She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Smile more.”
He frowned at her. “I do.”
“Like you are right now.” She narrowed her eyes playfully.
He relaxed his frown and forced a wide toothy grimace.
She grimaced back. “Not like that.”
“I’m a very jolly person.” He waved his hand dismissively.
“Just like I’m the social butterfly right now.”
He studied her then. “Do I honestly not appear happy?”
“Happy is different, Quin. You should know this,” she continued. “Happy is a state of heart. A smile is just the overflow from it. Sometimes our happiness isn’t quite enough to overflow onto our faces. But when it does, it’s a good thing. So don’t be afraid to let it overflow, Quin. It looks nice on you.” A rush of heat swept up her neck, and she turned her attention to the passing scenery once more.
“Then I promise,” he answered, and to her great relief, they’d arrived back at her home. He reined in the matched bay horses, then disembarked swiftly and held out his hand to assist her.
“Good,” she answered, taking his offer of assistance as she alighted from the curricle. Her eyes followed him as he placed a tender kiss on her hand, then stepped back into the driver’s seat and snapped the ribbons.
As Quin drove away, Catherine forced her attention to the house before her, to her grandmother waiting within. She wasn’t just talking to Quin about smiling; it was something she needed to hear—to practice herself.
They had both been through much.
Still enduring.
Happiness seemed dear.
Fleeting.
But maybe, if they both fought for it, it could be found once more.
Thirteen
It was her eyes, the hazel hue that hid nothing of her emotions, that scorched right through him. Desire swirled in those depths, warm and welcoming as she held out a hand that grasped his in a familiar touch, sending a wave of need through his body.
She sucked her lower lip between her teeth as she drew him toward her, walking backwards down the hall. He followed, giving the slightest resistance to her pull only to prolong the game. As if understanding what he was about, she gave him a scolding expression and paused in her efforts. Changing tactics, she meaningfully closed the distance between them and rose onto her toes, hovering a whisper away from his lips. Good Lord, the heat from her proximity was a siren call his body would follow to the ends of the earth.
“Quin…” She drew out his name, caressing the word with her tone, her mouth, her lips till it felt like a touch. “Do you want to play out here…or in there?” She looked behind them to the slightly open door.
“Always so impatient,” he answered softly, then leaned forward to steal a kiss.
She withdrew, taunting him flirtatiously.
“Now who is being evasive?” he asked, taking a step toward her.
She backed up again.
Quin maneuvered to the left slightly so her next step would bring her closer to the hall wall, and in a moment, her back was pressed against it. Bracing his hands on the wall on either side of her face, he caged her in.
“Am I a prisoner?”
“I rather think I’m the one who’s captive,” he replied, his attention lingering on her mouth—the perfect bow of her upper lip, the contrast of her plump lower lip—begging to be kissed. “I’m utterly bewitched,” he confessed, then tasted the pleasure of her soft kiss.
His body ached with the sweetness of her flavor. The instinctive, primal need to taste more, press further, lose himself in her affection was nearly overwhelming.
She shuddered under his touch as he moved his hand to trace along the delicate skin of her throat till he could arch his fingers into her soft hair, the pins scattering to the floor.