either. A small part of her had hoped he only looked youthful, that he was her age or maybe just a year or two younger.
But twenty-four! Lud, she was eight years his senior!
And a widow with a child.
"I appreciate your attentions," she repeated, omitting the Sir this time. "It's quite flattering under the circumstances—"
"And what circumstances might those be?"
She averted her gaze, but the yellow buttercups that dotted the riverbank looked entirely too cheerful. "I'm nearly a decade older than you."
"A slight exaggeration," he said. "And you've lived your entire life here in Cainewood. I reckon I've seen more of the world."
"What does that have to do with—"
"I assure you, Clarice, the difference in our ages doesn't matter."
For the first time, she sensed an impatience in him that should have frightened her, given her background. But for some odd reason, it didn't. Or not much.
She drew herself up. "How about my feelings, sir? Do they matter?"
"Of course your feelings matter." Leaning near, he captured her gaze with his. "But maybe you'll find that I can change them."
He was close, so close. Too close. She couldn't breathe. With a straight face, this man—this baronet—was flirting with her.
It was insane.
And even more insane, part of her wished he was serious.
Her heart fluttered as it hadn't since her all-too-short youth. Evidently the fairytale hadn't ended yet. But it would, and then she would fall back to Earth, hurt again by a man.
Because that was what men did to women.
Somehow, she managed to find air. "You cannot just wish my feelings different—"
He silenced her with a kiss that stole her breath again, along with her words. A sweet brush of his mouth that weakened her knees with its tenderness. When he pulled back, she stared at him, silent.
His eyes darkened with concern. "Is something amiss?"
"Your lips are soft," she murmured. She'd never known a man's lips could be soft. Her husband's sure hadn't been.
Cameron's gentle smile warmed her. "So are yours."
"But—"
"Hush." His mouth touched hers again, more insistent this time. His arms slid around to pull her close, and she scooted along the bench until her body was pressed tightly to his. On their own, it seemed, her hands crept up and stole around his neck, meshing themselves in the silky-softness of his shoulder-length hair.
She was lost in a whirl of sensation. As his lips moved over hers, she abandoned herself to the feeling. So strange, so thrilling, so wondrous…
So improper.
She pulled away, glancing about, relieved to find they'd drifted far enough downstream that no one else was in sight. "I—"
"Hush," he said again, grabbing her back to him and pressing his forehead against hers.
She stared into his eyes, so very close to hers, sensing in their depths an earnestness and an honesty she'd never before seen in any man. But it was only because he was so young. He hadn't experienced the way life could bruise and batter, not just the body but also the spirit.
"You liked that," he said, his tone leaving no space for her to argue. "So why are you trying to escape?"
"I'm not." She tried to shake her head, but only succeeded in rubbing noses. Lud, even that felt good. "I just…I only…well, you surprised me, is all."
"I want to take you home with me, Clarice Bradford. I told you so yesterday."
"You were jesting," she breathed, trying not to hope he hadn't been.
His lips grazed hers again, and she closed her eyes, then released a little whimper when he deprived her of their warm caress.
A low laugh escaped his throat. "Aye, you like it. And I'm not so sure I was jesting."
Before she could react to that, his mouth met hers once more, with a fiery possession that sent the blood racing through her veins. When his lips coaxed hers apart, she was helpless to resist. His tongue swept inside, hot and emphatic, yet still gentle in his way. She paused in shock and then tentatively reached her own to touch it, reveling in the new
But twenty-four! Lud, she was eight years his senior!
And a widow with a child.
"I appreciate your attentions," she repeated, omitting the Sir this time. "It's quite flattering under the circumstances—"
"And what circumstances might those be?"
She averted her gaze, but the yellow buttercups that dotted the riverbank looked entirely too cheerful. "I'm nearly a decade older than you."
"A slight exaggeration," he said. "And you've lived your entire life here in Cainewood. I reckon I've seen more of the world."
"What does that have to do with—"
"I assure you, Clarice, the difference in our ages doesn't matter."
For the first time, she sensed an impatience in him that should have frightened her, given her background. But for some odd reason, it didn't. Or not much.
She drew herself up. "How about my feelings, sir? Do they matter?"
"Of course your feelings matter." Leaning near, he captured her gaze with his. "But maybe you'll find that I can change them."
He was close, so close. Too close. She couldn't breathe. With a straight face, this man—this baronet—was flirting with her.
It was insane.
And even more insane, part of her wished he was serious.
Her heart fluttered as it hadn't since her all-too-short youth. Evidently the fairytale hadn't ended yet. But it would, and then she would fall back to Earth, hurt again by a man.
Because that was what men did to women.
Somehow, she managed to find air. "You cannot just wish my feelings different—"
He silenced her with a kiss that stole her breath again, along with her words. A sweet brush of his mouth that weakened her knees with its tenderness. When he pulled back, she stared at him, silent.
His eyes darkened with concern. "Is something amiss?"
"Your lips are soft," she murmured. She'd never known a man's lips could be soft. Her husband's sure hadn't been.
Cameron's gentle smile warmed her. "So are yours."
"But—"
"Hush." His mouth touched hers again, more insistent this time. His arms slid around to pull her close, and she scooted along the bench until her body was pressed tightly to his. On their own, it seemed, her hands crept up and stole around his neck, meshing themselves in the silky-softness of his shoulder-length hair.
She was lost in a whirl of sensation. As his lips moved over hers, she abandoned herself to the feeling. So strange, so thrilling, so wondrous…
So improper.
She pulled away, glancing about, relieved to find they'd drifted far enough downstream that no one else was in sight. "I—"
"Hush," he said again, grabbing her back to him and pressing his forehead against hers.
She stared into his eyes, so very close to hers, sensing in their depths an earnestness and an honesty she'd never before seen in any man. But it was only because he was so young. He hadn't experienced the way life could bruise and batter, not just the body but also the spirit.
"You liked that," he said, his tone leaving no space for her to argue. "So why are you trying to escape?"
"I'm not." She tried to shake her head, but only succeeded in rubbing noses. Lud, even that felt good. "I just…I only…well, you surprised me, is all."
"I want to take you home with me, Clarice Bradford. I told you so yesterday."
"You were jesting," she breathed, trying not to hope he hadn't been.
His lips grazed hers again, and she closed her eyes, then released a little whimper when he deprived her of their warm caress.
A low laugh escaped his throat. "Aye, you like it. And I'm not so sure I was jesting."
Before she could react to that, his mouth met hers once more, with a fiery possession that sent the blood racing through her veins. When his lips coaxed hers apart, she was helpless to resist. His tongue swept inside, hot and emphatic, yet still gentle in his way. She paused in shock and then tentatively reached her own to touch it, reveling in the new
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