The rawness of his voice, coupled with the admission itself, took her by surprise.
She was too ragged around the edges, too foolishly happy at his concession. Too pleased he was here, with her, even if the visit was to be fleeting. Mine, cried her heart. If only for tonight.
But still, she lingered where she was, two steps and a dreadful decision separating them. “Why did you have to see me?”
He moved again. One step. Two steps. Close enough to touch.
Oh Lord, he was tempting. His scent reached her, and those bright-blue eyes were fixed upon hers. She could not look away. How she had missed him.
“Because I did not properly convey my gratitude when last I saw you.” He shook his head, tucking an errant tendril of hair that had escaped her coiffure behind her ear. “You and your brothers were gracious to aid me in my efforts at finding my brother. It is a credit to you all that he was found unharmed and that not a single tongue has wagged with scandal broth. Your discretion is most appreciated.”
She tipped her chin up. “You might have sent a note instead.”
There hardly seemed a reason for him to come to her, to tempt her with what could never be hers.
“I might have done,” he agreed, his hand still lingering at her face as he cupped her cheek.
He was not wearing gloves, and the caress of his bare skin over Pen’s was enough to make a shower of sparks flit through her. Longing accompanied the fire. The need to touch him, to be touched by him.
“I am glad you did not,” she confessed, heart pounding swiftly.
His thumb glided across her cheekbone. “Oh? And why is that?”
She wetted her suddenly dry lips. “Because a missive cannot kiss me.”
He moved first, a low groan tearing from his throat, taking her into his arms. She loved the way his hard planes melded with her softness. Loved the way they felt together, fit together. She linked her wrists around his neck, holding him to her.
His head dipped, accepting her invitation, and he took her mouth with his.