“How could I not have swum all this time?” She asked him.
“I am sure it would not have been the same without the scintillating company,” he smiled. He felt like he had worn a permanent smile all afternoon.
“Probably not,” she laughed and flicked water in his face.
“That is your second chance,” he warned.
He knew by the way she stilled and stayed close to him that she expected him to reach out his hands and touch her, but he didn’t. He just stared at her. The current which flowed between them was tangible. She was the first to break it.
“Will you turn your back while I get out?” She asked him.
“No!”
His smile was devilish.
“Will,” she laughed.
“No.”
He sat up, stood up in one fluid movement, and walked over to where she had dropped the lemon dress on the blanket. He gathered it up in his arms and saw that she expected him to hand it to her after all, but he didn’t. Instead, he sat down on the blanket, the dress on his lap, waiting for her.
“It’s lovely and soft,” he teased. “And dry. Come and get it.”
“You promised,” she reminded him.
“I promised not to ruin your swim,” he said softly. “That is as far as the deal went.”
He watched as she realized she had been tricked. He thought she would insist on his compliance with her demands, and if she did, he would, but then he saw the challenge rise in her eyes.
She put both hands on the grassy bank and pulled her body weight up by straightening her elbows. Then she hung there, right in front of him, the top of her arms pushing against the side of her breasts, forcing them forward beneath her wet and clinging shift. He knew she was being deliberately provocative to punish him for his intransigence, but this was no punishment. Her breasts threatened to spill out of the top of her shift as her long, wet hair framed them. He shifted rather uncomfortably on the blanket and kept her dress in his lap as he tried to feign indifference. He had no idea if he was achieving it. After a full minute of displaying herself in front of him, she pushed herself even higher to clamber out of the water. She came to stand at the end of the blanket, her undergarments dripping and stuck to her skin, so she might as well not been wearing them at all. He could see the outline of her drawers beneath the satin shift, but mostly he could see the contour of her slim hips, the delicious curve of her waist, and full breasts. Now she was trying to feign indifference as she held out one hand towards him for her dress. Will did not know what was sexier; the sight of her standing there before him, covered from neck to toe but practically naked, or the fact that she was playing him at his own game.
He did not hand her the dress. Instead, he stood up and took two steps toward her. He shook the wrinkles out of the fabric as he looked her straight in the eye, keeping his expression totally neutral.
“Arms up,” he commanded.
For a moment she didn’t react, but then she smiled a delicious smile and raised her arms high. Again, the very act of lifting her arms raised her breasts too. His eyes involuntarily dipped to them, and her cleavage held his stare. He felt the twinge in his groin and the racing of his heart. He was trying to tease her but was only succeeding in setting his own body on fire. He dragged his eyes back up and looked straight into hers. The challenge had faded, and the warmth had returned, more than warmth. Her eyes were like limpid pools, and the longer he stood there, the more he felt he might drown in them.
She still had her hands over her head. He wanted to capture her wrists in both hands, bend her backward and take those pert hard nipples he could see through her shift in his mouth; to warm them, kiss them, smother them. He wanted to lay her down on this tartan rug and, instead of putting clothing on her, take it all off. He would pull her shift up, over her waist and breasts and see her half-naked before him. Then he would undo the drawstring of her drawers and very slowly, very gently pull them down to her knees and then to her ankles, and finally, he would see all of her after so long.
He let out a soft groan which prompted a slight smile in Rose.She was a minx, he thought, as fighting every male urge that was racing through his body, he raised her dress up in the air and slid it over her up-stretched arms. The soft material caressed his arms as well as hers as he pulled it downwards, reluctantly covering her breasts, her waist, and her hips until it was snugly back in place around her torso, and her undergarments were creating wet stains through the cloth.
She stared straight into his eyes, having not dropped his gaze since this game began. He could see two wet patches forming across her breasts, rendering the yellow dress almost transparent. He yearned to touch her, kiss her. The feeling was becoming overpowering, almost impossible to control. He closed his eyes as a last defense. When he opened them again, she was still looking at him, but not at his face: at his breeches.
He had to stop this now, he knew that, but he would have just one last prize before he did. He reached out one finger, placed it under her chin, and lifted her face to his. She looked up slowly, with heavy eyelids, as he raised her chin as high as it would go to be closer to his lips, and then he bent forward and kissed her, the lightest of grazes. He just allowed his lips to meet hers for a brief second and then he pulled away, stood straight, and took several overly-long breaths to restore the calm to his body.
“I am sorry, Your Grace,” he said softly. “It must be the wine.”
Her smile grew so wide it divided her face in two.
“Indeed, sir,” she agreed. “Definitely the wine.”
The sun was lowering in the sky, and although it would be light for many hours yet, the warmth was disappearing from the day. Reluctantly, they prepared to leave. She reached down and handed him his shirt, which he shrugged into.
“May I?” she asked him, and he nodded. Then she painstakingly did up each button, one by one, as he leaned close to her to inhale the scent of her.
Then, together, they gathered up the food. There was some wine left, so he poured them both a glass and then sat down against a tree to drink it. He invited Rose to sit down between his splayed legs and lean back against him.
“Will you return to London tomorrow?” she asked him.