There, he’d said out loud what he’d been avoiding admitting to himself.
Her eyes narrowed. “It was the only kiss of mine, so I have nothing to judge it against.”
“You can trust me,” he grumbled. “It was an excellent kiss.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Irritation spiked through him. “Will I have to kiss you again to prove it?”
Now it was her who wasn’t flinching. “Perhaps.”
Of a sudden, she pushed away from the table and stood. For a moment, he thought she might flee the room. But, no, Miss Juliet Windermere was made of sterner stuff. She didn’t flee provocative conversations; she provoked them further.
With a sure step, she made her way around the table, and he turned sideways in his chair so he could appreciate her approach. A feeling settled in his gut—and lower, too.
A feeling of anticipation.
A feeling of certainty.
She would have her way.
And he would have his way with her.
Nay.
They would have their way with each other.
She came to a halt not a foot away, staring down at him, wild daring in her eyes.
And a promise, too.
The promise that whatever he wanted, she would give.
One had to be careful with such promises. One must respect them. For this promise, it was precious, and it was his duty to protect it. To protecther—even from herself.
“And how did the kiss make youfeel?” she asked, a smile tickling about her soft pink lips.
Just as Rory began to answer, the joke caught up with him. He chuckled. She could be quite funny. And yet…
He wanted to answer the question.
“It made me feel all lit up inside.”
Her gaze grew serious. “We’ll make a poet of you yet.”
“All I need is the right inspiration.”
A long moment passed. It was all he could do not to reach out and pull her toward him. This afternoon had only been enough to whet an appetite, not satisfy it.
“Would you do it again?” she asked.
“What would you like me to do again?”
He was evading. He knewwhat.
“Kiss me.”
Rory had a choice here.