Free Adele Ashworth by Stolen Charms

decisions already made, decisions made without thought of what lay ahead between them.
    Then finally, with a cunning smirk gently twisting her lips, Natalie turned with resolve and removed her cloak, tossing it over the silk screen. “You may stay, Jonathan, but no more kissing.”
    “Husbands and wives kiss,” he countered blandly. “I’m afraid we might have to from time to time.”
    She knew he’d come back with that. But he had no idea who he was dealing with. “Husbands and wives rarely kiss in public. And since we won’t be doing it in private, I see no reason to do it at all.”
    She faced him again defiantly, elegantly poised, arms dropped to her sides, with full comprehension that he would have to settle for some of her terms as well if she were going to engage in this silly little performance of his. With fortitude, she insisted, “You must also give me your word that you will be nothing but a gentleman should we find ourselves in an intimate position.”
    He blinked, looking for a moment as if she’d startled him with that statement, as if he couldn’t believe she’d said it. She could see him wrestle with a rebuttal of playful arrogance, or perhaps just the desire to laugh. But then his expression clouded, becoming one of serious contemplation.
    He leaned back against the door again, watching her, his eyes roving over every feature of her face, her throat and chest and breasts. Cautiously, brows furrowed, he said, “Where you are concerned, Natalie, I’ve painstakingly been a gentleman since the evening we met years ago.” He waited. “Do you remember it like I do?”
    Her entire body stilled; color drained from her face. Within seconds the atmosphere became charged, the air thick and crackling with intensity as he continued to regard her provocatively from across the small and suddenly overheated room. Instinctively she grasped her elbows with her palms, feeling hopelessly exposed but unable to look away.
    He smiled softly, knowingly. “The evening you innocently asked me to meet you in a moonlit garden for a talk of dreams and I mistook it for an invitation, kissing you until you became breathless.” He lowered his voice to a rough whisper, his eyes burning through hers. “I like kissing you, Natalie. Very much. It was good then. It’s even better now.”
    She clutched her sleeves with trembling hands, inhaling deeply to keep from reeling at the intimacy, from the grave, meaningful way the words flowed from his mouth. He was giving her an opening, wanting her to talk about that night. But she couldn’t. Not now. Probably not ever.
    “Then I can do nothing but trust you,” she murmured, mouth dry, eyes still locked with his.
    After a long, lingering silence his face went slack. “I suppose that’s a start.”
    He was bothered by her reply, she could tell, or perhaps just confounded by her lack of desire to discuss what took place between them all those years ago. But the topic was too familiar, too humiliating, and she had to get away from it.
    With a deep inhale for strength, running her fingers through her mass of hair, she attempted to brighten the mood. “You’ll have to sleep in the chair, Jonathan. The bed is small, and I, too, prefer the left side.”
    Light flickered from the lamp on the table, tossing waving shadows along the dark walls. He hadn’t yet moved his gaze from her face, and she was becoming overly nervous about that. He started, as if ready to walk to her, then he evidently changed his mind as his lips turned up to form a lazy grin.
    With complete ease, he reached up with one hand and resumed the task of unbuttoning his shirt, looking away at last as he took two steps to the bed, knelt beside it, and pulled what appeared to be his trunk from beneath it.
    “I am sleeping in this bed, Natalie,” he announced decisively. “And if you prefer the left side, and I prefer the left side, I will have no choice but to sleep on top of you, which, I might add, will be