“CRIMINY,” Colin murmured. Amy’s skin was petal soft, her eyes dark liquid pools of longing. He leaned closer. He couldn’t move away, not with her looking at him like that. And he knew instinctively that she’d keep looking at him like that until she got what she wanted.
The minx.
He’d kiss her just once—an innocent goodnight kiss—and then he’d leave.
When she closed her eyes, he brushed her lips with his, a mere whisper of sensation. A little sound escaped her throat, and her arms came up and around his neck, dragging him back down. She twined her fingers in his hair, her lips sweet and insistent.
“Amy,” he groaned, trying feebly to pull away. But in the end he gave in. He’d never really had a chance. He was weak.
And she was heaven. Soft and and eager and smelling of roses. He seemed to forget where he was, who he was…he forgot about everything but her.
It was a long while before he found it in himself to break contact. Her eyes fluttered open, deep purple in the low light. She drew a long, shuddering breath.
Using every ounce of his willpower, he pulled back. “I cannot do this.”
She raised herself to place a warm, damp kiss in the hollow of his neck. Her eyes questioning, she fell back to the pillows.
She truly was a minx!
“Amy,” he said, standing up, “this isn’t right.”
“Why not?” she asked breathily. “I like kissing you.”
“I like it too, but we shouldn’t be kissing. I’m sorry.”
She struggled up on her elbows. “Would you please stop saying you’re sorry every time you kiss me!”
“I’m sorry.” He smiled innocently, and she burst into helpless giggles.
But seconds later, his smile reversed to a frown, and he turned away, looking into the fire. He ran his hands through his hair. “Amy?”
She sobered instantly. “What?”
“You understand what I’m telling you, yes? I cannot marry you, so I shouldn’t be kissing you. It’s not that I don’t want to, love.”
He stopped himself from clapping a hand over his mouth. But he couldn’t stop himself from whirling around to see her expression.
Her eyes were wide and round, her mouth agape.
Love, he’d called her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t, obviously. He hadn’t been thinking at all. The word had escaped his lips thoughtlessly.
He’d never been “in love,” and he didn’t love Amy. He was infatuated, to be sure, but that didn’t mean he loved her. He hardly knew her, despite their weeks of acquaintance.
Besides, love wasn’t part of his plan. Love was dangerous. It made one too vulnerable, too open to the pain of loss and betrayal. Look how much strife this mere infatuation was causing him! Love must be many times worse!
Until he could rid himself of her, he had to be more careful, put more distance between them.
“Don’t leave,” she reminded him, then sighed and closed her eyes.
In the dancing firelight, her face looked stunning and flawless. Despite everything, he wanted to lie beside her and wrap her in his arms. His pulse quickened at the thought of staying with her.
But he couldn’t stay with her that way. Instead he backed up and settled himself on the chest at the foot of the bed.
He sat there until she slept, until her breathing came even and untroubled. And then he sat there watching her for a while longer before leaving.
Something in him hoped it would still be snowing hard in the morning.