Twelve Kisses to Midnight by Karen Hawkins

Author:Karen Hawkins [Hawkins, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-11-27T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

An hour and a half later, Kenna stabbed the needle into the embroidery pattern. She’d been fortunate to find both another hoop and several other patterns in the basket; otherwise she’d have had nothing to do.

Marcus hadn’t returned to the sitting room since her awkward flight, and she was glad. It gave her time to think of a reason to explain her actions: she’d tell him she’d felt ill from the stew. That was certainly believable. She even practiced the telling of it, looking at herself in the mirror to make sure she appeared sufficiently distressed.

But Marcus hadn’t granted her the opportunity to perform; he’d left her alone as the sun outside slowly slid out of sight.

What is he doing? She eyed the closed door curiously. Immediately after she’d retreated to the sitting room, she’d heard him make his way to the kitchen, where he’d stayed for almost half an hour. After that, she heard him walking back up the steps, and then—a very short time later—back down to the kitchen. That had happened a dozen times or more. What was he up to? Perhaps he was avoiding her, too?

She frowned, a bit miffed. Should she find out what he was doing? Join him in the kitchen, under the pretense of wanting something to eat? But no, that might seem as if she were trying to woo him. She wasn’t, of course. Their relationship was over; he’d made that abundantly clear. She was just . . . curious. Yes, curious.

She sighed, her breath fluttering the thread in her unused needle. Perhaps he merely wished for some time alone. Perhaps he finds the situation as difficult as I do. It’s so awkward.

She stabbed at her embroidery as she heard his tread upon the stairs yet again. It was truly an agony, being so close to him but separated. He was a man made for touching, and she was realizing how, over the years, she’d missed that aspect of their relationship. Her lips still tingled at the thought of tracing his jaw with kisses, of sliding her hands over his flat, firm stomach, of the heat of his skin against hers—None of which will happen if I sit here like a lump on a log and wait. I must make an effort if I wish this relationship to—She wasn’t sure what she wished their relationship to do. Certainly she’d like to be friends. But if she were honest, she wanted more, too. She wanted to move past this frosted, awkward friendship (if it could be called that) and rekindle the passion they’d always had. Marcus said passion isn’t enough, but it’s a beginning. And perhaps all we need is another one of those.

She put down her embroidery and stood just as the door opened, and Marcus strolled in. His coat was gone, his fresh shirt unlaced to reveal his throat, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing his powerful forearms.

She hurried to sit back down, snatching up her embroidery and pretended great interest in the stitches, few as they were.

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