“Yes. She must have deeply rooted insecurities of her own to be unable to understand that. To be unable to admire you for you. To admire how far you’ve come.”

Flynn blinked at Charlotte’s back. He’d never considered it like that. “Well, she has an Italian count who claims to be an aspiring artist in her bed now to distract her,” he said, and then winced at his crudeness.

“Her loss,” Charlotte said, gazing up at the stars that were still only chalked suggestions amid the blue heavens.

Flynn scoffed. “Did you not hear me? I said she has an Italian count—”

“Who isn’t you. She’s an idiot.”

Flynn froze. She was still facing away from him, and he couldn’t see her face. Couldn’t tell if she was simply trying to make him feel better or if she meant more. Afraid that he was making a horrible mistake, he closed the distance between them, coming to stand directly behind her, giving her a chance to move away.

She didn’t.

Very gently, he put a hand at the small of her back, again giving her a chance to step away from him. Still, she didn’t move, but he could see the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders beneath her baggy shirt. “What are you doing?” she asked so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

“I have no idea,” he answered. Gently, he tugged her around so that he could see her face. She was staring at the toes of her stockinged feet, the wool bunched around her ankles. “Look at me,” he said.

She kept her eyes on her toes for a moment longer before she lifted her gaze to his. In an instant, Flynn saw the want reflected in her eyes. It sizzled through him, leaving him unable to remember why this couldn’t happen. His eyes dropped to her lips, tantalizingly close to his. He imagined that they would be just as soft and warm as her skin. If he moved, simply leaned forward, he could find out. He could taste those lips, and when he had his fill of that, he would taste everything else.

It was Charlotte who moved then, her right hand coming up as if to caress his face. Her fingers stopped a breath away from his cheek, and he nearly came out of his skin, so badly did he need her touch. Without considering what he was doing, he turned his head, pressing the side of his jaw into her palm. Her breathing stuttered, and her fingers slid up over his cheek and higher, to smooth the edge of his brow.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I first saw you,” she whispered. “When you were burdened by so much unhappiness.”

“You should have,” he croaked.

The corner of her mouth curled. “That might have been…presumptuous.”