She gave a little shrug, unconcerned. “I don’t mind. I can always visit Granville House to use it if I need to.”
“Yes, but I thought perhaps you might wish for a place just for you. So I visited my solicitor today and had him extend the lease on Father’s studio for another year.”
She grinned up at him, her blue eyes putting the rippling water of the Serpentine to shame. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“You were? And here I thought it would be a surprise.”
“I covet that space far too much to leave such a thing to chance. I was prepared to beg if necessary.”
“Is that a fact?” he said, his eyebrows raised.
“Indeed. Fortunately for me, you saved me the trouble.” She gave him a teasing wink, pleased with herself.
“Well fine, then. But in the future, I fully intend to make you work for what you want.”
“Do you?” she said, raising a challenging eyebrow. “Well, do be careful, because I can very easily do the same to you.”
“You think so?”
She nodded imperiously, lifting her chin as though she just knew he would be putty in her hands. He loved how irreverent she could be. He would have enough seriousness in his life with his chosen career—knowing he would come home to her every day filled a part of him that had been empty almost his whole life.
“And what if it’s something you want as well? After all, I want nothing more than to make you happy. Would you still make things difficult for me?”
“Ah, a woman’s prerogative, remember? Yes, I may very well make you work for something, even if I want it as well. It’s good not to always get what you want, when you want it. Wouldn’t you agree?” Her grin was pure cheek.
“Oh sure, but I doona think you’d be able to follow through. A woman’s prerogative is generally exactly that: to have what she wants, exactly when she wants it.”
She scoffed, lifting a shoulder. “Clearly you don’t know me very well if you don’t think I’ll follow through.”
Casually, he glanced around, checking to see who might be able to see them. Few people were braving the cold, none of whom seemed to be paying them any mind.
Quickly, so as to catch her off guard, he whisked her from the path and into a copse of weeping willows. Sliding his arm from beneath her fingers until he could clasp her hand in his, he slipped between the cascading branches of the largest tree, tugging her in behind him. The tree’s limbs flowed like a waterfall down to the earth, shielding them from both the elements and any prying eyes. Golden light filtered through the autumn leaves and shimmered in Beatrice’s widened eyes.
“Colin!” she gasped, covering her open mouth with her hand. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Putting your theory to the test.” He turned to face her fully, savoring the thrill of being well and truly alone with her. The feeling of being a little reckless, carefree even, was as intoxicating as the very best scotch. Just like the night they had met, she looked every bit the nymph in this light, as ethereal and beautiful as anything he’d ever seen.
He reached out and untied the ribbons of her bonnet, then gently pulled it away. She neither helped nor hindered; she merely watched him with the bemused expression of one unsure of what was happening, but unwilling to stop it.
Pulling his own hat off, he set them both on the ground before resituating himself directly in front of her, close enough to smell the slightest hint of lilac on the cold air. He soaked in the moment, savoring the growing desire that spread with every beat of his heart.
“There now,” he said, allowing a hint of challenge to lift the corners of his lips. “Make me work for what I want.”
Beatrice drew a short breath, taken aback by his command. Her heart, not yet recovered from their sudden dash, pounded that much harder at the seductive look in his eyes and the utter wickedness of being alone in a public place with him. For heaven’s sake, someone could walk right by them and not even know they were there.
She licked her lips, looking up into his eyes, the same dark color as the web of branches around them. “And what is it that you want?”
“I should hope you’d know the answer to that by now, sweet Beatrice.” He stepped closer still, his movements slow and deliberate. “I want nothing on earth so much as I want you.”
Her eyes fluttered closed at the pleasure of his words as she exhaled. Opening them to peer up at him once more, she said, “But you already have me.” Her voice was breathy, quiet.
“So you’re prepared to relent, just like that?” He was teasing her, not only with his words, but with his closeness, making it hard for her to think straight.
“Of course not,” she said, rallying. “I never give in.”
He clasped his hands behind him and walked in a small semicircle, coming to stand just behind her. He leaned forward until his mouth was close enough to her ear that she could feel the warmth of his breath. “Prove it,” he murmured, daring her to play along. “I want you to kiss me. Let me see if I can make that happen.”
She loved this side of him, when the mischievousness within him outweighed the practical. She nodded, pressing her eyes closed and concentrating on the warmth of his skin mere inches from hers. Every nerve in her body seemed attuned to him, waiting for the moment he would touch her.
Only he didn’t.
Instead, he slowly exhaled, stirring the fine hairs at her nape and sending hot air fanning across her neck. She shivered; she couldn’t help it, even as she knew it was exactly what he wanted.
He chuckled softly, knowing he affected her. Oh no, she wasn’t going to let him win that easily. Taking a deep breath, she straightened both her spine and her resolve, then tilted her head to the right, granting him better access. Challenging him.
It was madness, standing there beneath a tree in broad daylight, denying her betrothed the kiss she already wanted. The feelings he stirred within her, the heady rush of emotion and anticipation was at once so much better and far worse than simply giving in to her desire.
After a rustle of fabric behind her, she felt the warmth of his bare skin as he drew a finger down the length of her jaw. He was cheating, taking off his glove like that.
“Such beautiful skin. As pure as silk and twice as soft.” Now he was using his most effective weapon—that mesmerizing accent of his.
Colin let his fingertip trail down the column of her throat and along the edge of her cashmere shawl. He pulled away, and she almost protested until his hands found her waist and slowly, inexorably, pulled her to him. When she was oh so lightly pressed against his chest, he leaned down and nuzzled the sensitive skin just below her ear.
Good heavens, she could hardly breathe and he hadn’t even touched his lips to her yet.
“I love how perfectly petite you are. You fit against me as if we were molded for each other. See how well my hands fit your waist?”
Yes, she did. His touch was still feather light, though, and she longed to feel him embrace her solidly, pulling her against him.
When his lips finally touched her neck, she sucked in a lungful of air, squeezing her eyes shut against the need to turn to him, to give him her lips and have him kiss her properly. Each kiss seemed lighter than the one before, so soft he could have been trailing her finest paintbrush across her skin. Even so, she felt every one through her whole body, as if a thread wound from each spot, and each kiss, each pull of the thread made her fingers and toes curl.
It was the sweetest torture she could have ever imagined.
“I swear, a stór, you taste every bit as good as you smell.” His whispered words were as sweet as a caress, and she bit her lip against the need to turn around.