Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(33)

What would it be like to kiss her?

He’d stolen plenty of kisses from women over the past several years, during the summer rendezvous, especially during his years of rebellion against everything Maman had ever taught him.

It would be all too easy to slide his arms around Angelique now and take a kiss from her. He could charm her into responding. He’d done it before to other women. She wouldn’t want to resist him. He’d make sure of it.

His fingers in her hair tightened.

Had Jean kissed her?

He shook his head at the vision of Jean pulling Angelique into his arms and laying his lips against hers. He couldn’t imagine it—didn’t want to even think about it.

Slowly he pried his fingers from her hair. God help him, but he couldn’t kiss Angelique—not now, not ever. What was wrong with him? How could he even consider such a thing?

She didn’t deserve a fickle man like him toying with her emotions. She didn’t need someone using her or taking advantage of her. Non. She needed him to keep her safe from men like himself. She deserved so much more than a few stolen kisses.

He gritted his teeth and wrenched his hand away from her, every muscle protesting the move.

She let out a soft sigh. Was she relieved to have avoided the awkward moment?

With a shaky laugh he said, “I couldn’t resist seeing your beautiful hair.”

The cries of sea gulls circling over the water below echoed in the air around them, preventing the need for an immediate answer.

Before he knew what she was doing, she’d reached for his hat and swiped it from his head. “I suppose it’s only fair if you can bare my head, that I can do the same to you.”

“I give you my full permission.”

She held his hat out above the ledge. It was one of the hats Maman had woven, perfect for working in the sun. The straw was cooler than felt, and the brim wider, providing protection from the sun.

“If you want your hat back,” she said with a smile, “you also have to give me permission to touch your hair.”

He was relieved she hadn’t taken him too seriously, that she could easily forgive him for his forwardness and make light of it. He shook his head, loosening the strands and letting them flop in disarray. “If you want to touch this awful mess, be my guest.”

She tugged playfully at one of the waves that fell across his forehead. Then she combed it back into submission with the rest of his wayward curls.

The gentle touch was innocent enough, but it made him want to lean his head back, close his eyes, and give her the freedom to keep combing.

“Even your hair seems to have a wild streak.” She smoothed the hair against his head.

He held himself rigid, hoping she wouldn’t realize what effect she was having on him. Her touch reminded him again that he wasn’t a boy anymore, and neither was she a child. He was a man with very manly desires. He’d never expected that he would need to restrain himself with Angelique.

But she’d grown into a desirable woman. And now he would have to try even harder to keep himself from being a fool around her.

He stood and held out a hand to her. “Let’s go down and wade in the water and cool our feet before we have to go back.”

She readily accepted his hand.

He had three weeks on the island. That wasn’t long. If he set his mind to it, he could cherish her as a friend—like he always had—and nothing more.





Chapter

10



Angelique wiped the last bowl with sand, cleaning it of any remaining traces of pigeon pie Pierre had baked for their noon meal. The scent of peppercorn and onion lingered, not only in the grain of the wooden bowl but also on her tongue.

“It’s such a treat to have pigeon again,” Miriam said from her chair placed in the shade of the lilac bushes outside the cabin.

Miriam’s words echoed Angelique’s sentiments—except that Miriam was much more positive than Angelique, who couldn’t help thinking how glad she was to have a break from the whitefish and trout that had kept them alive during the days of starvation that spring.

She knew she shouldn’t complain. She should be grateful for the steady supply of fish she’d been able to catch all winter. But after partaking of Pierre’s meals all week, and the fowl he’d shot, she didn’t know how she’d be satisfied with plain and simple fish ever again.

Her eyes went to his broad back, the seams of his cotton shirt stretching under the strain of his work repairing the picket fence around the vegetable garden. She’d helped him plant it that week during the noon break that he’d managed to arrange for her every day from her required work on Fort George.

After that first day of sitting together on the rock ledge and then wading in the lake, he’d asked her to come back to the farm and visit with Miriam. He’d mentioned that even though he wanted to run off and play with her again, his mother had longed to spend time with her.

Angelique had been surprised with his request. The Pierre she’d known from childhood wouldn’t have considered Miriam’s needs, would have rushed off without any thought to anyone but himself and his own pleasure.

Pierre hammered at the new picket, driving it into the ground in place of the rotting piece he’d tossed aside.

He’d changed.

A sense of wonder warmed Angelique as it had all week as she’d watched him. She believed his claim that he wasn’t the same foolish boy he’d once been, that he was trying to live to please God.