Part 19 (1/2)
”I'm sorry, Liv. I didn't mean for this to become so . . . so . . .”
”Shhh,” she said. ”I'm not sorry.”
He gazed down at her. Her lashes were still a little damp.
He drew a finger softly, softly, slowly around the contour of her lips. The sweet peaks up top, the luscious, eloquent curve below.
He knew from now on every time for the rest of his life he saw mist on a windowpane he'd trace that shape there.
”You probably know . . . you should know there's more, Liv . . . for you. It's . . . rather extraordinary.”
”More?”
”If I were to touch you in . . . certain places . . . in certain ways . . .”
He had never had a more torturously awkward conversation in his life.
And now she was scarlet.
He suspected he was, too.
”I hate to leave you unsatisfied. It's just . . . we mustn't ever . . . we must be so careful . . . you do understand that it's dangerous?”
She nodded.
Perhaps she understood. Perhaps she didn't.
She would definitely understand the next time.
”Dangerous,” she repeated softly. Her pupils dark, her gaze dreamy.
”Yes. So . . .” He kissed her lips, softly, lingeringly. ”So . . .”
”. . . dangerous,” she whispered, her mouth opening to his again. Slow, slow, this time.
As if they had all the time in the world.
Chapter 11.
OLIVIA HADN'T KNOWN A universe could be created from a kiss. She wanted to be Lyon, to crawl inside him. But one did have to breathe between long kisses, and when she did she opened her eyes and tipped her head up . . .
Long enough to notice there was, in fact, a purple streak across the sky.
The sun was lowering. It was shockingly late.
”Eeep!”
Without another word she seized her basket and bolted like a rabbit freed from a trap, running as though her very life was at stake, likely losing a few hairpins along the way.
She consciously slowed to a walk as the Eversea house at last came into view.
As did her Father, who was out as if for a leisurely stroll, a hound at his heels. When normally he would be inside preparing for dinner.
She stopped abruptly.
”Good . . . evening, Papa.”
d.a.m.n. It was, indeed, evening.
”Walk with me for a bit, daughter?”
Her heart lurched in dread. Her palms began to sweat and she longed to swipe them on her skirt, which was likely rumpled. She didn't dare.
”I was at the Duffys, Papa. I brought food to them.” She gestured with the basket.
”Ah, yes. It's what you usually do of a Tuesday. You stayed for a good long time today,” he said mildly.
”I did.”
”'Tis safe enough here in Pennyroyal Green, but a father worries, you know. Perhaps you ought to take a dog with you. This hound, for instance.”
The hound smiled and panted up at them hopefully, trotting along and sniffing things.
”A dog would only fight with the Duffys' dog. Or mate with it, and goodness knows how many breeds went into the making of the Duffys' dog as it is.”
Her father laughed and she blushed.
”Sorry, Papa. I won't be late again. You don't need to worry. I'm sorry to worry you, if I did.”
He didn't need to worry about her being late again.
But did it show? Her flushed cheeks, and goodness knew whether her hair was in disarray, and her lips felt permanently branded by hot kisses. She wanted desperately to be alone to touch them now, to savor the feeling of Lyon's mouth there. To relive it again and again. She didn't dare do that now.
If her father noticed, he didn't say a thing. Perhaps he attributed it all to her running.
”You look a good deal happier now than you did just a day ago, Olivia.”
”It must be the simple mother forced, er, encouraged me to drink last night.”
”Ah,” her father said.
They walked in silence, and Olivia was grateful for his company now that it was nearly nightfall.
”You know, I walked with your mother on this very road when I was a boy. You look so much like her when she was a girl. And she was a stubborn, thing, my goodness. So witty. So clever.”
He said this with relish. He was proud of all of those things in his wife and in Olivia.