Mail Order Bride Mishap (Into the West #3)

Chapter 20

He blinked. Had he heard right? Had she just said what he thought she had? That she should have done what he’d suggested? That this whole mail order hullabaloo could have been avoided?   

At last she raised her head, met his incredulous look with a sheepish one of her own. “It seems you were right, Edward Townsend. Once the women of St. Helens buy a hat, they are done with my shop for quite some time. It’s too small of a town to find repeat buyers. I could have just as easily sold my things from my home. It’s lucky I am that Cookie isn’t charging me rent.” She raised her chin, and he fought the recurrent desire to kiss her lips. Decided instead on diplomacy.

 “Perhaps you could advertise in the Camas or Portland newspapers. Maybe even as far away as San Francisco. Do more of a mail order business.” He winced at his choice of words, and even she smiled up into his face. Edged closer.

“Why would you think I’d do any better at that mail order venture, me darlin’, when I made a right mess of this last one. With your help, of course.”

Liking this new, cuddlier Fiona O’Toole, Edward snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her up tight against his side. Nosed her cheek till she raised her face, putting her lips within kissing distance. And then he met her eyes with a direct look.

 “Because, me darlin’,” he mimicked teasingly, “we both are fast learners and don’t make the same mistake twice.” And, because he could no longer deny himself, he closed the distance between their mouths and took her lips with his.

This kiss tasted of coffee and molasses, and threatened to depose her homemade cake as the best dessert he’d ever sampled. He consumed the heady mixture like a starving man at a banquet, sampling over and over with chaste little pecks that threatened to gobble her mouth right up with their frequency. He felt her arms loop around his neck and growled approvingly into her open mouth, holding her close against the wall of his chest. She flowed into him like melted chocolate, eagerly taking up space within his heart.

Her response, just as untutored as before, set him on fire, urged him to show her what a kiss could do, where it could lead. But a pea-sized, rational part of his brain reminded him to go slow, to introduce by increments instead of by a landslide. And so he pulled away, reluctantly.

Of course she followed, it was in her nature to do so, and he gave a breathless laugh and dodged her seeking lips, instead pressed her head against his chest while saying, “Enough, you red-haired witch, or we’ll pass the point of no return.”

 She drew back to look into his face. He knew his hair was mussed, had felt her hands in it at the back of his head. Could feel the flush of barely controlled passion upon his cheeks. And could see it in hers, as well.

She pouted, though desisted, thank goodness. It had been touch and go those last few minutes, and he’d had to call on all the self-control he possessed to keep from plundering her mouth and body thoroughly.

“I have never cared to be likened to a witch.”

He met her eyes, immediately opened his mouth to apologize, until she continued, “Up to now.”

The relief pouring through him couldn’t be contained. He felt it upon his face in the form of a grin. And pulled her against him tightly, fitted her head under his chin.

“I meant that you’ve bewitched me.”

“I like the sound of that,” she said sleepily, subsiding in the cradle of his arms on an exhale.

He held her thus for long minutes, savored the feel of her slight form pressing into him. When he felt her body relax against him, he pulled back enough to glimpse her downcast eyes, closed lids with red-tinged lashes brushing her cheeks. She had fallen asleep, no match for the physically demanding, emotionally charged day she’d gone through.