Page 62 of With Love in Sight
And then his lips were there, hot on her sensitive skin. And she, quite simply, forgot everything. All that filled her mind was him, and the feel of his lips on her wrist. And it was the most glorious thing she had ever felt in her life.
• • •
Caleb could not think beyond the delicate skin under his mouth. Had she always tasted so sweet? Had she always smelled so mouth-wateringly amazing? He felt he could go on kissing her like this for the rest of his life and never tire of it. He could feel her rapid pulse against his lips, the unbearable smoothness of her skin, and thought he would burst for wanting her.
Her breathing grew fast and uneven, and still he kept his lips at her wrist. He knew somewhere deep inside of him that they were in a public place where anyone might come across them. But he was far from caring. He wanted her, and it only seemed to grow worse every day he was so close to her and yet unable to touch her. He could no more stop himself from kissing her right now than he could stop the stars from coming out at night.
She seemed to have finally regained her senses a bit, for she began to speak, her voice warbling slightly in her effort.
“I admit I am surprised at the ease with which you interact with your tenants.” By her sharply indrawn breath he guessed she had not meant to say such a thing. He must have flustered her more than he had realized.
He smiled against her skin. “Surely you did not think I was an ogre to them. I think you know me better than that, Imogen.” He brushed his lips again along her skin. He could see the blue-tinged vein just beneath the surface, her pulse making it flutter madly. He darted his tongue out to moisten the flesh there before blowing softly. He heard her breath shudder in an exhale.
“N-no,” she stuttered, and then cleared her throat. “No,” she repeated more forcefully. But then she paused again, as if baffled by what she had meant to say. He was pleased to note that, though she was attempting to converse normally, she didn’t try to free her hand from his grip.
“I did not expect you to be anything but charming with them,” she finally continued. “But I received the impression that you do not come to Willowhaven often. It surprised me at how well received and comfortable you are here.”
He gave a short bark of laughter. My, but that was a lot of properly strung words considering her frame of mind. But when he raised his head to gaze up at her, he saw her cheeks were suffused with color and her eyes were heavy-lidded with passion. Her lips, however, were pressed into a tight line and her brow was furrowed.
“You really do not mince words, do you?” he murmured, returning his attention to her hand. It seemed he must renew his efforts. He obviously was not doing as good a job of befuddling her as he had thought. He began to tug at the fingers of her glove, slowly peeling the soft kidskin off. Her breathing sped up as the material slipped free.
“To answer your concerns, I do return here three or so times a year.” He kissed her wrist. “I always make time to visit the village when I do.” He let his lips linger at the fleshy mound under her thumb. “And when I am not here, I write weekly to my estate manager to make certain all the tenants’ needs are seen to.”
Not the most romantic speech he had ever made. But Imogen didn’t seem to hear him a bit. He uncurled her fingers and kept his lips a fraction of an inch from her palm, his breath hot on her skin. Her limbs began to tremble. And then he pressed his mouth there, and a soft, incoherent cry escaped her lips.
Desire raged through his body at her response. Sweet heaven, he wanted nothing so much as to drag her beneath him and take her right there on the bank of the pond. His mind worked feverishly, calculating how much longer Daphne would be gone, if the branches of the oak tree hid them completely from view, whether any of the villagers could be expected to come this way.
But just as he was about to rise up over her and claim her mouth with his own, he paused. No. No, he could not do that to her, could not disrespect her like that. She would never forgive him, and he would lose her for good.
Placing one last kiss to her palm, he released her and raised his head.
It was as if she had been under a spell and suddenly freed. Her spine straightened and she hastened to move to the very edge of the blanket. She averted her eyes, digging her restless fingers into the grass beside her and tugging up clumps.
He was about to reach out to comfort her when her voice, high and tightly controlled, stopped him.
“You have seemed very distracted the last two days.”
He felt his mood begin to plummet. Imogen’s comment brought to mind his reason for being so withdrawn. Imogen and Emily’s new and unexpected friendship had preyed on his mind all the day before. After a pounding ride over the land, he had travelled to visit with some local farmers. He had exhausted himself in his work with the tenants, joining with the men to help rebuild a wall that had been damaged by a wagon. By the time the day was about to come to a close, he was wearied in body. Unfortunately, however, it did not extend to his mind. All through dinner he had fought the fears that haunted him, half believing when he asked Imogen if she still intended to join him in a visit to the village that she would refuse. When she had confirmed their plans, her lovely turquoise eyes clear of any disgust for him, he had been relieved beyond measure. He could not help the kiss he had given her, had shocked himself at the tenderness he had felt for her, the nearly worshipping way he had claimed her mouth with his own.
He attempted a smile now. “Yes, and I’m sorry for it. I promise to be a better host from this moment on.”
She blushed. “You are a perfectly wonderful host, and you know it.”
He grinned, felt his mood begin to lighten at her grudging compliment. “Am I now? I admit, I was having my doubts.”
She shot him a sly look. “I wonder, is my propensity for not accepting compliments better or worse than your propensity for fishing for more?”
He laughed. “Oh, certainly yours is much worse. For mine merely makes me all the more charming.”
Her lips quirked. “Well, I am certainly glad you have not lost your modesty.”
It was so like the way they used to banter that he was struck with a sudden joy. He reached down into the grass, plucking a few small violets and forget-me-nots from the mass of wildflowers that littered the hill. Reaching across the space she had put between them, he gently tucked the flowers into the braided coronet that crowned her head. She stilled, a blush stealing across her face.
“Do you know, you look every inch the magical wood sprite to me just now,” he murmured. And indeed she did, with the soft white of her muslin gown embroidered with small yellow flowers and twining green vines, a pale green shawl around her shoulders, and the crown of pale blue and purple flowers surrounding her head like a tiara.
“Well, you’d best watch out, or I may just cast a spell on you and turn you into a frog.”
“And here I thought only witches did that sort of thing.”
