, her eyes round. “I know it.”
Cy threw his head back and laughed. Reluctantly, he stepped away and held out his hand. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere hopeful.” He blew out a breath. “I think.”
“What about all that talk of ‘You are royalty, and I—a mere peasant’ and whatnot?”
“That’s doing it a bit brown, don’t you think?”
“That’s certainly how it felt.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “I don’t know. I might’ve been wrong—”
“Might’ve been?”
He smiled amusedly. “That was before.” He recalled his conversations with Ruby and his parents. “Things are a bit clearer now. I don’t know … Come with me now, and we’ll see what happens.”
Her brow rose and she tipped her head.
“Please,” he said.
Her gaze swept to the school, then to the parapet before them. Then, with a single step, she took his hand.