His interest was there. And strong. Something she could almost taste in the air. Bryn rose in front of him, her heart hammering against her chest. “I’m not shy about telling a man what I want.”

There was a hint of satisfaction in the firm set of his mouth. A glint of something dark that made her heart pound and her sex begin to heat. When his head bent toward hers, she couldn’t have mustered a protest if she’d wanted to. She wanted his kiss too much.

His fingers lightly framed her face, but his lips were firm, commanding, brushing hers, and then pressing deeply. The soft suction he applied made her toes curl.

But the kiss was over far too soon. He raised his head, his mouth curving at the corners, and then

he left her.

Bryn touched her mouth and sighed. Ethan Thorne was a surprise. For such a large, intense man, he could wield a kiss with true finesse, like a skilled warrior holding a two-edged blade—slicing away her inhibitions while never exposing his true power.

Dinner was a frustrating affair. Her sisters flirted shamelessly with both men. Double entendres piled on top of easy smiles. Bryn felt as plain as her plank table. Sure, she’d put a little extra effort into her appearance, forgoing her long, easy skirts for a mid-thigh sheath, but her sisters had pulled out all the stops. Radha’s spaghetti-strapped top was cut so low the sides of her full breasts were exposed. Aoife’s summer dress dipped daringly in the back toward her derriere. Miren and Darcy opted for sheer, gauzy fabrics that hinted at dusky nipples.

Bryn’s garnet dress hugged her curves and exposed her legs, but not in the sexy excess of the dresses the others had donned. Still, while he smiled at the women’s flirting, Ethan’s glance returned time and again to her, where it would rest for long moments on her mouth and on her breasts, and then swing away.

After she served strawberry tarts, she hid herself in the kitchen, away from the noise and irritation, elbows-deep in sudsy water.

The kitchen door whooshed inward, and she glanced back. “I can handle the dishes on my o—”

Ethan stood behind her. “Let me dry.”

She didn’t want him to dry. She wanted him to make her very, very wet. She swallowed hard and faced forward. “Towels are in the drawer beside the stove.”

He walked closer and bent to reach beyond her into the drawer. His proximity wasn’t necessary, but her body wasn’t complaining. Her breasts felt suddenly fuller, her hips looser. Fingers touched the small of her back, and then he moved beside her and began to empty the rack.

“Dinner was terrific.”

She’d made shepherd’s pie with a fluffy crust, fresh bread rolls, and grilled string beans topped with sprinkles of crisp bacon.

“You don’t have to go to so much effort.”

“Cooking’s not a chore.”

“You love it,” he said, smiling.

“I do.”

“Well, I appreciate the results.”

“You’re welcome.”

She rolled her eyes at her stilted responses. Still, he loved her cooking. Warmth filled her chest. “You don’t have to help me with the dishes. You put in a full day’s work.”

“I prefer the company in here.”

She glanced to her side, gave him a small smile, and then finished the last of the cutlery. “These can air-dry.”

He set aside his towel and moved behind her, bringing his hands down on the edge of the counter, trapping her between his thick, muscled arms. His warm breath stirred the hair beside her ear. “Town’s small. Where does a guy take a girl if he wants a little privacy?”

To her bedroom, but she guessed that would seem a little too forward. “He might ask her to walk in the garden,” she said softly. “There’s a gazebo in the back…”

He nuzzled his nose through her hair, skimmed his lips over her neck, and she couldn’t resist tilting her head to allow him a little more access to her bare skin.

“Come with me.”

Not a request. Not that she minded at all. She was eager to be alone with him. She let him take her hand and pull her toward the kitchen door. They slipped out onto the porch, and he let her lead him with their fingers intertwined past the raised-bed herb garden, past tall beanstalks and sweet corn. She led him to the trellised gate, overhung with hyacinth. “It’s not much farther,” she said, glancing back.

His expression was closed, his dark eyes shadowed. But she wasn’t afraid. He tightened his hand around her fingers. He was growing tense. Just like she was—from anticipation.

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