Stars (Wendy Darling #1)(8)

Wendy was trying not to smile now, as she watched Booth, always so collected, tie himself into knots.

“Of course, if you reject this proposal, I will absolutely understand, for God knows that there are some holes that could possibly arise in each projected outcome, but in each plan, if one depends on . . .” Finally, his blue eyes met Wendy’s. “Oh, Wendy, I’m sorry. I haven’t even asked you if you feel, if you share . . .”

Wendy looked at the ground for a moment before raising her eyes to meet his, family and class long forgotten.

“Booth.” She struggled to find the right words. Finally, she let a smile creep across her face. “I feel . . . yes.”

Booth crossed the room in a few steps and knelt in front of her. “Oh, Wendy, my darling . . .” He reached for her hands. She extended them toward him and he grasped them gently, her fingers curling into his, the exact same way they had six years ago, when they had just been children together. Moving very slowly, he began to peel the glove off her left hand first.

“Wendy, the way I feel about you, it’s pure, you must know. I’m not talking about having a secret affair in my attic. I’m talking about a proper, public courtship, because if I may confess, my feelings for you have been suppressed for years, and I refuse to waste those years trying to hide what we’ve known for certain.”

Wendy was having a hard time breathing as Booth pulled the white glove from her hand.

“You must know . . .” he murmured. “That you are a beauty divine, and though the lines of your face have driven this man to madness, that I love you most for what lies inside of you, for you are a good soul, Wendy, a loving sister and kind friend, and you have a wondrous mind.”

“Booth.”

“Shhh . . .” With that murmur, he bent his head and gave her the softest of kisses on her open palm. It was as if her skin had been set on fire. Desire raced through her palm and through her body, so taking her by surprise that she practically leapt up and out of the chair. Booth stepped backward.

“Wendy! Dear, have I offended you? That was too forward. I should have known, I’m sorry. Here, I will help you put your glove back on. I have been presumptuous and improper.”

He didn’t have a chance to finish, because Wendy stepped up in front of him, her heart hammering. The glove fell to the floor. Booth, never a person comfortable with silence, went still, his blue eyes widening as her face came closer to his. Wendy looked at his face, so close now. Then she raised her ungloved hand and traced her fingers over the places that she had so longed to touch, longed to touch for years, her desire unleashed with the kiss of her hand. Her fingertips ran over his lips, over his stubbly cheeks, over the small scar that dotted the side of his mouth, the result of a fall from a bookshelf two years ago. She touched his long black eyelashes, his strong Roman nose, traced his jaw to the curve of his neck. This boy that she knew so well, as close to her heart as her own family, was now a man, and with each beat of her heart, Wendy found herself pulling more and more away from her childhood. Finally, her hand found a place on his shoulder, and she raised her eyes to meet his.

He looked down at her face with amazement before murmuring, “Wendy.” He lowered his lips to hers and with a brush as soft as a feather, dashed them against her own.

It was her first kiss, and he tasted of whipping cream and books.

She sighed.

Booth pulled back from her, his eyes wide with shock, his cheeks flushed.

“Wendy . . . I . . .” She stepped back from him, raising both hands to her face. She was suddenly so ashamed. What if he hadn’t wanted to kiss her? What if his opinion of her had suddenly changed? What if he thought she was of loose moral character? What—

Booth pulled her close and pressed his lips against hers for the second time. They fell hard against the bookshelf behind Wendy, and a shower of loose notebooks fell around them. His lips traced the corners of her mouth.

“My light soul . . .”

With each kiss, Wendy was falling deeper into him, realizing that she would never again be able to live without his touch. She traced her fingers through his messy hair, and he smiled, tugging carefully on the light blue ribbon in her hair.

“We mustn’t go much further, otherwise, I’m not sure . . .”

“We couldn’t stop,” Wendy whispered.

“Exactly.” Booth turned away from her then and sat on the corner of his bed, pushing aside a pile of clean laundry to make room for her beside him. They both sat in silence for a moment, Booth wrapping his hand around her own.

“What do we do now?” she asked. Booth squinted in the dusty attic, his eyes trained on the ceiling. She could see that he was thinking, calculating.

“We should tell your parents that I would like to court you.”

Wendy shook her head. “No. Booth, they will never let us be together.”

“What other option do we have?”

She struggled to find a solution that wouldn’t involve her mother screaming and wailing, tugging at her own hair until Wendy acquiesced. She suddenly saw herself climbing into a black carriage, a suitcase at her side.

“Booth, they would send me away. To a boarding school. We can’t tell them. Even John said that they never would allow it.”

“John knows?”

She turned her head away from him. “John knows everything.”