Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

As John contemplated his response, Olivia watched his hands hovering over his pieces, the sun-bronzed fingers seeming to capture the sparks of light reflected up from the faceted amber. Capable, caring—now more than ever, she was aware of their strength, their grace, their gentleness.

Tears suddenly welled up against her lids. Oh, how she would miss his touch. The idea that she might never again feel him holding her was unbearably awful.

Ducking her head, Olivia drew in a steadying breath, feeling her courage flag, despite all the words of encouragement from her sisters. Perhaps it was better to feign indifference rather than risk outright rejection.

Or, even worse than rejection, she feared any hint that she was regretting her earlier refusal might result in an offer merely based on his sense of honorable obligation.

She didn’t want his pity. She wanted his love.

There was a bond between them, to be sure. Camaraderie, perhaps, or something even deeper, twined in their shared passion for words—but he had never said “love” aloud.

Unsure of herself, Olivia maintained a stoic silence.

John shifted, and she sensed him watching her through the undulating flicker of the candle flame. The light danced over the opposing armies and his tapered fingers as he made his move.

She countered without uttering a word.

On they played, no sounds between them save for the faint click of the ivory and amber against the checkered tiles. One by one, the soldiers surrendered to the subtle play of attack and counterattack until there were only a few pieces left on the board.

“It appears we have a stalemate,” said John finally, after surveying the positions.

“So it does.” She reached out to shift her king back to its staring square but all of a sudden his fingers encircled her wrist.

“A moment, Olivia.”

“W-we must not indulge in such intimacies as given names anymore, Wrexham.”

“Why not?” he pressed.

Because. The warmth of him against her skin sent a shuddering pulse of need spiraling to the most intimate spot of all. “Because.”

“Because isn’t an answer,” said John. “It is a shield.”

Then why do I feel so achingly vulnerable?

“You’ve allowed me to share your passions—your words, your ideas, your sensuality,” he pressed. “But as to your true feelings, those you keep well guarded.”

Olivia found her tongue too tied in knots to answer.

“What is it you fear? The chance that you might be hurt again by love?”

“I wasn’t in love.” Somehow, she managed to maintain some semblance of steadiness to her voice. “I was infatuated. There is a big difference.”

“True,” agreed John. He released his grip, and the sudden curl of chill air against her skin stirred a pebbling of gooseflesh. “Are you in love now?”

“I—I thought the game of thrust and parry was over.”

John leaned in, a glitter she had never seen before lightening his brown eyes to swirling shades of molten amber. Olivia felt a little like one of the primordial flies that could often be seen, trapped for eternity, within the ancient resin.

“There are still a few moves left to be played.” His palm slowly slid up her forearm.

“That’s cheating,” she rasped. “None of the chess pieces are allowed to move in such a way.”

His laugh was low and husky. “I’ve made up a new variation. In this match, the goal is to checkmate the queen. And the pawns…” He tickled his fingers over the crook of her elbow and up to her shoulder “…are allowed to move in a less regimented direction than straight or diagonal lines.”

“Wrexham—”

“John,” he corrected. His hand was now lightly twined in her hair. “You didn’t answer my question.”