Page 15 of The Professor's Wife

I should have agreed.

Yes, that would be stupid.

But I didn’t want him to stop.

I licked a drop of ice cream from my thumb and watched his attention return to my mouth. “You’re very brazen, Tristan.”

“You must like it because you’re still here.”

I answered by looking down at what remained of my melting ice cream, but my attention drifted to his hands again.

Tristan noticed.

“There you go,” he said lightly.

“What?”

“Looking at them again.”

I glanced up innocently. “Maybe I’m trying to decide whether they’re as dangerous as the rest of you.”

“I can help you decide.”

Those other places tightened even more. “How?”

He stepped even closer, leaving only a narrow space between us.

“I’d put one here,” he said, his gaze lowering to my waist.

My skin tightened beneath the thin fabric of my dress, though his hand remained at his side.

“And the other?”

His eyes lifted to mine. “At the back of your neck.”

“What for?”

“To keep you close while I found out what your mouth tastes like.”

Heat rushed through me so quickly that I nearly forgot where we were.

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Since the patio.”

I turned and continued along the path before he could see exactly how much his answer had affected me, but he fell into step beside me immediately.

Talking to him was fun. Effortless, even. It felt strangely natural despite how self-conscious I was. He didn’t pull away. His attention remained fixed on me, and whenever he moved closer, I let him.

Another group approached, taking up most of the narrow path. Tristan stepped closer and placed his hand at the small of my back, guiding me gently aside.

The touch didn’t hold weight. It could have meant nothing. But his palm remained there after the path had cleared. I was very aware of his touch. It was so light, I knew the question he was asking. I could have stepped away and answered with distance. Instead, I moved closer, allowing my arm to brush his side.

I didn’t look at his expression, but his fingers flexed once against my dress. His touch pressed a little more into my back. We walked a little further, and then he dropped it.

I finally surrendered the remains of my ice cream cone. Eating it before it melted had become a losing battle.

“I tried,” I said, stopping beside a bin.