A Kiss For Midwinter (Brothers Sinister #1.5)(32)

Her eyes met his. He wasn’t sure how long she’d known, at what point in the story she had figured out the truth. Hell, when he started talking, he hadn’t been sure if she knew at all. His father might have made it plain in their conversation, before Jonas came up with the tea things.

She took a step toward him. “His name is Lucas…Grantham?”

A single, short nod.

“You didn’t tell me you were taking me to see your father.”

“No.” He looked away. “I didn’t. I told him I was bringing you to see him, though.” He smiled. “He gave you his lard-and-rice receipt, which is proof positive that he likes you. He only mentions that to people he approves of. And don’t worry about the sugar in your tea. He hates when I take sugar, too.”

It was all babble. He couldn’t look away from her. She was standing in front of him, looking up at him.

“You want me to tell you what I think of you.” She took another step toward him.

“I wanted to spend time with you, to convince you I wasn’t the ogre you feared.” He looked away. “Little did I know that over the course of these last days, I’d learn more of you, too. That you were brave. That beneath your laughter and your cheer, there lies a solid measure of good sense.” He swallowed. He was babbling still. “You make me happy. And what I most keenly want to know is… Do you think I could ever do the same for you?”

She put her finger on his lips. “Jonas.”

His Christian name sounded awkward on her lips. It was the first time he’d heard her say it. The smell of pine was strong. He couldn’t look away from her. She set her hands on his arms—the curls that hung at her cheeks brushed his jaw. She stood so close, he could almost taste her. She stepped closer still. Jonas bent to her, tasting the sweetness of her breath. Her lips were dizzyingly close. And then…

She kissed him.

Oh, God. For one moment, he was riveted in place by that single, solitary point of contact. Her lips on his—how long had he envisioned this moment? Long enough that he let his eyes flutter shut, let himself fall into the feel of it. That light caress, the brush of her lips against his…

He’d have called it bittersweet, but all the sweetness came from her, the bitterness from him. Her kiss didn’t sweep away the dark anguish he felt in his heart. Instead, it embraced it. It acknowledged it. This is real, her kiss said, your hurt is real. It is real and important. So let me share it with you.

It was a kiss like dark chocolate, a heady mix of cacao and sugar, each ingredient imperfect on its own, but breathtaking when mixed together. And when he tasted her, when he nipped at her lips and she opened up to him, she was sweet and tart, like cherries in brandy.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her more deeply. “Lydia.” Her name was perfect on his lips, perfect whispered against hers.

And God, she knew how to kiss. A man could fall into a kiss like this and never want to leave. Her body molded itself to his, giving up all its secrets. The warm flush of her chest as she slid more deeply into sexual arousal; the perk of her ni**les, felt only dimly through the layers of fabric between them. Her hips pressed against his, acknowledging his growing arousal with her own.

He’d wanted a kiss for midwinter. But secretly, he’d wished for this—that she might not only see him, but like him. Maybe love him.

“Jonas,” she whispered, opening up for him. He leaned forward and set his hands on the rough plaster to either side of her head. Pine needles tickled his legs, but none of it mattered. He couldn’t have been more comfortable in a feather bed surrounded by pillows than he was at this moment.

He wasn’t sure when her hands started roaming, when his own moved in response. He only knew that it seemed right to bring his hand to her ribs. He could feel the shape of her corset, the boning, the grommets and laces hidden behind fabric and ribbons. The thick fabric of her undergarment nestled just under her br**sts, leaving the shape of her bosom for his exploration. He ran his thumbs along her ni**les, until her breath came in gasps, until they hardened to aroused peaks under his touch.

She was so responsive, so passionate. As much as he’d ever imagined, pressing against him, opening her mouth to him, meeting his tongue stroke for stroke.

“Lydia,” he said. “Lydia, darling.”

On those words her eyes opened. They opened wide. Her breath stuttered out from her in little white puffs. How could it be so cold when he felt so warm?

He struggled for the words to give her.

She pulled away. “No.” But he wasn’t even sure she was talking to him. “No.” She took two steps back.

He felt pole-axed with his own lust.

“Don’t tell me this is normal,” she said. “It isn’t. It isn’t.”

“Lydia.”

She didn’t look at him. Her lips were pressed together.

“Lydia,” he said. “I want to marry you. I want to have you by my side forever. I know it’s far too soon to ask. But, Lydia, darling—”

“Don’t call me that.” Her voice was shaking. “I don’t want to hear it. Not ever again.” She put her hands to her head. “Oh, God,” she said. “Look at me. Just look at me.”

He couldn’t take his eyes from her. Even with the tree glistening with new ornaments, she was the most lovely thing around, her lips still pink from their kiss.