Again the Magic (Wallflowers 0.5)(2)

“I assumed that you had changed your plans—since you seem to prefer someone else’s company to mine.” As Aline read the confusion in his expression, her mouth twisted impatiently. “I saw you in the village this morning, when my sister and I went to the milliner’s.”

McKenna responded with a cautious nod, recalling that he had been sent to the cobbler’s by the stable master, to deliver some boots that needed repair. But why the hell would that have offended Aline so?

“Oh, don’t be such a dunderhead,” Aline exclaimed. “I saw you with one of the village girls, McKenna. You kissed her. Right there in the street, for the whole world to see!”

His brow cleared instantly. So he had. His companion had been Mary, the butcher’s daughter. McKenna had flirted with her this morning, as he did with most of the girls he knew, and Mary had teased him about something or another until he had laughed and stolen a kiss from her. It had meant nothing to him or to Mary, and he had promptly put the whole incident out of his mind.

So that was the source of Aline’s irritation—jealousy. McKenna tried to hold back his pleasure at the discovery, but it gathered in a sweet, heavy mass in his chest. Hell. He shook his head ruefully, wondering how to remind her of what she already knew—that a daughter of the peerage shouldn’t give a damn about what he did.

“Aline,” he protested, half lifting his hands to touch her, then snatching them back. “What I do with other girls has nothing to do with us. You and I are friends. We would never…you’re not the kind I…damn, there’s no need for me to explain the obvious!”

Aline looked at him in a way she never had before, her brown eyes filled with an intensity that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. “What if I were a village girl?” she asked. “Would you do the same thing with me?”

It was the first time that McKenna had ever been tongue-tied. He had a knack for knowing what people wanted to hear, and he usually found it to his advantage to oblige them. His easy charm had stood him in good stead, whether it was to wheedle a cross bun from the baker’s wife, or to get himself out of trouble with the stable master. But as for Aline’s question…there was infinite danger in saying either yes or no.

Silently McKenna groped for some half truth that would pacify her. “I don’t think of you that way,” he finally said, forcing himself to meet her gaze without blinking.

“Other boys do.” At his blank look, Aline continued evenly, “Last week when the Harewoods visited, their son William cornered me by the ironstone wall at the bluff and tried to kiss me.”

“That arrogant little snot!” McKenna said in instant fury, recalling the stocky, freckle-faced boy who had made no effort to conceal his fascination with Aline. “I’m going to tear his head off the next time I see him. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He’s not the only one who’s tried,” Aline said, deliberately adding fuel to the flame. “Not long ago my cousin Elliot dared me to play a kissing game with him—”

She broke off with a slight gasp as McKenna reached out and seized her.

“Damn your cousin Elliot,” he said roughly. “Damn all of them.”

It was a mistake to touch her. The feel of her arms, so supple and warm beneath his fingers, made his insides tighten into knots. He needed to touch more of her, needed to bend closer and fill his nostrils with the smell of her…the soapy scent of just-washed skin, the hint of rose water, the intimate waft of her breath. Every instinct clamored for him to pull her closer and set his mouth on the velvety curve where her neck met her shoulder. Instead he forced himself to release her, his hands remaining suspended in midair. It was difficult to move, to breathe, to think clearly.

“I haven’t let anyone kiss me,” Aline said. “I want you—only you.” A rueful note entered her voice. “But at this rate, I’ll be ninety years old before you ever try.”

McKenna was unable to conceal his wretched longing as he stared at her. “No. It would change everything, and I can’t let that happen.”

Carefully Aline reached up to touch his cheek with the tips of her fingers. Her hand was almost more familiar to McKenna than his own. He knew where every tiny scar and nick had come from. In childhood her hand had been chubby and often grimy. Now her hand was slender and white, the nails neatly manicured. The temptation to turn his mouth into her soft palm was excruciating. Instead McKenna steeled himself to ignore the stroke of her fingers against his jaw.

“I’ve noticed the way you’ve looked at me lately,” Aline said, a flush rising in her pale face. “I know your thoughts, just as you know mine. And with everything I feel for you, and everything you are to me…can’t I have at least one moment of…of…” She struggled to find the right word. “Illusion?”

“No,” he said gruffly. “Because soon the illusion would end, and we’d both be worse off than before.”

“Would we?” Aline bit her lip and looked away, her fists clenching as if she could physically knock away the unpleasant truth that hung so insistently between them.

“I would die before I ever hurt you,” McKenna said grimly. “And if I let myself kiss you once, there would be another time, and another, and soon there would be no stopping place.”

“You don’t know—” Aline began to argue.