Page 17

He shook his head. “None.”

Her gaze lingered upon him, soft and speculative. “Then you will have little difficulty guessing whom you have caught.”

“That part is not the challenge.”

“What is?” she asked.

Dominic moved nearer, stopping close enough to see the faint color warming her cheeks and the pulse flickering at the base of her throat. The air between them thickened. “Keeping my thoughts sufficiently orderly to catch you at all.”

Her lips curved. She glanced at his mouth, then returned her attention to the silk in his hand, and the small, betraying movement jolted him. “You are growing more agreeable.”

“I have excellent encouragement.”

Amelia took the ribbon from him. Her bare fingertips brushed his as she did so. The touch was warm and brief and electric. Everything about her hands caught his attention. Their slender grace, the faint pink at her fingertips, the way they moved over the silk as though testing something precious.

“I have a condition,” she said. He waited, his heart beating hard. “The forfeits must be agreed upon first. You may not catch me and then become impossibly ambitious.”

“I was hoping to be moderately ambitious,” he deadpanned.

Her lips twitched. “That remains to be seen.”

She ran her fingers over the silk. What was she thinking? Her gaze grew thoughtful, with the quiet concentration he remembered from the moment she proposed their three evenings with him. She looked like a woman weighing something that mattered to her. He found himself willing to wait for whatever came next. He would have waited all night.

“If you catch me,” she said at last, “you may kiss me.”

His pulse quickened, thudding in his ears. “Where?” Everything had to be clear.

Amelia’s dark, luminous eyes lifted. “Where would you like?”

He could have answered far too readily. The words crowded his tongue, eager and unwise. Instead, he looked at the pale curl brushing her cheek, then at the exposed line of her throat, and the delicate hollow beneath her ear where a faint pulse beat. “Here.”

He lifted his hand, stopping before he touched her, his fingers hovering a breath from her skin. She watched the movement, her breath catching, then tipped her head slightly, exposing the place beneath her ear. The invitation nearly persuaded him to abandon the entire game. His fingers trembled as he fought to hold back.

“You may,” she said softly. “If you catch me.”

“And if I do not?” he asked.

She studied him with a slow smile, her eyes warm and daring. “You shall remove your coat.”

Dominic glanced down at it, then back at her, a smile quirking at his mouth. “You have developed a particular interest in undressing me.”

“I have hardly begun,” she teased.

That was sufficient to leave him quiet. A hot, startled thrill ran through him, and he swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. Amelia appeared pleased with the result, a gleam of satisfaction in her face. She laid the ribbon across her palms and moved behind him, her skirts whispering across the carpet.

“Stand still.”

He obeyed, his hands loose at his sides, though every nerve had gone taut. The first touch of silk against his face was unexpectedly disorienting, cool and light. He could still hear the fire, the slight rustle of her skirts, and the clock upon the mantel. He could smell the jasmine in her hair. Yet without seeing her, each sound seemed nearer, and he became acutely aware of her fingers brushing his temple as she brought the ends together behind his head. Her breath stirred the hair at his nape, and gooseflesh ran down his spine.

“Is that comfortable?” she asked.

“Yes.” The word came out rougher than he meant.

She tied the knot, drawing it snug but gentle. Her hands lingered for a moment against the back of his head, a small, tender pressure, then slipped away. Her warmth vanished, and he felt the loss immediately. He reached instinctively to where she had stood, grasping at air.

Her laugh came from farther to his left, soft and teasing. “We have not begun.”

“I was establishing your position,” he answered.