Alice’s fingers began to move, shifting gingerly, testing the structure of his hand. Learning the shape of his bones. Not teasing so much as exploring, her gaze locked on where they were joined. She brushed the dark hairs on his knuckles. Examined his fingernails and studied his palm. Her soft touch and blossoming curiosity had his pulse picking up. He was more the participating type, so letting her take the lead was strangely thrilling.

He had no idea what she would do next.

Her thumb ran over the vein on the back of his hand. “You don’t wear gloves much, do you?”

“Hmm? Oh, gloves. Hate the blasted things.”

She traced along his index finger, lingering on his knuckle and causing him to shiver. She said, “Your fingers are long and thin. Most men have thick fingers.”

Her exploration grew more specific. After cataloguing each finger and fingertip, she caressed the lines embedded in his palm. They both watched her progress, their heads bent close together. The breeze carried her scent into his nostrils and she smelled like vanilla and a hint of orange. Heat unfurled in his chest and slid south, toward his groin. He imagined licking her neck, then lower, between her breasts . . .

Pull yourself together, Christopher.

He absolutely could not return to the tent with an erection.

“I hadn’t thought your skin would be so rough,” she said as if this were a great discovery. “Is it because you don’t wear gloves?”

“Probably,” he croaked, the word scraping over his dry throat.

Sighing, she threaded their fingers together snugly, her delicate hand finally flush with his. He hadn’t moved or offered up any instruction whatsoever, but it felt like the sweetest victory.

“Strange,” she said, still staring at their hands.

“What is strange?”

“You were right. I was scared of touching your hand. And now I’m not.” She gave a light, surprised laugh. “It’s astounding.”

He cleared his throat and tried to sound matter-of-fact. “Good. We should head back to the tent.”

“Oh, of course.” She pulled away and shook her head. “I lost track of the time.”

As did I.

In moments, he returned her gloves and buttoned them for her. After picking up their eggs, he led them back to the tent. Kit tried to think logically about what happened, that it was nothing more than a few simple swipes of her fingers over his skin. After all, women had touched him far more intimately than that nearly every day for the last eight years. He should be inured to it by now.

But he wasn’t. He’d wanted Alice to keep going, which was dangerous. If this was to work, he had to remember his role, that he was preparing her for another man—not seducing her himself. Give her some advice, help build her confidence, get Franconi’s recipes and move on. That was it.

“Did that bother you?” she asked in a tight voice.