She flattened her lips. “You said you wouldn’t take liberties.”
He shrugged. “I meant I wouldn’t ask for more than a kiss or two.”
“Christopher’s Dictionary?”
“Precisely.”
Instead of putting him in his place, she lo
unged against the cushions and regarded him with an unreadable expression. “I hope you’ll feed me first. I’d hate to swoon at a critical moment.”
A vibrating silence crashed down.
Her lips curved in a smug smile that he’d never seen before. “Cat got your tongue, Mr. Evans?”
He cleared his throat and struggled to speak. Where on earth was smooth-talking Richard Harmsworth? This Christopher Evans was a deuced clumsy fellow. “If you swoon, it won’t be from lack of sustenance.”
A teasing light lit her silvery eyes. “I hope you live up to your promises.”
Heaven help him, he hoped he did too. Right now, kissing Genevieve seemed the most important task he’d ever undertake.
“Lunch?” she asked hopefully when it became clear that he was out of witty responses.
He straightened and laughed, feeling like the world’s luckiest man.
Mr. Evans’s confusion was delicious. With a heady mixture of excitement and nerves, Genevieve waited for him to take up her invitation. All day awareness had vibrated between them. Since she’d ceased open hostilities, she’d danced to a symphony of unspoken need.
But true to his word, he kneeled to open the basket, revealing a feast. Chicken and salad and crusty bread and creamy cheese and shiny red apples. Even a bottle of champagne. Nobody had ever taken this trouble for her sake.
The basket contained gilded plates and crystal glasses. Mr. Evans picnicked in style. He filled her plate and passed it across with a damask napkin before serving himself. She waited for him to settle beside her in the prow, but he was more subtle than that.
Once he’d poured the champagne, he reclined against the stern. “Your health, Miss Barrett.”
“And yours, Mr. Evans.” She wrinkled her nose as bubbles burst against her palate. “Oh!”
He smiled. “A day of new experiences.”
She glowered. “I’ve had wine before.”
“Not champagne.” He tilted her glass. “You’ll like it once you get used to it.”
Her stomach lurched on a shocked thrill. He wasn’t only talking about champagne.
She rather liked the wine. It was dry and cool and left a lovely apple taste on her tongue. She took another sip then set her glass down. Only when she’d cleared her plate did she realize that Mr. Evans stared at her much as she puzzled over some difficult translation.
He sat back, one hand cradling his glass in his lap. In his shirtsleeves and with his hair ruffled by activity, he looked delightfully disheveled. “You aren’t shocked.”
Oh, heavens. She couldn’t pretend to misunderstand. Well, she could, but it would make her seem nauseatingly coy. “That you harbored wicked plans? No.”
His lips twitched and familiar desire tugged at her belly. She should be careful with the champagne. It had a deleterious effect on willpower.
Of course it was only the champagne.
She scowled into the glass she held, unaccountably half full. Surely she needed more alcohol than that to feel quite so… heated. She raised her eyes, feeling more daring than ever before in her quiet life. “I liked kissing you.”
While his expression remained grave, amusement lurked in his dark blue eyes. “I liked kissing you.”
“This seemed like a… safe place to do it again.” She paused. “If you want to.” She put down the champagne and smoothed her skirts with an uncertain gesture. “Don’t misunderstand. I want you to kiss me. I don’t want you to—”