“Put your arms about my neck,” he finally directed. She did so, lifting one at a time and lacing them behind his head. It pushed her bosom even closer to his chest. His body pulsed and he gritted his teeth together. “Good,” he said after a brief pause to gain his wits again. “Now let me lift you off the branches. I won’t drop you.”
“But you’ll only be holding me with one arm.”
Her heart raced against his, the rushing beat penetrating through his jacket. “You’re a light little thing and I am rather strong. There’s no need to worry.”
She lowered her gaze, then nodded. “I’ll just close my eyes.” She did and her long sweep of lashes rested on her pink cheeks.
Blood was pooling in his nether region. He’d like to kiss those lids one at a time as he held her against his body. “Tuck your head into my neck,” he said quietly.
She did as he commanded, then he easily lifted her off the branches and slowly made his way down to the ground. Chris could have gone faster but he didn’t want to frighten her and he liked holding her like this. It was exquisite torture. He leaned his head down, just to draw in a whiff of her scent. Her soft curls tickled his nose and caught in the scruff of his beard. He had the distinct feeling that he held something precious, lovely and sweet, not tainted and made ugly. Oh, how he wished to savor that sensation.
He placed a boot on the ground, still holding her to his chest. She looked up at him, her lips parted. If he’d liked her tucked under his chin, the view of her open to him as though waiting for a kiss made every muscle in his body tense and he wrapped his other arm about her waist.
“We still haven’t found Mittens,” she said, though she didn’t loosen her arms from about his neck either.
The cat? That’s what they were going to talk about? Not that he wanted to discuss anything, but if he were to talk about something, it might be how well they fit together, or how soft her lips appeared, or he might wish to consider her taste. “Cats usually come home on their own.”
She nodded, nibbling at the inside of her lip again. “Oh but I do worry about those little babies. You should see them. They are so tiny and their fur is terribly soft and—”
From out of nowhere a young male voice interrupted their conversation. “Did Bumbling Bianca get stuck in a tree?”
Two other young men laughed. And they pushed one another as they cackled. Bianca tensed in his arms, her pliable body going rigid as her mouth snapped closed.
Irritation coursed through him as he glanced at the three men. Having a stutter as a child meant he’d endured merciless teasing in his youth; as he watched her jaw tense, felt her fists clench behind his head, he wanted to protect her from the same abuse. Verbal sparring was not his strength so he couldn’t outwit the men, but he set Bianca down on her feet, understanding now why she hadn’t wanted him to rescue her.
But he did have another strength. Brute strength. Stepping out from the branches he drew up to his full height and glared fiercely at the young men, challenging them with his sheer physical presence.
They took off at a run, still laughing. He moved to go after them, but behind him, he heard Bianca sigh.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” she said in a small voice that hinted at her sadness. “I’m quite used to it.”
And those forlorn words nearly undid him, making him feel even closer to her, making him at once uncomfortable and yet, strangely feeling a kindred spirit.
Chapter Three
Bianca winced as she stared at Lord Craven’s broad back. Never in her life had she experienced anything like that climb down the tree. She’d felt his muscles working underneath her body even as his sandalwood scent had wrapped about her. The scruff of his chin had rubbed against the top of her hair and his large, strong hand had held her waist in the most intimate way.
Butterflies danced in her stomach just thinking about it. Every moment had been breathlessly wonderful until she’d done what she always did and filled the silence with incessant prattle. Surely her constant chatter would scare away any man she wished for her own. Hadn’t that very thing happened once already?
He turned back to look at her, his gaze narrowed once again. She tucked her chin into her neck. He’d realized how annoying she actually was to other people too. “Do boys often tease you so?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes.” The better word would have been often. They called her Bumbling Bianca, Babbling Bianca, and Boring Bianca to name a few. In her younger days, the
y’d pulled her hair and poked her with sticks and even ripped one of her dresses at the age of twelve.
He rumbled low and deep in his throat. The sound she didn’t much care for. “Do you want me to go beat some sense into them?”
Did she not like that sound? When he was using it to threaten violence against those bully boys she found she didn’t mind it so much. “That isn’t necessary, but thank you.”
“Those boys need to learn respect.” He crossed his arms again, his jaw flexing.
Despite her embarrassment, a small smile touched her lips. “Thank you. Usually the only one who threatens violence on my behalf is my sister, Adrianna.”
“Adrianna?” he asked. “How many sisters do you have?”
She giggled. “Four. Adrianna is the youngest, and the thinnest too, but somehow, she is the fiercest. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a big heart because she does.” She glanced up at his furrowed brow. Did he have a big heart too despite his gruff exterior? He’d rescued her from the tree and he never admonished her once.
“I’ve met Ophelia. And Juliet, of course. And you. So there is Adrianna and…?”