Page 59 of Beyond the Grave
We'd stopped beneath one of the few streetlights already lit by the lamplighter. The warm glow toyed with the planes of Lincoln's face, softening the sharpness of his cheeks but throwing his eyes further into shadow. The warmth and heaviness of his coat was a comfort, but the closeness of his hands to my jaw as he arranged it played havoc with my nerves. Every part of me felt aware, alive and tight with expectation.
Without really knowing what I was doing, I reached up and cupped his cheek. I didn't see him move, but an ever so slight increase of pressure on my hand proved that he had. We stood like that for what felt like eternity. Despite the poor light, and the darkness of his eyes, I knew he was watching me with pinpoint focus. I couldfeelhis gaze on me.
I whispered his name so softly that it was little more than a breath. His throat moved with his swallow. His lips parted by the tiniest of margins. He placed his bare hand over my gloved one and drew it to his mouth. With deft fingers, he undid the button at my wrist. I waited with my heart in my throat for that moment when his smooth lips met my achy skin.
The kiss did not disappoint. Where before I was cold, I now felt hot. Everywhere. Blood thrummed along my veins to an erratic beat and rushed between my ears. I could hear nothing except my own pulse, see nothing except Lincoln's bent head. Feel nothing but his lips and my body, throbbing now with the heady thrill of desire and the knowledge that he desired me too.
"Avert your eyes, Emmaline." The curt voice of a passing woman punctured my thoughts and wrenched me out of the moment.
Lincoln dropped my hand and snapped to attention as the family hurried past. The severe downturn of the mother's mouth marked her displeasure at our very public display. It was quite a rude reminder that we were not alone. A cart rumbled past, and two men stopped to speak with the lamplighter, now working on the other side of the street.
Lincoln, with his back to me, said, "We must go." He walked off then remembered his manners and waited. I caught up, but did not take his arm as the other couples did.
We were not a couple.
Not yet, the small voice inside me piped up. I walked quickly to keep up with him as we headed back to The Fox and Hound in silence. I wanted to say a thousand things to him, but nothing sounded right in my head. Everything was too pathetic or childish, and that wasn't how I wanted him to see me.
Once inside, Lincoln asked the innkeeper to have supper brought up to our rooms. Once upstairs, I handed him his coat and asked him to come inside to wait for supper.
"I think it's best if we part here," he said outside my door. He didn't meet my gaze, and he kept a few feet of floor between us. But if he was disturbed by what had happened outside then he didn't show it. He looked as calm as ever.
"But we must discuss the situation."
"It was a mistake. There's nothing to discuss."
"I meant the situation with Buchanan."
He blinked slowly, as if flicking a switch to alter the course of his thinking. I almost smiled. I liked that he was thinking of the kiss still. But my smile never broke free.
It was a mistake.
"Buchanan is most likely dead," he said. "There's nothing more to discuss."
"Nonsense. I'm going to freshen up then I'll be in the sitting room. I would very much like your company."
"I don't think that's necessary."
I huffed out a breath. "I don't care. Come into the sitting room. Please. Unless, of course, you're afraid I'll ravish you."
His eyes flared ever so briefly. "In part."
I grinned in spite of everything. I hadn't expected him to admit it. "I promise I won't try to kiss you again. But if you don't come, I might just summon the spirit of Buchanan without you."
With my announcement still ringing in my ears, I opened the door and entered the room. By the time I'd turned to close it again, he was already unlocking his own door.
Some fifteen minutes later, I entered the sitting room and warmed myself by the fire that he must have lit in the grate. He wasn't there now, however. I opened the door at the maid's knock and stepped aside as she placed the tray on the table. She bobbed a curtsy, then left. I tapped lightly on the door leading to Lincoln's room.
"You'd better join me if you don't want me eating your share of supper." No answer. "Andrew Buchanan's ghost sends his regards."
The door opened faster than I could blink. His eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together. "That was a joke," he said flatly.
"No, it was a ruse to get you out here. It worked."
I sat at the table and poured wine into the glasses. I handed him one. "Let's say a toast."
He took the glass. "To?"
"To working together." I sipped, but he didn't. "What's wrong?"
