A Match Made in Mistletoe
He stayed where he was. “Not that I’ve noticed.”
“I can learn.”
“That would be a pity.”
She frowned. “Is that why you won’t give me more lessons? Because you think I’ll give the game away?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s because I’m not sure what you’re playing at. I thought I knew, but now I’m puzzled. And I never said I wouldn’t give you another lesson.”
Her body sagged with relief. He was shocked to realize that whatever went on in that busy mind, she hadn’t come after him on a whim. This was important to her. Although for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine why. They both knew that she should concentrate on winning Paul, not on kissing Paul’s best friend.
“I’m so glad,” she admitted. “When you avoided me tonight, I thought I must have done something wrong this afternoon.”
“You did. You kissed me when you intend to marry another man.” If he kept saying it, he might have some chance of retaining a shred of control.
One pale hand waved in dismissal. “It’s in a good cause.”
“I doubt anyone else would agree.”
“Nobody else has to know. I feared I’d given you a dislike of me. You didn’t look at me at dinner.” The sweet earnestness in her regard pierced his heart. “And when the dancing started, you scuttled away like a rat from the light.”
He snorted in self-derision. “Not flattering.”
“But true. So you’ll kiss me again?”
“You seem deuced occupied with kisses.” He bent to stoke the fire. If he kept looking at her, he hadn’t a hope in hell of keeping his hands to himself. “I don’t want to spoil your chances with Paul.”
More lies.
“Perhaps I want to sow a few wild oats before I settle down.”
“Respectable ladies don’t sow oats, my darling.”
The endearment slipped out before he could catch it. As he stood upright, he saw her stiffen, but she still hovered too bloody close.
“Perhaps they should.” She tilted her chin with familiar defiance. “I’ve never felt so alive as I did in your arms. I’m happy you enjoyed it, too.”
Giles bit back a groan. “Leave me alone, Serena.”
“Why?” She dared another step closer.
His hand closed so hard around the poker that it hurt. “Because anyone could walk through that door.”
She looked directly at him, and at last he realized what his habitual self-denial had kept concealed. Although her kisses this afternoon should have hinted that things had changed.
His heart slammed into the wall of his chest. A universe of possibilities opened before him, possibilities a man of honor would resist. She might love Paul—she did love Paul, everyone knew that. But right now, she wanted Giles Farraday.
“I’m not sure I care,” she said in a low, urgent voice.
Setting the poker back in the basket, he fought the unworthy impulse to take her at her word. “You would tomorrow.”
When he faced her, such disappointment darkened her eyes that he almost abandoned principle and good sense—even the hope of his next breath—to kiss her. To do more than kiss her. But he’d lived with desire much longer than she had. He’d counted the consequences of surrendering to impulse.
That lush mouth turned down in displeasure. “So you won’t kiss me?”
“No.” Because he feared where kisses would lead. And he had no right to take that journey with her when scandal loomed so close.
“Ever?”