Page 81 of Hearts of Locke Hill

“Are you at least warmer?”

She nodded. “Yes.” Slowly, carefully, she lowered her head, resting it against the neck of his sweater, soaking in the warmth of him, breathing in the scent of wool and limes.

He adjusted his hold, resting his cheek atop her head. He began a slow sway where they stood, settling her nerves.

“Better,” she whispered.

The hollow patter of the rain hitting the top floor echoed around them. Minutes must have been ticking by. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been held. And certainly not like this. “I can hear your heartbeat,” she said.

“What is it saying?”

She listened a moment. “Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.” She lifted her head to look at him. “I can’t interpret it.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “That’s probably best.”

Her cheeks warmed. “You have mud splatters on your face.”

“As do you.”

She gasped. “No.”

“Only a few. They are quite charming.” He smoothed her cheek and forehead with his thumb. “There.”

She bit her lip and tucked her head back down, sobering. “Cyril, the telephone call. What did your mother say?”

He filled his lungs and sighed. “Father was about to receive the antiserum, and she was terrified.” His voice remained calm. Steady. “It’s a final thing, you see. Once the antiserum is injected, there are only two outcomes. It had become very real to her very quickly, and I could only stand there giving her reassurances I’m not sure I believe and confidence I do not feel. And I knew that after I got off the telephone, they would proceed with the injection. And part of me wanted to keep her talking. For the call never to end.”

He pulled away just enough to meet Violet’s gaze.

“But it did,” she said.

He nodded.

“And you went to the meadow.”

He nodded again.

“And I found you.”

He shrugged, his gaze solemn. “We’ve a history with meadows.”

The patter of rain, her body drinking in his warmth, and his reference to a past she’d often wondered if he even remembered, did in her wary heart.

She lowered her gaze to the warm skin just next to his jaw and above his collar, and with a slight lift on her toes, pressed her lips to it.

Y

Cy drew in a soft, sharp breath at the touch of Violet’s lips tohis neck, and his blood began a skipping race through his body. As if that weren’t enough, she placed another kiss nearer his ear, and heaven help him, he lowered his upper body to accommodate her touch. “Violet,” he breathed, barely.

He nuzzled his nose to her cheek, nudged her soft skin toward his, and took her mouth, those wide, velvet lips to his own.

Their kiss was slow, languid. She parted her lips, and he dared to taste her more thoroughly. Her breath hitched, and she tentatively followed his example. A low moan escaped his chest. He pulled her yet closer, barely registering the tremble of his hand as it cupped her face. How he’d missed her. This was right. This was so right.

But it wasn’t.

Gently, he took both her shoulders and set her away from him, their lips the last thing to separate. She looked at him, her eyes a question. Then she shivered, and he removed his coat and set it around her shoulders.

“Thank you, but I preferred it the other way,” she said, breathless, watching his mouth. Her brow furrowed slightly. “Didn’t you?”