Secrets of a Summer Night (Wallflowers #1)(51)

The realization caused her eyes to widen. Her sudden stillness communicated swiftly to Hunt. His attention swerved from the chessboard to her upturned face, and whatever he saw in her expression caused his breath to catch. Neither of them moved. Annabelle could only wait in silence, her fingertips curling into the upholstery of the settee as she wondered what he might do next.

Hunt broke the tension with a long breath, and spoke in a softly abraded voice. “No…you’re not well enough yet.”

It was difficult to hear the words above the thunder of her heartbeat. “Wh-what?” she asked faintly.

Seeming unable to help himself, Hunt brushed a little curling wisp of hair back from her temple. The stroking fingertip burned her silken skin, leaving a glow of sensation in its wake. “I know what you’re thinking. And believe me, I’m tempted. But you’re still too weak—and my self-control is in short supply today.”

“If you’re implying that I—”

“I never waste time with implications,” he murmured, resuming his careful placement of the chess pieces. “Obviously, you want me to kiss you. And I’ll be happy to oblige, when the time is right. But not yet.”

“Mr. Hunt, you are the most—”

“Yes, I know,” he said with a grin. “You may as well spare yourself the effort of hurling adjectives at me, as I’ve heard them all before.” Lowering himself to the chair, Hunt pressed a chess piece into her palm. The carved onyx was heavy and cool, its slick surface warming slowly to the touch.

“It’s not adjectives that I want to hurl at you,” Annabelle said. “A sharp object or two would suffice.”

A deep laugh stirred in his chest, and his thumb brushed over the backs of her fingers before he withdrew his hand. She felt the rasp of a callus on his thumb, the sensation not unlike the tingling scrape of a cat’s tongue. Bemused by her own response to him, Annabelle looked down at the chess piece in her hand.

“That is the queen—the most powerful piece on the board. She can move in any direction, and go as far as she wishes.”

There was nothing overtly suggestive in his manner of speaking…but when he spoke softly, as he was doing at that moment, there was a husky depth in his voice that made her toes curl inside her slippers.

“More powerful than the king?” she asked.

“Yes. The king can only move one square at a time. But the king is the most important piece.”

“Why is he more important than the queen if he’s not the most powerful?”

“Because once he is captured, the game is over.” Reaching for the piece he had given her, Hunt exchanged it for a pawn. His fingers brushed over hers, lingering in a brief but unmistakable caress. Although Annabelle knew that she should disallow the outrageous familiarity, she found herself watching in a near daze, her knuckles whitening as she held the carved ivory in far too tight a grip. Hunt’s voice was low and velvety as he continued. “This is the pawn, which moves one square at a time. It can’t move backward or sideways, unless it is taking another piece. Most novice players like to move a lot of their pawns in the beginning, to control a larger area on the chessboard. But it’s a better strategy to make good use of your other pieces…”

As Hunt continued to explain each chess piece and its uses, he pressed them into her palm one at a time. Annabelle was mesmerized by the hypnotic brushes of his hands, her senses lilting in anticipation. Her usual defenses seemed to have been pulverized like grain beneath a mill wheel. Something had happened to her, or Hunt, or perhaps to both of them, allowing them to interact with an ease that had not existed before. She did not want to invite him closer…nothing good could possibly come of it…and yet she couldn’t help but enjoy his nearness.

Hunt coaxed her into a game, waiting patiently as she considered each possible move, readily offering advice when she asked for it. His manner was so charming and playfully distracting that she almost didn’t care who won. Almost. When she slid her piece into a position that attacked not one but two of his pieces, Hunt glanced at her with an approving grin. “That’s called a pin-and-fork strategy. As I suspected, you have a natural instinct for chess.”

“Now you have no choice, other than to retreat,” Annabelle said triumphantly.

“Not yet.” He moved another piece in another area on the board, instantly threatening her queen.

Puzzling over the strategy, Annabelle realized that he had just put her in the position of having to retreat.

“That’s not fair,” she protested, and he chuckled.

Lacing her fingers together, Annabelle leaned her chin on her hands and contemplated the board. A full minute passed as she debated various strategies, but nothing seemed appropriate. “I don’t know what to do,” she finally admitted. Raising her eyes to his, she found that he was staring at her in an odd way, his gaze caressing and concerned. It unraveled her, that look, and she swallowed hard against a sensation of thick sweetness, like honey coating her throat.

“I’ve tired you,” Hunt murmured.

“No, I’m fine—”

“We’ll continue the game later. You’ll see your next move more clearly when you’ve rested.”

“I don’t want to stop,” she said, annoyed by his refusal. “Besides, neither of us will remember how the pieces are arranged.”