Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(42)

“So I suppose you’ve kissed Jean?” His question was low, almost teasing.

She breathed a sigh of relief, glad that his good humor was returning. “We kissed once.”

“Just once?”

“Just once.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Pierre laughed.

“He’s honorable.”

“And dull.”

“Pierre!” she chastised, though she knew her tone lacked any conviction.

“If I were him, I wouldn’t have been satisfied with one kiss.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not him, because that’s all I would have given you.”

He grinned. “When did he kiss you?”

She knew she should protest Pierre’s questions. What had transpired between her and Jean was none of his business. But for some reason she felt as if she must confess the truth. “He kissed me the day the British forced him to leave the island.”

“A good-bye kiss?”

She nodded. It had been on the crowded beach, with everyone on the island swarming around them. With tears in his eyes he’d hugged and kissed Miriam, then turned to her. He’d drawn her into a one-armed hug, patting her back awkwardly, and then gave her the briefest of kisses. It had been over before it had begun, leaving no trace of remembrance upon her lips. He then stepped away from her and into the boat that would row him to the ships anchored farther out in the harbor. His sweet smile was all she’d had to store in her heart since he’d been gone.

“A good-bye kiss doesn’t count as a real kiss,” Pierre said.

“It most certainly does count.” It hadn’t been anything like Pierre’s. Not even close. Her stomach flopped as she thought again about the pressure of Pierre’s lips against hers, soft at first and then hard and crushing.

She slipped a strawberry into her mouth and tried to banish the sensation that was embedded on her lips. Even if Jean’s kiss hadn’t lingered upon her the same way Pierre’s had, she wouldn’t dismiss Jean’s affection or trivialize it.

Pierre was still grinning, but when his eyebrows shot up, he couldn’t hide the intensity that lurked amidst the playfulness.

“Any kiss less than fifteen seconds isn’t a real kiss.” Pierre took another strawberry and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Fifteen seconds?” She gave a short laugh. “I suppose you’re the kissing expert now?”

He shrugged. “You’ve kissed us both. Who’s better?”

She couldn’t resist glancing up at him, at his lips that had only moments ago taken her to the brink of pleasure.

His smile turned up on one side, as if he’d heard her answer even though she hadn’t spoken a word.

She gave him a playful shove. “Oh, stop it, Pierre. You’re much too conceited for your own good.”

He laughed again, and the warmth of the afternoon wrapped around her, making her grateful for the time she could spend with him.

“If you ever need practice,” he said, “I’m here for you.”

She pushed him again.

“What?” he asked innocently. “It’s obvious Jean needs to learn how to kiss you much more thoroughly. I’d be more than happy to give you a few lessons that you can pass along to him.”

With any other person she wouldn’t have dared to carry on about something as intimate as kissing. But she’d always had an openness with Pierre that she didn’t have with anyone else. “I’m sure, given the right circumstances and setting, Jean will do just fine.”

Pierre snorted. “He’s about as exciting as a cow chewing his cud.”

In her mind’s eye she could see Jean standing next to Pierre. Compared to the dashing and handsome Pierre, Jean was fair and plain. He was simpler, down-to-earth, and content with his life. He wasn’t constantly dreaming of bigger and better things beyond the horizon.

“Jean may not be exciting like you, Pierre,” she finally said, “but he’s a good man. And he loves me.”

Pierre’s smile faded, and a soberness descended over his features.

For the briefest of moments she held her breath and waited for Pierre to tell her that he too loved her, and to promise that he’d always be there for her. But they both knew the truth.

Pierre couldn’t promise her what he didn’t have to give.





Chapter

12



Pierre swung the ax down again. His muscles burned in agony, and his hands stung from the blisters that had formed there hours ago.

The wood split with a crack that jarred him. He bent, picked up the pieces, and tossed them onto the mountainous pile he’d already chopped.

“Take a break, my dear son,” Maman called from the cabin. “Please.”

Pierre wiped at the sweat that had run into his eyes. His shirt was wet and clung to his skin and did little to keep him dry anymore. And the humidity in the air coated him in a sticky film that was suffocating.

The sky was the color of stormy lake water. If only it would rain and put them out of their misery. He peered toward the west, in the direction of his swimming hole. He wished he could drop everything and sneak away to it. If he’d been with his brigade, he could have jumped into the river to cool off. At the very least he could have splashed himself. The clear river water would have been at his hand, the refreshing wilderness breezes at his back.