Wicked Heart (Brazen Bluestockings #1)

Chapter 7: Not Quite According to Plan

What was Sam doing in her father's study? Ivy chewed on her lower lip while trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for why a guest would breach the family's private quarters upstairs. Nothing came to mind.

"Why did you leave the party?" she asked when he hadn't answered her previous question. The way he was staring at her made her fidget. His face looked mysterious and handsome in the flickering light of the lone candle in his hand. Wasn't this how the heroines in her gothic novels always ended up in trouble? By walking in on things they were not meant to see?

Sam set the candle holder down on the desk before crossing the study to where she stood just inside the room. Saying nothing, he closed the door behind her, leaving them in shadows with only the light from the candle on the opposite side of the room. Something inside her lurched awkwardly as she looked up at him. She could just about make out his features in the faint light.

Yes. This was definitely how those heroines got into trouble.

"S... Sam?" She silently cursed herself. She hadn't meant to use his given name. It was highly improper to do so, but she had unwittingly started thinking of him as Sam, and it had simply slipped out.

Instead of admonishing her for the social faux pas, he lifted his hand to brush his knuckles against her cheek. It made her skin burn like he'd scorched her with fire, but she couldn't move, too enthralled by the sensation.

"Ivy," he said, his voice a velvety whisper in the dark, and there was another lurching feeling inside her. "I came up here hoping to find you after I noticed you had left."

"Oh." Her brain felt sluggish, too focused on the fiery trail he was tracing down her cheekbone and jaw to pay much attention to anything else. "I had a headache and the constant chattering of so many people was making it worse."

Her breath hitched when he used two fingers to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Why was he standing so close? A tantalising hint of whichever soap he favoured tickled her nose and made her want to bury her nose in his neck to get a better sense of what it might be.

"What—" She cut herself short, shocked by the squeak that was apparently her voice. Taking a shaky breath while trying to ignore the hand that still lingered just below her ear, playing with a strand of hair, she tried again. "What do you mean, you came to find me?"

Silence stretched out between them. One heartbeat. Two. Was he not going to answer?

"Ever since I first met you," he finally said, his voice quiet. "I cannot stop thinking about you. I know it's only been a few days, but you occupy my thoughts constantly. Day and night."

"Me too," she admitted shyly, secretly pleased that no one in the crowd of unmarried young ladies downstairs seemed to have caught his interest. Craning her neck, she tried to make out more of his facial features in the semi-darkness, but there was no telling what he might be thinking or feeling. "But why risk coming upstairs?"

His hand by her ear twitched before sliding along her jaw to cup her cheek. It was warm against her skin, despite the blazing blush that burned her face.

"I had hoped to steal a kiss," Sam murmured, his head lowering towards her but holding still an inch apart.

Their breaths mingled while Ivy tried to gather enough wits to say something. Anything. Nothing came out other than a shaky exhale of air. Panic and exhilaration swirled through her, locking her jaw. This could not be happening. Was this happening?

When she didn't slap him or run screaming from the room, he brushed his lips over hers. Carefully. Hesitantly. As if he expected her to bolt at any moment the way his horse had bolted from Darcy a few days ago. But she had no inclination to leave. Not when his soft kiss sent delicious shivers of awareness through her very being and her body instantly leaned into him, seeking more of the same.