She wanted to ask him why. No, she didn’t, because she was quite certain the answer would be something that would only melt whatever portion of her resolve still remained. But she wanted to…Oh, good Lord, she didn’t know what she wanted to do. Something. Anything. Anything that might remind them both that she was still in possession of a brain.

“Call it luck,” he said softly. “Or serendipity. But for whatever reason, I wish to kiss you…it’s very enjoyable.” He brought her hand to his lips. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

She nodded. However much she wanted to, she could not bring herself to lie.

His eyes seemed to darken, from azure to dusk. “I’m so glad we are in accord,” he murmured. He touched her chin, tipping her face up toward his. His mouth found hers, softly at first, teasing her lips open, waiting for her sigh before he swooped in, capturing her breath, her will, her very ability to form thoughts, except that…

This was different.

Truly, that was the only rational, fully-formed idea she could manage. She was lost in a sea of breathless sensation, driven by a need she barely understood, but all the while, she could feel this one thing inside—

This was different.

Whatever his purposes, whatever his intent, his kiss was not the same as the time before.

And she could not resist him.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Not when he’d found himself strong-armed into accompanying her on a stroll, not when they’d walked down the hill, out of sight of the house, and not even, really, when he’d mocked her with: Shall I kiss you again?

But then she’d made her mushy-blobby speech, and he couldn’t do anything but agree with her, and she looked so unexpectedly fetching, fighting her hair, which had completely escaped its coiffure, all the while staring him down—or, if not precisely doing that, at least standing her ground and defending her opinions in a way no one did with him. Except maybe Grace, and even then, only when no one else was present.

It was in that moment that he noticed her skin, pale and luminescent, with the most delightful sprinkle of freckles; and her eyes, not quite green, but not brown, either, lit with a fierce, if suppressed, intelligence.

And her lips. He very much noticed her lips. Full, and soft, and trembling so slightly that one would only notice if one stared.

Which he did. He couldn’t look away.

How was it he had never noticed her before? She’d always been there, a part of his life almost as long as he could remember.

And then—damn the reasons why, he wanted to kiss her. Not to control her, not to subdue her (although he wouldn’t mind either of those as an added boon), but just to kiss her.

To know her.