Free Bexley-Smythe Quintet 01 - Flight of Fancy by Catherine Gayle

didn’t want him to love her. Not as anything more than a brotherly love for a sister. Did she? But when she stared into the depth of his eyes, all she could think of was how she wished to stare into them forever.
    Now who was mad? A lock of Georgie’s hair fell forwards over her eyes, and she blew at it with a frustrated breath. She tried to clear the errant thoughts from her head, brushing haphazardly with one hand to repair her coiffure when blowing didn’t work, but that was useless as well without a mirror.
    Monty lifted a hand and swept her hair back into place. His fingers trailed along the side of her face, leaving a tingling path along her oversensitive skin. “Is that what you think? That you’re nothing more to me than Bridge’s bothersome sister?”
    What else should I think? That was what she meant to ask, but her tongue seemed to have permanently attached itself to the roof of her mouth, and her lips felt as though they had been sewn shut, and nothing came from her but a muffled, “Mmm.” Georgie was unable to stop herself from behaving like a feline; she pressed her head further into his touch, desperate for more of the tantalizing and perplexing heat of his hand.
    As close together as they were, a spicy scent radiated from him to fill her nostrils—something not quite like cinnamon or clove, but with a decidedly Monty-esque feel to it—and she wanted more of it.
    He moved closer, and she hadn’t even had to ask him to do so. He lifted his other hand and stroked her cheek delicately, and all sense of reason left her, flittering away into the night sky like fireflies heading towards a lantern. Moving both his hands behind her head, he tenderly tilted her face up even as he brought his down. His lips landed upon hers, soft and supple.
    His kiss was undemanding, and yet somehow possessive, lip moving over lip.
    There was no need for Monty to demand anything of her at that moment. She held her breath and lifted up on the tips of her toes, seeking more of his tenderness even as every nerve ending within her body yearned to be wrapped up in his arms.
    All too soon he broke away, leaving one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, the pad of his thumb tracing circles over the sensitive skin beneath her earlobe. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and a muscle worked over and over again in his jaw.
    “ That is how I love you, Georgie,” he said many moments later. “Not as a sister.”
    Too many thoughts were swirling through her mind to keep them all sorted: flying in Lord Haworth’s balloon; the favor she would owe Harry; Percy’s ever-mounting debts and ever-declining sense of responsibility; her desire to experience just a hint of adventure before the world all came crashing down on her; the taste left on her lips after Monty kissed her and the tug in her body from his nearness. It was all too much.
    Monty stared deep into her eyes, searching as though they could answer him. “Tell me what it is you want, love. Anything at all, and I’ll give it to you.”
    But Monty, dear, faithful, honorable Monty, could not give her what she wanted, even if her heart was begging her to let him try.
    Georgie shook her head, pulling away from him. She needed some distance between them, enough that she could start to think clearly again. “It isn’t so simple.”
    “ Make it simple, then.”
    She took a step back, even though she longed to step closer to him again. “I can’t,” she said, and then she spun on her heel and started back towards the supper boxes.
    After only three steps, he moved by her side, matching her stride for stride. “Tell me why you wanted to meet Haworth, at least. If you give me nothing else, at least give me that.” Monty took her hand and looped it over his arm as though it belonged there.
    It felt right, blast it all, like it had always belonged right where it was, which didn’t make telling him what she did next very easy at all.
    “ I wanted to meet Lord Haworth