Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away. They should have had that. They should have had that instead of this broken, shattered version of a night. She should have been coming home in a rapture over her first kiss instead of struggling to swim through the waves of guilt. Her voice, no louder than his, was stained with that yearning. “I may have been convinced to accept.”

The fingers of his other hand skimmed her cheek. He’d taken off his gloves at some point. She’d scarcely worn hers all evening, as she found it difficult to operate her camera with them on, and the feel of his fingertips on her skin sent a frisson of unexpected wanting through her. That touch bade her turn her face toward his. Her breath lost to her, she obeyed.

He was so close already, to whisper in her ear as he’d done. Just that small turn had his nose brushing her cheek, and somehow he made it feel like an intentional caress rather than an accident. Though she couldn’t see much of anything, she could sense his lips all but touching hers. Almost, nearly. But hovering there just out of reach.

How could that moment of him not kissing her be so delicious? Something about the closeness, the near touch, the feel of his breath feathering over her lips . . . She pulled air slowly into her lungs, relishing it. Aware of his every heartbeat in the darkness. Or perhaps it was just her own. Maybe they’d synchronized.

Then . . . then it seemed the air warmed between them, and it took her a moment to realize it was because his lips had taken the place of oxygen. They swept slowly over hers, as gently as his fingers had swept over her cheek. Stilled. Savored. And then the air was back, barely squeezing between them.

Her breath shuddered out. She wanted to lean over, invite another perfect touch of his lips. And she might have, had the car not been slowing to a halt. She blinked into the darkness, vaguely aware that the roofline visible in the moonlight outside the window was the familiar one of Curzon Street.

The hand on her cheek eased away with one last caress, the hand holding hers tightened around her fingers. She felt the space between them grow, returning to what was proper as the chauffeur exited the front of the car and came around to open their door. “Shall I carry your cameras?”

Hearing his voice at a normal level made her blink. Pulled her forcibly back into the real world, the one with other people’s weddings and air raids and families slumped on sidewalks because of her.