Jacquie D’Alessandro - Touch Me

Genevieve found herself staring into those compelling green eyes that held a hint of something she couldn’t decipher…something that inexplicably rushed fire through her body, heating places that hadn’t been warm for ages. Surely the flush she felt was only because he’d caught her off guard and not from any real attraction on her part-or his. She glanced down at her gloved hands. She was past all of that.

Regaining her aplomb, she inclined her head. “Likewise, Mr. Cooper.”

He offered her the bouquet of pink roses he held. “For you.” He smiled, drawing her attention to his mouth. His very lovely mouth. The sort of mouth that managed to look firm and soft, serious and sensual, all at the same time. His perfectly formed lips looked as if they knew how to kiss. Extremely well.

After a brief hesitation, she reached for the flowers, taking care, as she did with everyone, to avoid touching him. He moved his hand, however, and her fingers brushed against his, stilling her. Warmth penetrated the thin layer of her gloves, shooting a tingle up her arm, one that surprised and unsettled her. She hadn’t felt that sort of flutter in a very long time. Pulling her hand away, she stepped back several paces. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’m very fond of roses.”

Needing several seconds to collect herself, she crossed the Turkish carpet and tugged the bell cord for Baxter. When he appeared in the doorway almost instantly, Genevieve buried her nose in the flowers to hide her smile. Clearly he’d been standing in the corridor, most likely waiting to see if he’d need to toss their gentleman caller into the privet hedges.

“A vase for these, please Baxter,” she said, handing him the flowers. She turned to her guest. “Would you like some tea, Mr. Cooper?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

She shot Baxter, who was alternately glaring at the roses and Mr. Cooper, a warning look. After one last fulminating glower, Baxter quit the room.

When she turned back to Mr. Cooper, she found him staring at the now-empty doorway with an amused expression. “I believe your butler was trying to incinerate me with his eyes.”

“He’s very protective.”

His gaze returned to her and his lips twitched. “Indeed? I hadn’t noticed.”

The fact that Mr. Cooper found Baxter amusing rather than intimidating further piqued her curiosity. She moved to the grouping of chairs in front of the hearth where a cheery fire crackled. “Please join me,” she invited, seating herself in her favorite wing chair and indicating the settee opposite her.

“Thank you.”

She watched him settle himself, noting the way his midnight-blue jacket accentuated his broad shoulders and how his fawn breeches and polished black Hessians hugged his long, muscular legs. Whatever else Mr. Cooper might or might not have to recommend him, he was certainly very nicely made.

She lifted her gaze and found him regarding her with an intensity that would have caused a less self-possessed woman to squirm. If she were still capable of blushing, her cheeks most likely would have burned at being caught looking him over so thoroughly. Instead she returned his gaze measure for measure. Surely a man who looked like him was accustomed to feminine attention.

“What brings you to Little Longstone, Mr. Cooper?”

“A brief holiday. My employer recently married and has taken a wedding trip to the continent.” Mischief glittered in his eyes and one corner of his mouth tilted upward. “I cannot imagine why he didn’t want me to accompany him, but there you have it. I decided to use the opportunity to get away myself.”

Hmm. Genevieve realized he was teasing, still, she’d guess that his employer wouldn’t want this shockingly attractive man anywhere near his new wife.

“And what made you choose Little Longstone?”

“Dr. Oliver is an acquaintance and very kindly offered me the use of his cottage. I’m looking forward to relaxing in all this clear, country air.”

“That was very generous of him. I hope Dr. Oliver is faring well?”

“Very well indeed. His wife is expecting their first child this spring.”

Genevieve smiled. “How lovely. I shall have to write to congratulate them. Tell me, what do you do in London?”

“I am steward to Mr. Jonas-Smythe. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? He is of the Jonas-Smythes of Lancashire.”

Genevieve shook her head. In order to better converse with Richard she’d once kept up with all the names and doings of London’s elite, but no more. “I’m afraid not. I’ve never been to Lancashire and haven’t traveled to town for several years.”

“You were raised in Little Longstone?”

“No.” If she had been raised in this quiet, lovely village, her life would surely have been much different. “I settled here a number of years ago.”

“And what made you choose Little Longstone?”

She saw no harm in telling him the truth. “Mostly the proximity to the springs. I find them therapeutic. I also fell in love with the surroundings-the woods and quiet village.”

“And what of Mr. Ralston? Does he enjoy the springs as well?”

She hesitated. Both the question and his demeanor were perfectly natural, yet something gave her pause. The intensity of his gaze perhaps? A slight edge to his voice? Yes, there seemed to be a bit of both. Could his query be more than mere friendly curiosity or casual conversation? It seemed so. Indeed it seemed…could his interest in the answer be…personal? Did he find her…attractive?

She instantly shoved the ridiculous notion aside. Surely she was mistaken. Heavens, it had been so long since she’d been in the company of a handsome young man she’d completely forgotten how to read the signals gentlemen tossed out.

“I’m afraid Mr. Ralston is…gone.” They were the same words she always murmured when asked about her husband as they were true. She didn’t like to tell boldfaced lies unless it was absolutely necessary. Mr. Ralston was gone-because he’d never existed. She’d only loved one man in her life, and Richard had never offered marriage. Of course, she’d known men didn’t marry their mistresses, especially men of the peerage. Titled gentlemen might give their hearts to their bed partners, but they gave their name only to women of their own social class. Assuming the role of a widow had lent her the respectability necessary to fit in here in the quiet village she’d chosen to make her home. And after Richard had cast her aside, she had indeed felt like a widow who’d lost her life’s partner.

“Gone?” Mr. Cooper repeated. “You mean for the afternoon?”

Obviously the bold-faced lie was necessary. Genevieve shook her head. “No. He passed away.”

His expression turned solemn. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. It happened years ago.”

“Years ago?” he repeated softly. His gaze skimmed over her and when his eyes once again met hers, her breath caught at the unmistakable interest and admiration glimmering in the green depths. “You must have married as a child.”

A tingle she’d last felt long ago rushed through Genevieve and this time she knew she wasn’t wrong. Clearly just because she’d been out of the game for an extended period didn’t mean she’d forgotten how to play.

Mr. Cooper was flirting with her.

The realization stunned her. Intrigued her. It was so long since a man had shown that sort of interest in her. The last man had been Richard-

Reality returned with a slap and her gaze dropped to her gloved hands. Richard hadn’t wanted her to touch him any more. She’d learned her lesson. Learned it well. Whatever stirrings of attraction Mr. Cooper might be feeling would quickly die if he saw the imperfections her gloves hid.