Echoes in Stone by Kat Sheridan Page B

back into sorrow. “All that litter is dead. Gone. In the past. Making way for new life.” Dash’s voice came from a spot close to her.
    She opened her eyes to see him standing only a few feet away, his hands clenched at his sides.
    “Tell me what you hear,” he said.
    She cocked her head, listening. At first, she could hear only the pounding of her own heart. Something about the captain, standing with her in the same shaft of sunlight, made it beat faster.
    “Breathe, Jessa. Just breathe. Now, tell me what you hear.”
    “Birds. I hear birds, twittering.” She gave Dash a weak smile. “I think they’re unhappy with us. We’ve disturbed their home.” She closed her eyes. “I hear the trees. Or rather, the breeze moving through the trees, the branches and leaves, whispering together.” She concentrated on slowing the beat of her heart to match the gentle susurration of the trees. She watched the captain. The pace of his breaths matched her own.
    “Very good,” Dash said at last. “Now come. Let’s find out what Cook has packed for us in that basket.”
    He’d taken the time to remove his gloves. She accepted his outstretched hand, his palm warm, firm against hers, the calluses on his long fingers unexpectedly rough. He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. It surprised her to find the sensation pleasant, her hand small and safe in his much larger one.
    “The only rule,” Dash said, “is that while we are here, you must concentrate on staying in the present. No brooding on the past. No worry for the future. For this little while, let us cry peace with one another. We’re simply here as friends, enjoying a picnic.”
    Jessa helped Dash spread a quilt under the mottled shade of the trees, then unpacked the feast Cook had made for them. While they nibbled on cold chicken, yeasty bread, and pungent cheese, he continued to prod her away from gloomy thoughts.
    Dash’s game was doing them both good. It was as if, by sharing Lily’s story with her, he’d purged a bit of the darkness from his soul. Instead of vibrating with his customary tension, he stretched out next to her on the blanket, leaning back on one hand. He took a bite of a pasty, sighing with pleasure as he chewed. “Look around. Tell me what you see.”
    “A carpet of bluebells,” Jessa said. “Blue skies, wispy clouds. The sunlight makes the tops of the trees vivid green.” She looked at him, relaxing for the first time in days. “I see a man on a blanket, with twigs in his hair, breadcrumbs on his cravat, and a spot of jam on his chin.” She laughed and, without thinking, reached to wipe away the strawberry stain.
    She jolted. There it was again. She should have expected it by now, that odd tremor that tore through her, astounding her.
    Dash seized her hand, then drew back as if he’d been bee stung.
    Her smile faded. Their eyes met in a long stare. Neither of them breathed.
    Without loosing her hand, or breaking eye contact, Dash reached for one of the tiny fruit tarts. He held it to her lips. “Tell me what you taste, Jessa. Describe it to me.”
    She took a small bite of the dessert, allowing him to feed it to her. She closed her eyes, chewing slowly, savoring the feel, the taste of the sweet in her mouth. She opened her eyes, meeting his silver ones.
    He stared at her, unblinking, as if she’d disappear if he looked away.
    “Lemon custard. I tasted lemon custard.” She gave a pleasurable sigh. “Sweet. Creamy. Cool.” The tip of her tongue flicked her lips, seeking more of the lemony flavor.
    “Oh God, Jessa. Let me taste it.” Dash drew her to him, pulling her across his lap, into his arms. He crushed his lips against hers.
    His kiss was not gentle, but neither was it an invasion. The kiss of a man who knew what he wanted and took it. His tongue swept into her mouth. He tasted of wine and the spicy apple tart he’d eaten.
    She moaned, unable to prevent it. She raised her arms, wrapping them around his neck. Pulled him