Page 24 of Hers By Summer’s End

“There’s no need⁠—”

“There is.” Her chin lifted, and her hands launched into the air to aid her explanation. He'd always loved that she argued with her whole body, as though her voice alone wasn’t enough to express the passion inside. “It was foolish of me to follow you here. Then to top it all off, I threw myself into your arms and bit you instead of kissing like a normal person!”

His mouth went dry.

“Cecelia, wait.” He caught her hands in his. “I thought you stopped because I was doing such a poor job at kissing.” Her eyes widened, and he added in exasperation, “I stood there like a numbskull! I wanted to touch you so badly, but I was afraid I’d muss your shirtwaist with my rough hands. I was so busy convincing myself not to toss you over my shoulder, race to my bedroom, and fu⁠—”

He stopped. Cleared his throat awkwardly.

Jesus Christ.

“Mr. Sutton,” she murmured, her voice dropping into unmistakable amusement. “You are positively lascivious.”

“I am when it comes to you.” He spoke slowly, clearly, unmistakably. He was done pretending Cecelia didn’t undo him. “Always have been, always will be.”

“So I’m beginning to understand.” She took one step toward him, the teasing in her expression melting into something more fervent. “I was nervous.”

He answered with a careful step of his own. “So was I.”

“I haven’t kissed anyone in years. And I haven’t…anything else.”

His heart stumbled over the sweet, vulnerable admission. “I haven’t touched a woman since I met you.”

“But that was three years ago!” Wonder spread across her face, and she drifted another inch closer until only the width of a hand separated them. “Then the sound you made wasn’t a grunt of distaste but…”

“A desperate, carnal moan,” he confirmed.

He couldn't resist any longer. His arm slid around her waist, still half expecting her to pull away. She didn't. Instead, rich, delighted laughter bubbled from her, shaking her shoulders. Every featherlight brush of her bodice against his coat made his pulse pound harder, his body tighten more. Gradually, her laughter faded. She raised a hand and rested it over his thudding heart.

“So.” The word floated between them. “Shall we try again?”

God, he fucking loved her.

“Immediately.” He scanned the greenhouse. “Though perhaps we’d better move somewhere less exposed, in case Granddad wakes early with a guilty conscience.”

“I agree, especially since I plan to kiss you senseless.”

His grip tightened on her waist, digging into the soft cotton lawn before he remembered himself. He loosened his hold only to clutch her hand in his, unwilling to let her go for even a moment.

“Wait,” she said.

He went still. For one terrible second, denial roared through his body as she tugged her hand free. But she only removed her bowler and tossed it onto the bench behind her without so much as a glance. Her gloves joined the hat. She took his hand again, her warm, calloused fingers sliding between his.

“Now I’m ready.”

He led her down the soil-scattered brick path to the rear of the greenhouse where it was coolest, the burlap shade drawn overhead to protect his autumn seedlings from the summer sun. At his worktable, a jumble of seed packets, twine, and half-finished notes on his cactus dahlias covered the surface. He braced his forearm on the weathered pine and swept everything to the ground.

“Heavens,” Cecelia breathed. “Who knew making a mess could be so terribly arousing?”

He caught her by the hip, turned her, and settled her against the edge of the table before crowding into the space between her knees. He grunted with satisfaction.

“Now you know how I feel every time I'm around you.” He planted his hands on either side of her, caging her in. “Walk past me with your nose in the air? I'm aroused. Argue with me over the best fertilizer? I'm aroused. Finally allow me close enough to learn your scent?” He burrowed his nose in the nook behind her ear and inhaled deeply, his senses flooded with fresh earth, lavender, and clean linen. “Goddamn, I’m aroused.

She laughed breathlessly, her fingers clutching his forearms. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not.” He rocked forward, letting her feel the evidence of his arousal. Her quick, indrawn breath made him stiffen more. “Feel that? I’m already hard for you.”

“Time to kiss me,” she gasped.