“It wouldn’t have been the same,” he heard himself say.

She blinked. “I beg your pardon.”

“If you had kissed someone else.” He stepped toward her, unable to ignore the way his blood buzzed with anticipation. “It would not have been the same.”

“Well . . .” She looked flustered, delightfully so. “I would expect not,” she finally said. “I mean . . . different people . . .”

“Very different,” he agreed.

Her mouth opened, and several seconds passed before words emerged. “I’m not sure to whom you’re comparing yourself.”

“Anyone.” He moved even closer. “Everyone.”

“George?” Her eyes were huge, but she wasn’t saying no.

“Do you want me to kiss you again?” he asked.

“Of course not.” But she said it too quickly.

“Are you sure of that?”

She swallowed. “It would be a very bad idea.”

“Very much so,” he said softly.

“So we . . . shouldn’t?”

He touched her cheek, and this time he whispered it. “Do you want me to kiss you again?”

She moved . . . a little. He couldn’t tell whether she was shaking her head yes or no. He had a feeling she didn’t know, either.

“Billie?” he murmured, coming close enough so that his breath whispered across her skin.

Her breath hitched, and she said, “I said I wouldn’t marry you.”

“You did.”

“Well, I said you didn’t have to marry me.”

He nodded.

“That would still be true.”

“If I kissed you again?”

She nodded.

“So this means nothing?”

“No . . .”

Something warm and lovely unfurled in his chest. This could never mean nothing. And she knew it.

“It just means . . .” She swallowed, her lips trembling as they pressed together. “. . . that there are no consequences.”

He brushed his lips against her cheek. “No consequences,” he softly repeated.

“None.”

“I could kiss you again . . .” His hand stole around to the small of her back, but he exerted only the barest of pressure. She could step away at any moment. She could remove herself from his embrace, cross the room, and leave. He needed her to know this. He needed to know that she knew this. There would be no recriminations, no telling herself that she had been swept away by his passion.

If she was swept away by passion, it would be her own.

His lips touched her ear. “I could kiss you again,” he repeated.

She gave a little nod. A tiny nod. But he felt it. “Again,” she whispered.

His teeth found her earlobe, gently nipping. “And again.”

“I think—”

“What do you think?” He smiled against her skin. He couldn’t quite believe how utterly delightful this was. He’d known kisses of passion, of raw, primal hunger and overwhelming lust. This was all that, but there was something more.

Something joyful.

“I think . . .” She swallowed. “I think you should kiss me again.” She looked up, her eyes remarkably clear. “And I think you should shut the door.”