Her fingers roamed higher, moving to his jaw. Her touch was like fire, shooting heat through his veins. When she skimmed his lips, he couldn’t stop himself—he captured her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingertips.

Her eyes flew open, flashing with confusion. Then, as she took in her position against him, she began to scoot away. He snaked his other arm underneath her, gently catching and kissing her fingers again.

As her gaze connected with his, the embarrassment faded, and she grew motionless, no doubt seeing the desire written in his eyes. He was certain of it when her lashes lowered and a flush rose into her cheeks.

The heat from his veins pooled in his gut. What would she say if he bent in and kissed her? Would she allow it? She hadn’t resisted the last time, and he reckoned she wouldn’t push him away now either. She was the kind of woman who expected to satisfy her husband’s needs and bear him children without thought to herself.

He shifted his kiss to the thudding pulse in her wrist. Her lashes lifted to reveal curiosity and shyness. She’d accept him. He could sense it. All he had to do was bend in and kiss her.

His body tensed at the very thought of the pleasures that awaited him in her arms. And yet, even as he longed for her, he wouldn’t use her. He’d told her three months, and as sure-as-crows-fly he wouldn’t break his word. Besides, if and when they shared more intimacies, he wanted her to welcome his touch and invite him in to her arms. Not just endure it.

“Did you love Thomas?” he whispered, not sure why he couldn’t be satisfied with her answer from earlier. But once the question was out, he was keenly aware that he needed to know how she’d felt about her fiancé.

As though sensing his need, she searched his face. “Yes, I loved him. . . .”

Jealousy cut a quick path through him. He released her and pushed himself up with the sudden need to wrangle something.

She scrambled to sit, positioning herself next to him but thankfully not touching him. He wasn’t sure he could handle the merest contact without giving in to the need to gather her in his arms and kiss her until she forgot all about her former love.

From the corner of his vision, he could see her draw her knees up and wrap her arms around her skirt. Her hair still hung loose in beautiful swirling waves, waves that called to him.

He forced himself to stare straight ahead.

“I loved him,” she said again.

“I only needed to hear it once—”

“Just as a friend.”

“Just a friend?” His heartbeat stumbled. “Then you never—you weren’t—together?”

“Wyatt!” she hissed, slapping his arm lightly and glancing at Astrid, who was still asleep. “We never even kissed.”