As if he could see her distress, he reached up to smooth the hair from her forehead, the touch gentle, his eyes darkening. “I’m thinking something else, too.”

“That you are hungry and should leave and hurry home?” she asked hopefully.

He chuckled. “No. Although the word ‘appetite’ did flicker through my mind.”

Her cheeks burned. “That’s quite enough, Mr. St. John.”

“Do you mean that?”

Kat wet her lips. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit she rather liked the feel of his hands on her waist.

As if he read her thoughts, he asked, “What is wrong with me holding you?”

She thought about this for a moment. Why couldn’t she just enjoy a man’s hands on her waist? She forced herself to relax the tiniest bit. “I suppose there is nothing wrong with it. I am just used to others telling me what is and isn’t proper.”

“Society is a capricious mistress.”

“She is vicious,” Kat said, remembering a time when she’d felt the full brunt of disapproval.

His hands tightened slightly and he pulled her closer, his face only inches from hers, his gaze intent. “Listen to me. When you and I are alone, there is no society. No Kilkairn. No Simon. Just Devon and Kat. Do you think you can remember that?”

There was sincerity in his gaze and something more. Kat bit her lip. “Mr. St. John, I have to ask you a question.”

He raised his brows.

“What are your intentions?”

He looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes searching. “For today?”

She nodded.

“For today, I plan on kissing you again, which is a realistic goal, I think. There is nothing wrong with a kiss between newly formed friends.”

“Friends?”

“Like us. Then, after today…” He shrugged, his eyes gleaming with humor. “That is up to you, though I must admit I hope that a kiss might eventually lead to other things.”

Kat blinked. “Well. You are certainly honest.”

“I didn’t think you’d accept anything less.”

She wouldn’t, of course. She just wasn’t used to having the truth tossed at her in such a bald way. In her experience, the truth was something elusive and hidden, something one had to ferret out on one’s own.

Perhaps there was more to Mr. Devon St. John than the other wastrels who had visited her brother. And he was right about one thing—there wasn’t anything wrong with a kiss between new friends. He’d already stated that he’d allow her to decide how far that kiss would go.

Besides—she stole a glance up at him through her lashes—perhaps another kiss would assuage her curiosity about Devon and break the tug of longing his presence sent through her. Even now, she was achingly aware of his hands on her hips, of his chest just inches from hers. “I suppose one kiss won’t hurt.”