He had to force himself to do it, but the next morning Spencer sequestered himself in his small office at the back of the house and closed the door behind him.

If he didn’t get to his accounts before the day got further along, he never would. Between his aunt, his sister, and the surprising distraction Meena presented, it would be far too easy to leave his boring ledgers to collect dust.

He worked until the sun rose above the trees at the edge of the lot, then he tossed down his pen and rubbed his palms over his tired eyes. Chasing numbers across the page made life comfortable and secure, but he had to admit it was a boring existence.

The Jonquil had never been bored. Never bored, never dull, and never safe.

His gaze wandered to the window across from his desk. Sunlight poured in around the overwrought bouquet blocking his view to the street. Spencer slid the heavy vase out of the way. He looked over his shoulder at the second out-sized bouquet standing guard atop his bookcase.

The house seemed to be overrun with floral displays the past few weeks. He frowned. Much as he loved his aunt, he hoped she wasn’t spending all the household money at the flower seller’s stall.

The mixture of lilies, roses and God-knew-what-all was choking off the air in his modest office. He got up to open the window and bring in some crisp sea air.

The sun had done a fine job of burning off the morning fog. With its trim hedges and closely cut lawn, the yard looked green and crisp and tidy. Just staring at it leeched the tension from his neck.

Movement at the edge of the garden caught his eye. Meena was lounging on the seat under the small gazebo reading. No doubt one of her dreadful sensation novels.

Before he could talk himself into being sensible, he grabbed suit coat off the back of his chair, and headed out toward the garden. Meena noticed him as soon as he stepped out into the sunlight. He started across the lawn, all the while soaking in the glory that could be a perfect English summer day.

She swept her skirts aside, making room for him on the bench next to her. “Good morning.” She smiled up at him.

She really was quite lovely. Generally she was so prickly, it was hard to notice. But today, her deep purple walking dress put Spencer in mind of a sweet, spirited violet. No thorns, no sharply edged leaves, just soft, pleasing velvet.

He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the shaft of desire that cut straight to his loins.

He thought about flowers, about tulips and daisies and roses. Anything but the way the cut of her gown accentuated her slim waist and generous bosom, or the way the dark fabric brought out the red of her kissable lips.

Spencer sat down and pointed at the book open on her lap. “What mayhem is entertaining you this morning?”

Meena shook her head. “No sinister villains today. At least I hope not.” She turned the cover toward him.

Spencer felt his eyebrows rise. “My Brazelton’s review.”

“I borrowed it from your study last night. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I rarely miss a volume.”

Meena appeared to be studying the trellises that ran up the side of the house, heavy with pink and white blossoms. “You invest then?”

Spencer nodded. “Transportation mainly.”

She hugged the book to her chest. “I found this month’s analysis of the Cunard Line’s future prospects intriguing. Did you know, the new Servia has electric lighting and larger engines? They expect it might break the speed record.”

The interest in her eyes was obvious. It intrigued him. “I had no idea you were such an enthusiast.”

“It seems Cunard might finally surpass the White Star line after all these years.”

“Why do I suspect you’ve invested in both?”

“Oh yes.” She turned toward him, her eyes alight with interest. “You?”

He grinned. “For years now. I always knew Cunard would pick up their game.”

“Hah.” She laughed. “We agree on that.”

Her grin stoked the fire glowing inside him, making it burn hotter. “At least that’s something.”

Spencer crossed his legs, letting his foot swing from side to side. Bright green with summer grass, and edged by Aunt Emmeline’s prize sweet peas, his small yard exuded peace, contentment.

He flexed his shoulders and tugged at the lapels of his coat. Anxiety nibbled at the edges of his pleasure. Contentment could be destroyed, smashed to dust with the smallest of missteps.

The Jonquil had always taken care to have nothing to lose.

Meena was studying him intently. When she caught his gaze, she looked away, as if struck by a fit of shyness.

The book sat forgotten in her lap. “You’ve made a beautiful home here.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am utterly flummoxed, if you must know the truth.”

“Are you?”

“The man I knew cared nothing for peace and tranquility.”

How true. That man—that boy—cared only for excitement and challenge. “The man you knew was five kinds of a fool.”

He sank back against the bench and spread his arms out along the wrought-iron top and closed his eyes, allowing the delicate warmth of the summer day to infuse his bones. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall why he’d been so worried about Meena seeing this vulnerable side of him.

When he opened his eyes, Meena was watching him. “There must be something odd in the air here.”

Spencer leaned in her direction. “Perhaps it’s something about the company.”

“I doubt that.” Meena sniffed. “We’ve rubbed each other the wrong way from the start.”

Spencer watched a brown curl blow across her cheek. Her beauty had ripened over the years. She’d always been a pretty, vivacious girl, but now she was a truly beautiful woman. More beautiful, more fascinating, more sensual than he’d allowed himself to notice.

“Only from the end of the beginning,” he corrected. He took her hand, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of her knuckles. “The beginning of the beginning was smashing.”

“Hah.” Meena gave a surprised laugh. She pulled her hand back into her own lap. “I suppose that’s true.”

To his surprise, Meena leaned in until their shoulders touched. It was as if he’d brushed against a live wire. Small tendrils of electrical energy rushed all the way to his fingertips.

Astonishing.

“The beginning was spectacular,” Meena admitted. “Almost worth the crash.”

Spencer met her gaze. There was a time when he would have gladly drowned in those caramel brown eyes. If only they’d had more trust. Trust in themselves. Trust in each other. What could they have built from that beginning?

Did she ever wonder?

Before he could make an utter fool of himself by asking, Alicia burst out the back door of the house. “Aunt Emmeline says luncheon is on the table.” She rushed down the steps at her normal, breakneck speed, and then pulled up short.

Spencer had the feeling she was calculating everything about them, their posture, the number of inches on the bench between them, everything they might have been saying.

And not saying.

“But if you’re busy,” she rattled on, “It’s only a ploughman’s lunch. Bread, roast beef, cheese. It’ll keep.”

Meena jumped up. “Not at all.” She turned back toward him. “In hindsight,” she said, her voice low, “you did have your moments.”

Spencer sat rooted to the bench, watching the bows that cascaded down the back of her walking gown sway with each step.

Had his moments. Imagine that.

A grin spread across his face. Damned if it wasn’t turning out to be a fine day.

* * *

His touch still set her aflame.

Meena rubbed her fingers across the back of her hand. Hours had passed since they’d sat in the garden, but the electricity still sang through her.

She was trying to help Alicia begin her school report, but the warm sun and the comfortable room were making it difficult to concentrate. Their conversation in the garden played over and over in her head. For an instant, she recalled how well they’d suited, but holding onto the feeling was like trying to capture sunlight.

“It seems so unfair, don’t you think?” Alicia asked.

It did at that. Under different circumstances, she and Spencer would have done well together. Spectacularly well.

Alicia tapped her on the arm. “Meena?”

Meena started. She cleared her throat. “I beg your pardon. What’s unfair?"

“Primogeniture.” Alicia plopped back in her seat and crossed her arms. “Just because they’re men. They get everything.” She shook her head in disgust.

Meena banished all thoughts of Crane’s strong hands. Of his well-shaped lips. Of his— Blast it! She sat up straight and applied all her attention to the conversation at hand. “It is most unfair. I agree.”

Alicia gestured toward the thick, gray volume on the desk between them. “And it leaves us with all these stuffy old men to study.” She huffed. “Can you only imagine if Lady Macbeth had been the ruler? That might have been interesting.”

Meena ran a finger under the high collar of her day dress. Even with the open windows catching the afternoon breeze, the room felt uncommonly warm.

A sneeze built at the back of her throat, taking her by surprise. Then another. Then another still. Gasping for air between explosions, she grabbed her handkerchief from the edge of her sleeve, and gave her nose a most unladylike blow.

“It’s all the flowers,” Alicia said. “Aunt Emmeline has gone over the top with them these past few months.”

Meena gave her nose a final blow. “Unfair or not, primogeniture has left us with a whole list of stuffy old men to study. Which we should get back to.” She tapped her finger on the list of British kings Alicia had before her. “Which one seems the least boring?”

Alicia flopped back in her chair, and sighed.”Well, I suppose Richard the Third.” She rolled her eyes. “At least there were the princes. Murder and intrigue and all that.”

“A wise choice.”

She watched as Alicia frowned over the open book. So like her brother. They had the same beautiful mouths, and, she was learning, both were well-matched when it came to stubbornness.

A quality Meena quite appreciated in a young woman.

Alicia scratched out a few sentences before putting her pencil down and sighing happily. “It will be so much fun.”

Meena blinked at the change of subject. She was almost certain she hadn’t been daydreaming again.

“The carnival tonight. Spencer says I may bring Edward.”

The happiness shining in her coffee-colored eyes was most contagious. Meena grinned back, then the school work spread out across the table refocused her attention. She tapped the list of dusty old kings. “Then I say we make a little progress on Richard the Third. We only have a few hours.”

Alicia pulled the book toward her and thumbed through it. “Well I suppose we should start with his birth.” She flipped through a few more pages. “Why not start with the princes? Start with the mystery. That’ll be more entertaining.”

Meena blinked in surprise. There was sharp intelligence behind that pretty face. “An outstanding idea.”

While Alicia scribbled down her thoughts, Meena studied the family portraits huddled to one side of the credenza. They were all but overshadowed by a luscious bouquet of tiger lilies, zinnias, and several other delicate flowers Meena couldn’t name.

“She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

Alicia pointed her pencil at the smallest portrait. About the size of Meena’s hand, it took pride of place at the front of the collection.

She noted the resemblance immediately. “Your mother?”

Alicia nodded.

“The resemblance is amazing.”

“Really? By all accounts, she was a beauty. She was an actress you know.”

“I have heard that.”

“Did you ever see her on the stage?”

Meena shook her head. “I never had the pleasure.”

“I wish I could have.”

Meena rested her chin on her hand and studied Alicia from across the table. She had her mother’s eyes, her beautiful mouth and, if the portrait was accurate, the same lively spark. “You’re every bit as lovely.”

“Oh no.” Alicia squirmed. “I won’t be a beauty like her.”

“I think you’re wrong. And, I bet she was as intelligent as she was beautiful.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s obvious. You’re a bright young woman. Mr. Darwin and Mr. Wallace would argue that you inherited those traits from your parents.”

Alicia propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. “What about your parents? What were they like?"

Meena’s fingers curled around the pencil in front of her. She tapped it on the desktop. “I hardly know what to say.” She cast about for anything appropriate she could share about her inappropriate family. “My father was a smart man. My mother also, from what I remember.”

The pencil tapped more quickly. “It was just the three of us until Edison and Briar came. Shortly after that, we lost my mother. Father tried his best, but…” Meena ran out of words.

How would one describe a con artist of the highest magnitude, a womanizer, a selfish oaf, to a girl still in the schoolroom?

“I never had the pleasure of meeting her mother, but her father was one of the most interesting men I’ve ever known.” Crane strode into the room smelling of warm earth and sunshine.

Just the thing to shove aside the dreary cloud of memories. Meena smiled. “Interesting is exactly the right word. Thank you.”

The crisp, white work shirt he’d started out in was tinged with dirt from the garden. With the sleeves rolled up past his elbows and buttons undone down to his belt, his muscled forearms—and his muscled chest—were exposed.

Meena squirmed, trying to ignore the fluttery feeling in her chest.

Crane perched on the edge of the table and folded his hands in his lap.

Those hands. Those fingers. Those damnably well-made fingers could do wicked things to the strongest locks, or the strongest woman. He wasn’t even touching her and her body responded.

The memory of what those hands felt like gliding across her bare skin made her shiver.

“Meena’s father was a man of business,” Crane continued. “That’s how I met him.”

“A man of business. Yes.” Meena barely got the words out before another fit of sneezing struck her.

Crane held out a handkerchief.

“Thank you,” she mumbled between explosions.

He pointed at the brass clock on top of the piano in the corner. “If we’re going to make it to the carnival in time for the magic show, you should get dressed, young lady.”

Alicia slammed the book shut with such force that her papers blew halfway across the table. “I’ll be ready in a tick.” She hurried out of the room.

Meena sniffled. Crane was sitting quietly, arms folded across his broad chest. If she hadn’t known him better, she would’ve said he was studying her.

“You’re not your father,” he said.

Alicia traced a finger along the top of the desk. “Some days, I’m not sure.” She bit her lip. The thought of the things she’d stolen, the people she’d hurt, made her face flame with shame. “I wish I could go back—”

“He made you steal.” Crane interrupted her. “You don’t have his black heart.”

“I know. But I have all the worst of his skills.”

Crane took her hands in both of his. His gaze drew her like a magnet. “And you use those skills for others.”

Whether his touch, or his words, she couldn’t have said, but it was as if he was drawing the old poison straight out of her. Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she turned to study the collection of portraits.

“Your mother was a beauty. Alicia favors her.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Meena regretted them. It was as if a chill wind had blown straight through the room.

Crane glared at the tiny portrait as if he wished he could tear it to pieces. “I pray not.” He stood. “We should get ready. If we miss her precious magic show, Alicia will never let us live it down.”

He brushed past her and out of the room, his steps precise, his shoulders tight, as if he would block out the world.

Meena tapped the haphazard pile of papers in front of her. Never had she met a man so capable of igniting desire, yet so unable to thaw his own frozen heart.

Any woman foolish enough to get tangled in his web would do well to remember that.

* * *

Crane’s aunt Emmeline paused as their group spilled out of the arena after the magic show. She took a deep breath, spreading her arms wide. The delicate corsage on her wrist shimmered in the soft summer breeze. “Smell that popped corn.”

Alicia and her young man, Edward, were studying the jumble of food sellers’ stalls, carnival games, and shops lining the vast West Pier.

Popped corn. Fresh taffy. Potatoes frites. Meena sucked in a huge breath, letting the scents of summer wrap around her.

She hadn’t been to Brighton since she was a small girl. The great West Pier seemed not to have aged a day. Dotted with small buildings decorated like miniature Saracen castles and crowned, at its end with a great palace-like dome decorated with plaster icing, the pier had always seemed a delightful foreign land stretching out into the Channel.

Alicia whirled around so quickly, her light yellow dress swirled around her ankles. “Let’s find some games.”

Self-conscious as only a young man barely out of the schoolroom could be, Edward held out his arm to her. Spencer offered an arm to his aunt, and then to Meena.

Both sides of the pier were lined with booths selling food, or offering games of chance and skill. The excited murmur of the crowd mingled with the calls of the carnival barkers trying to entice custom. The piercing tones of a pipe organ rippled out onto the sea from somewhere back on shore. It was a perfect summer afternoon, full of fun, excitement, and for lucky few, a dash of romance.

For her, the carnival held a pinch of sadness. As she watched the children chase each other through the crowds, their faces smeared with sugar syrup and chocolate, it struck her how much of a childhood she’d missed.

A boy of six or seven squealed in delight as his father handed him a lollipop as big his head. At that age, she was picking pockets.

She scuffed her feet along the rough wood of the boardwalk, angry with herself for allowing worn memories to dim her enjoyment of the day.

She was searching for something to take her mind off the past when the scent of browning sugar snagged her attention. Under a bright green awning spanned by yellow lettering a well-muscled man in a white apron poured molten sugar onto a flat tray the size of a dining table.

“Toffee!” Meena tugged Spencer toward the booth. “I haven’t had that in an age.”

As Meena and Spencer and his aunt studied the mounds of paper wrapped candies, choosing their favorite flavors, Alicia stood on tiptoe scanning the booths further out on the pier. “I think I see the ring toss. Let’s try that.”

Crane paid for their candies, and the group ambled further down the peer. Emmeline hung back, a worried expression clouding her pretty face.

Meena touched the older woman on the arm. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Emmeline smiled. “Not at all. I’m having a lovely evening.”

Something about her response didn’t ring true, but Meena let it rest. Perhaps the poor woman had a headache and didn’t want to spoil everyone’s time.

“Got four spots here, folks. Halfpenny gets you five rings.” The barker running the ring toss spun a handful of steel rings in the air, juggling them with mesmerizing ease. “Step on up, gents. Got some lovely things here for your lovely ladies.”

Alicia clapped her hands together. “Oh do let’s stop.”

Crane and Edward lined up at the booth. The women waited behind them, looking over their shoulders at the wall of stuffed toys, porcelain dolls, and bags of cheap candy for the winning.

Crane pulled a handful of change from his trouser pocket and counted it out into the carny’s outstretched palm. “You’re playing too.” He waved the women toward the booth.

Emmeline shook her head, her attention caught by the booths on the other side of the pier. “You two go on.”

Meena and Alicia lined up on either side of Edward.

“Alrighty, alrighty, alrighty.” The barker counted out their rings.

Meena removed her gloves, and let the cold steel dangle from her fingers, testing the weight. Before she could begin, Alicia had thrown two of her rings, completely missing the entire field of bottles. She giggled and brushed a hand along Edward’s sleeve. “You’ll have to be my champion.”

Pink spots bloomed in his cheeks. His face froze in concentration. He leaned forward, as far as the edge of the booth would allow, and sent a ring flying toward the group of bottles. It bounced off. His second try was equally unsuccessful.

Crane shrugged his shoulders and moved his head in a circle loosening his neck muscles in preparation for his throw.

Alicia rolled her eyes.

Crane sent his first two rings sailing through the air in quick succession. Both found their mark. Ringing the bottles was child’s play for a jewel thief of his caliber.

Meena knew she could do the same, but the crestfallen look on Edward’s face tugged at her heart. She flipped her first ring carelessly to the side, almost hitting the carny in the head.

“Here now!” The barker complained. He shuffled to the edge of the booth, out of danger. “There ain’t no prizes for drawing blood.”

Alicia sent her last three rings sailing into the canvas at the back of the booth. She blinked, surprised at her own strength.

Edward’s next toss ringed a bottle.

“And we have a ringer. That’s one for the young gentleman.”

As Meena watched, Crane’s third try found its mark as well. Young Edward’s shoulders slumped. Meena caught’s Crane’s eye and shook her head.

His eyebrows rose, but he sent his last two rings flying off to the right where they clattered to the floor. Meena gave him a discreet smile, then she jerked her head toward his sister, willing him to understand that she wanted the girl distracted.

The grin Crane sent her made her breath catch in her throat.

“Alicia, isn’t that your friend from school?” Crane took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the crowd flowing along the pier behind them. “Over there, by the fish and chips stall. What was her name? You know, the tall girl. Ginger hair?”

“Annabelle?” Alicia squinted at the crowd behind them.

With Alicia distracted, Meena concentrated on matching Edward’s next throw. With all the stealth she could muster, she released her ring at the same time, and in the same general direction. Her throw ringed the milk bottle, while his hit the next, and bounced off.

The carny’s mouth dropped open. “That’s one for the lady.”

“Oh, no.” Meena shook her head. “I’d like to claim victory, but that was Edward’s ring. I’m positive.”

The boy waved her off. “Not at all, Miss Sweet. That was your point, fair and square.”

“Nonsense.” Meena pretended to concentrate on aiming her last ring. “I saw it myself.”

The carny gave her a single nod, eyes twinkling. “One for the young gentleman it is then.”

His cheeks again stained pink, Edward bit his lower lip in concentration and flung his last ring.

Meena let hers go at the same instant. Another point.

“And the gentleman has three.” The barker didn’t wait for a debate this time.

“Edward! Well done.” Alicia turned to the attendant. “What does he win for three?”

“Any of the prizes on this row.” The carny ran the edge of his cane over the dolls and stuffed toys on a middle shelf of the prize stand.

Alicia tugged on her brother’s coat sleeve. “Spencer, you win a prize, too.”

Crane turned to Meena. “What’s your pleasure, my lady?”

A light-hearted laugh bubbled up in her. “Alicia, what do you suggest?”

The girl studied the prizes, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I think the purple gloves for you. They’re your color.” She leaned close to Meena’s ear. “And they are ever so daring.”

Meena accepted the deep purple things. “And for you?”

Alicia gestured at a stuffed lion with a stiff, straggly main of coarse cotton. She seemed inordinately pleased with the homely little thing. Her young man seemed pleased with the swift peck on the cheek he won.

Alicia wrapped one arm around her lion, took Edward’s arm with the other, and snuggled into his side. “Let’s find another game.”

“You all go on.” Emmeline urged them. “I’ll make my way down the pier.”

Meena poked Crane in the side. “We’re in no hurry, are we? Perhaps we could amble along with your aunt?”

Crane slid her a look, and then his eyes widened in understanding. “No, we’re not. Not at all.“ He shooed the couple toward the far end of the pier. “You children go on ahead.”

Alicia pulled Edward away. “We’ll wait for you at the end of the pier.”

Meena accepted the arm Crane offered, but his aunt waved him off. “You go along. I want to look for the jam and jelly booth. My friend, Mrs. Crabtree, is volunteering there for the widow and orphans’ home. I’ll meet you at the end of the pier as well.” She melted into the crowd behind them.

Crane laughed. “Seems we’ve been dropped like a hot potato.”

Meena eyed the crowd that was surging forward and back, much like the waves surging against the pilings beneath their feet. “Indeed.”

“Iced cream.”

“I beg your pardon?” Meena blinked up at him.

“Iced cream. There’s nothing else for us to do but locate some iced cream.”

“It cures abandonment?”

“I have no idea.” Crane held out his arm for her. “But if we find some now, I won’t have to share with Alicia.”

“That makes sense.” Meena pulled her gloves back on, then took his arm. “Lead on.”

As he piloted them toward the far end of the pier, it seemed to Meena that he was holding her closer than was necessary. Not that she objected. To the contrary, she found the warmth of his arm against her side exhilarating.

Exhilarating in a way she knew she shouldn’t.

The height of him next to her, the way his hard, male body felt pressed against her side, reminded her how wonderfully different the male form could be. Though they were far from alone on the crowded pier, Meena felt as if it was just the two of them, moving through the crowd, as if they were their own small craft, cutting through the waves.

Until a sharp crash all but knocked her off her feet. She almost missed the small child who ran his shoulder straight into her side. She didn’t miss the man not a hand’s breath behind the boy who opened the metal clasp on her purse and stuck his hand straight in.

“Oh no you don’t.” Meena pulled out of Crane’s hold and grabbed the pickpocket’s wrist. The studied boredom on the thief’s face flashed into surprise the instant he realized she knew what he was about.

Crane yanked the thief’s hand out of of her purse.

The pickpocket still held Meena’s new purple gloves in his grip. From the look Crane fired at him, he might as well have stolen the family jewels. The surprise on his face morphed into fear. Crane was taller and stronger. Had he wished to, he could have held the man until a constable appeared.

It made little sense, then, the dread that clenched her belly, making her sick. The man had done no harm. More to the point, he and his tiny accomplice weren’t engaged in anything Meena and her family hadn’t done a hundred times. Meena screwed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to imagine what would happen, should Crane insist on calling for the peelers.

But he didn’t.

When she looked up, Crane was watching her, a soft expression on his face. The instant she met his gaze, he released the man’s arm. “You’re done here for the day.” He held out his hand for the gloves.

The man dropped them in his palm and rubbed his arm where Crane had gripped him. “I owe you one, mate.” He disappeared after his tiny accomplice.

Meena realized she’d been holding her breath and let it out in a rush. The world around her seemed muted. The crowds, the laughter, the incessant calls of the carnies, it all dimmed, as if she were hearing it from behind a thick plate of glass.

Crane handed her back her gloves and entwined her arm with his, pulling her tight against his side. He tugged her along through the crowd. “I’m not giving up on that iced cream.”

Meena let him tow her along, struggling all the while to regain the bubbly gaiety she’d enjoyed for such a brief moment.

“Found it.” Crane stopped at the entrance to the lovely arcade that held pride of place at the end of the pier. He pointed to a sign just inside the door. “Hadley’s Famous Ices.”

After he bought them each a dessert, he led the way out of the back of the cavernous building. Past the iron railing, the Channel rippled its way, unimpeded, to the coast of France.

With the two story auditorium to block the noise from the carnival, the space between the building and the edge of the pier seemed quiet, peaceful even. Meena was surprised to see that the sun was almost down. The wide sky had turned a rich violet, except where its color was bleached by the rising moon. The tang of saltwater and seaweed hung thick in the warm air.

Crane set his chocolate ice on the railing and stared out past the horizon. Meena watched him study the undulating swells rolling toward them from the horizon.

Meena tried her ice. One swallow, and she understood Crane’s fixation. The vanilla flavor combined with the cold sensation of frozen cream was sublime.

Crane dug into his own dessert. “How’s the vanilla?” He gestured at her half empty cup.

She swallowed. “Delightful.”

She scooped up a small mouthful and brought it to her lips. The look of pure longing on Crane’s face made her freeze. “Would you like some?”

“I would.” His voice sounded thick with longing.

Meena held out her cup, but instead of taking it, he grasped her hand. He pulled her so close that her entire body, from chest to hips to thighs, fit against him. He wasn’t studying her cup. He was studying her mouth. Studying it as if he were trying to memorize each curve as if he wanted to touch her. Taste her.

Meena’s heart thumped against her ribs. He was going to kiss her.

She wanted him to, quite badly.

The first brush of his full lips against hers was so light, so full of promise, she thought she might cry with the joy of it.

Impatient for more, she pressed against him. And like that, the gentleness disappeared. Crane cradled her head in his large hands, rubbing his thumbs gently across her cheekbones.

It took forever for his lips to to touch hers.

The wait was worth it.

The electrical charge that ran through her body when his lips met hers seemed to lift her straight off the ground. When he opened his mouth atop hers, she sighed and opened herself to the possibilities of his kiss.

The heat of his mouth promised passion. The gentleness promised some type of exquisite torture she couldn’t name.

Meena let her eyelids flutter shut. She wanted to savor this, to feel him, taste him, to savor the connection between them, the way he coaxed her body to respond to his.

She wasn’t aware of having done it. She only new that somehow, she had a fistful of his jacket in each hand. When he deepened the kiss, Meena met him step for step. She reveled his strength, reveled in the breath they shared.

She reveled in doing the one thing, with the one person, she had never forgotten.