Page 115 of A Foolish Flirtation

“Really?”

“Of course. Nothing could be easier.”

The dangerous moment seemed to have passed and Emmie was glad. “I do not know how comfortable they would be staying at such a grand residence as Vance Park,” she admitted, “but I think I will invite them. Thank you.”

They smiled cautiously at one another and Emmie breathed a sigh of relief. Good lord, their conversation seemed fraught with pitfalls lately! She needed to watch her step. “Are you going to the stables this morning?” she asked, striving for a casual tone.

“Yes,” he answered abruptly. “Would you do me a favor, Ballentine?”

She froze in the act of reaching for the bacon. Oh, he was going to ask her not to raise the subject of Humphrey between them again, she realized with sudden conviction. That had been stupid of her. Bracing herself to be reproved, she swallowed and nodded. “Of course.”

“Would you sit in my lap while you eat your breakfast?” he asked.

Emmie, feeling quite astonished, set down the bacon with a thump. “Sit in your…?”

He sat up and gestured between his legs. “Right here,” he said, as if it was the most reasonable request in the world.

“I don’t believe I’m really built for lap-sitting,” she said awkwardly.

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

Oh, good grief, he was serious, she realized, staring at him. Somewhat flustered, she clambered her way over the plump floor cushions to reach him with as much dignity as she could muster. He uncrossed his legs to make room for her, and she sat between them, giving her dressing robe a self-conscious tug to make sure all was decent.

“That’s better,” he said with satisfaction, sliding his hand down her side to rest with great familiarity against her hip. “Now, what were you about to partake in?”

Emmie sat there drawing a blank. She could feel his warmth surrounding her, his thighs on the outside of hers, her bottom resting against his groin. It was very distracting.

“Bacon, wasn’t it?” he prompted smoothly.

“Oh yes,” she agreed, clearing her throat. “Bacon.”

“You’ll have to reach across.” Emmie did so, stretching forward to reach for the dish and then settling back again between his legs. For some reason, her pulse was racing altogether too fast for something as mundane as taking breakfast.

Jeremy’s hand was caressing her side now, stroking against the silky fabric of her robe. His other hand reached across to snag her teacup and saucer. “Won’t you have another cup?” he suggested. “You’ll have to reach for the teapot, as I can’t from here.”

She gave him a suspicious look out of the corner of her eye. She was suddenly struck with the oddest conviction he wanted her to keep reaching across the table in front of him. But why on earth would he? Setting her strange impression aside, she reached forward for the teapot and heard his faint hiss of breath behind her.

Emmie’s cheeks heated at the idea he might be looking at her bottom. She set the teapot down and settled back against his front. Was it all in her imagination or was he getting oddly excited in this scenario? She felt flustered and rather hot. Hands not quite steady, she poured herself a cup of tea.

Jeremy tutted behind her. “Dear, dear, you forgot the milk and sugar, Ballentine. Whatever will you do?”

Emmie glanced across the table. Everything was situated on the other side, where she had originally been seated. “I’m starting to think you should have come and shared my cushion,” she joked feebly.

“But where would have been the fun in that?”

Emmie tsked under her breath and surged forward once more to reach for the milk and sugar. This time, when she lifted her bottom to lean forward, Jeremy’s one hand slid over her posterior to squeeze one cheek, as the other slid around to her front and popped open three of her buttons, his hand insinuating itself between her skin and the robe.

Emmie held her breath, and not just because it was her stomach he was idly caressing. “I can’t tell which is softer,” he mused. “Your skin or the silk of your robe.”

“It’s probably all that lotion,” she answered, breathing back out. Really, she should have lost her inhibitions by now. She knew which parts of her he savored the most, however peculiar it might still seem to her.

“You still need sugar,” he reminded her smoothly.

“I can take my tea without it,” she prevaricated.

“There’s no need anymore,” he replied with a frown in his voice.

“That is true.” A little slower this time, Emmie tipped forward, reaching for the sugar bowl. This time, he surged up behind her, shoving her forward onto the table. “Oh!” Emmie’s hand shot out to steady herself and the sugar bowl rolled out of her hand to land perilously close to the edge of the table. “Jeremy, the sugar!” she breathed urgently. Half of it had already tipped out of the bowl.