look still in his eyes, and it suddenly seemed as if her attempts to be cold and frozen were futile. Something in the brandy brown depths of his eyes could still make her feel languid and warm, something tender in that smile could still spread heat through her body and soften her like butter in the afternoon sun. He leaned closer.
She hated him. She did.
He paused, his mouth only a few inches from hers. "I wouldn't want you to spend the whole afternoon with purple jam on your face. I mean, what would people say? I could kiss it off for you."
She fought to come to her senses. "What a noble and gentlemanly offer, but this is a public place."
"That doesn't matter if two people are married."
"It didn't matter to you when we weren't married."
He laughed low in his throat, bringing his lips another inch closer, and she began to panic. She brought her palm up between them, pressing it flat against his chest to stop him before he could kiss her. "Am I not safe from your advances even in public?"
"You are not safe from my advances anywhere."
She froze. So did he . Both of them remained motionless, suspended by her hand and her hesitance. His chest was a hard, muscular wall beneath her palm, and she imagined that she could feel his heart pounding as hard as hers. A fancy of her imagination, perhaps, for his white linen shirt and coffee-colored waistcoat made it impossible to be certain if that were true, but there was no mistaking the desire in his eyes. So long since he had looked at her that way, so long since she had wanted him to.
She didn't want him. Not anymore.
"This is not proper." She frowned at him, striving to be that icy goddess she knew he despised. " Hammond , you forget yourself."
"Viola, you are not really going to make me mind my manners, are you?" he asked. "Not when you have blackberry jam all over your mouth."
"I am." She lifted her fingers from his chest to her lips and wiped at the sticky jam he'd placed there before he could take this game any further.
"You just made it worse," he told her, his voice grave, his mouth smiling. "You've smeared it, and now you have a big purple streak on your face." He lifted his hand and his fingers traced a line just beneath her cheekbone. "Right there."
She drew in a sharp breath. How long had it been since John had touched her like this, tender and wanting? Over eight years, and yet it still made a thrill run though her, as if no time had passed at all. "People are watching us," she whispered, desperate.
His fingers caressed her cheek. His lashes lowered as he looked at her mouth. "If they are watching us, then let's give them something worth staring at." His voice sounded thick, heavy, echoing the way she felt.
He was a cad. He was.
He touched her lips with his, and a weightless sensation dipped inside her. For a brief instant she felt as if she were falling.
So, so long. She had forgotten all of this: how he used to dab blackberry jam on her mouth just to kiss it off. Forgotten what his kisses tasted like, what his touch felt like. He was making her remember things she did not want to remember, things that had given her so much joy.
Hadn't she learned a thing? None of this was real. He was manipulating her to get what he wanted, just as he had done during their courtship. John had taught her the bitterest lesson a woman could learn about men. That his love and his desire were not the same thing. She would not be fooled this time around.
With that vow, she came to her senses. She jerked back, shoving his hand aside as she scooted back on the blanket, giving herself the breathing room she needed. She took a frantic glance around, and it confirmed her worst fear. "People are talking about us right now."
"Saying horrible things, of course." He did not pursue her, but instead leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows, seeming much more at ease than she. "Kissing one's own wife, especially in public, is the height of bad taste, My friends will never let me
She hated him. She did.
He paused, his mouth only a few inches from hers. "I wouldn't want you to spend the whole afternoon with purple jam on your face. I mean, what would people say? I could kiss it off for you."
She fought to come to her senses. "What a noble and gentlemanly offer, but this is a public place."
"That doesn't matter if two people are married."
"It didn't matter to you when we weren't married."
He laughed low in his throat, bringing his lips another inch closer, and she began to panic. She brought her palm up between them, pressing it flat against his chest to stop him before he could kiss her. "Am I not safe from your advances even in public?"
"You are not safe from my advances anywhere."
She froze. So did he . Both of them remained motionless, suspended by her hand and her hesitance. His chest was a hard, muscular wall beneath her palm, and she imagined that she could feel his heart pounding as hard as hers. A fancy of her imagination, perhaps, for his white linen shirt and coffee-colored waistcoat made it impossible to be certain if that were true, but there was no mistaking the desire in his eyes. So long since he had looked at her that way, so long since she had wanted him to.
She didn't want him. Not anymore.
"This is not proper." She frowned at him, striving to be that icy goddess she knew he despised. " Hammond , you forget yourself."
"Viola, you are not really going to make me mind my manners, are you?" he asked. "Not when you have blackberry jam all over your mouth."
"I am." She lifted her fingers from his chest to her lips and wiped at the sticky jam he'd placed there before he could take this game any further.
"You just made it worse," he told her, his voice grave, his mouth smiling. "You've smeared it, and now you have a big purple streak on your face." He lifted his hand and his fingers traced a line just beneath her cheekbone. "Right there."
She drew in a sharp breath. How long had it been since John had touched her like this, tender and wanting? Over eight years, and yet it still made a thrill run though her, as if no time had passed at all. "People are watching us," she whispered, desperate.
His fingers caressed her cheek. His lashes lowered as he looked at her mouth. "If they are watching us, then let's give them something worth staring at." His voice sounded thick, heavy, echoing the way she felt.
He was a cad. He was.
He touched her lips with his, and a weightless sensation dipped inside her. For a brief instant she felt as if she were falling.
So, so long. She had forgotten all of this: how he used to dab blackberry jam on her mouth just to kiss it off. Forgotten what his kisses tasted like, what his touch felt like. He was making her remember things she did not want to remember, things that had given her so much joy.
Hadn't she learned a thing? None of this was real. He was manipulating her to get what he wanted, just as he had done during their courtship. John had taught her the bitterest lesson a woman could learn about men. That his love and his desire were not the same thing. She would not be fooled this time around.
With that vow, she came to her senses. She jerked back, shoving his hand aside as she scooted back on the blanket, giving herself the breathing room she needed. She took a frantic glance around, and it confirmed her worst fear. "People are talking about us right now."
"Saying horrible things, of course." He did not pursue her, but instead leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows, seeming much more at ease than she. "Kissing one's own wife, especially in public, is the height of bad taste, My friends will never let me
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