Page 78 of The Trouble with Tigers
At least he sounded more exasperated than annoyed.
He dropped heavily onto a well-cushioned sofa located in the most dimly lit, private corner of the room.
Displaced air swirled softly around them, mingling the scents of leather, smoke, brandy, and Zeke. Her belly trembled with giddy delight at being in his arms, the feel of his warm, hard chest against her ribs, his face so close she could kiss his lips if she dared—which she wouldn’t, any more than she would twine her arms around his neck and burrow her face into his warm skin.
But she wanted to. Like nothing she’d ever wanted before. It was maddening.
Meanwhile he probably didn’t even realize he still held her.
He shot her a sullen look. “It’s a wonder you survived this long.”
She searched her brain for a smart reply—but no words came. She couldn’t focus on anything beyond the intoxicating scent of him. She shifted and he loosed his hold enough so her her bottom settled onto his hard thighs. Heat swirled through her low belly. It felt oddly…good.
“At least you have the good sense not to argue.” One corner of his mouth hitched upward in grudging amusement. “By the by, you’re welcome.”
Helpless to resist the urge, her gaze locked on his lips, on that captivating hint of a smile. “You do appear at the most opportune moments.”
He pulled his arm from beneath her knees, freeing his hand to toy with one of the loose tendrils of hair framing her face. His fingers were warm and gentle against her cheek. “You could’ve been seriously hurt.”
Their eyes met and held.
“You look very beautiful tonight,” he said, his voice gruff.
Had she knocked her head during the fall after all? Because it sounded like Zeke had just complimented her. “Thank you.”
He shrugged.
She lowered her lashes and, seeing what she still clutched in her arms, remembered the treasure she’d nearly broken her neck to retrieve. “Do you want to see my parents’ book?” She held the tome out for his inspection.
“Yes.” He plucked the atlas from her hands and set it on the side table. “In a moment. First, I want to talk.”
“All right.” She tried to sound self-assured, as if she wasn’t sitting across Zeke’s lap. Was he waiting for her to extricate herself, she wondered? “What about?”
He reclined his body into a more comfortable position, pulling her along with him, and stretched out his long legs. “For starters, promise you won’t go up that ladder again without someone standing by to catch you.” His tawny brows knitted together. “Scratch that. Either send one of the footmen up to do your foraging, or wait until I’m available.”
Here was familiar territory, Zeke and his proclivity for issuing orders.
“You and your ‘promise this’ and ‘promise that.’ Soon enough you’ll have me promising not to leave my bed.”
“An interesting choice of words,” he drawled. His gaze lowered to her lips.
“I…” How could she think with him staring at her mouth like that?
Abruptly he dropped her onto the sofa beside him. “That’s a fine bit of gratitude.”
She struggled to maintain her dignity after being unceremoniously dumped off his lap, righting her skirts and curling her slipper-less feet under the hem. “I only meant I’m not totally helpless.”
He ignored her, choosing instead to pick up the atlas. He set it on his lap and read, “Atlas to the Historical History of Europe, by Lord and Lady Charles Hastings. Very impressive.” He flipped open the book and began leafing through its pages.
“I don’t find you helpless. More like reckless, or at the very least unlucky. I want your promise, Kitty. This looks to be a fine bit of scholarship,” he added, as if he’d been discussing the atlas all along.
“Very well. I promise.”
He nodded and continued perusing the atlas.
Decorum forgotten, Kitty hoisted herself onto her knees to peer over his shoulder. “I’m familiar with this volume. Grandfather had a copy of every one of my parents’ published works, as well as their personal travel journals in his library. I read them all a thousand times. It made my parents seem not so far away.”
She leaned forward to get a better look at the page he studied, just as he lifted his head to glance at her. Her heart started a wild staccato in her chest. Any closer and their noses would collide. Or their lips. From here, even in the dim light, she could practically count his thick, tangled lashes. Could almost taste his soft, warm breath fanning over her cheek.
