Dinah sucked in a breath. “That’s absurd! How am I meant to prove it?”
But she knew, even before he opened his mouth, she knew…
A dimple flashed at the corner of Oliver’s lips, but his smile was grim. “Kiss me.”
Oliver’s gaze roamed slowly over her, noting the flush of color on her cheeks and throat, her parted lips and hectic breaths, the way her pupils swallowed the blue of her eyes.
He might be a fool in love, but he wasn’t blind.
She could reject his proposals. She could deny she loved him and try and persuade them both she never could. She could refuse to marry him and banish him from her presence forever.
But nothing—nothing she said would ever convince him she didn’t desire him.
He’d never been in love before, and God knew he’d made a mess of it thus far. But Oliver knew desire when he saw it, and he’d had quite enough of this nonsense. “Well, Dinah? What are you waiting for? Prove to me you don’t want me, and I’ll never speak of it again.”
Dinah crossed her arms over her chest. “Your…this is ridiculous.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Is that a refusal?”
“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” Dinah muttered, her lips turned down.
“Of course not,” Oliver agreed. “But it would be an ideal way to silence me on this subject.”
She glanced at him then looked quickly away, her cheeks coloring. Oliver waited, his heart pounding in his chest as indecision wrestled with stubborn pride on her face.
He’d just about given up hope when she held out her hand.
Oliver took it. He could feel her slender body trembling like a reed in the wind as he urged her gently down into the seat beside him. They turned toward each other, the promise of the moment swelling between them, but Dinah’s head was down, her gaze on her lap.
“Look at me, Dinah,” Oliver murmured huskily, tilting her head up with a touch of his thumb to her chin.
She swallowed, her long, graceful throat moving as her dark blue eyes met his.
Oliver ached to gather her into his arms and take her lips with his, but he didn’t do either of those things. He’d bared his heart to her. He’d offered her his love, his devotion, his life, and she’d rejected him.
This time, Dinah would have to come to him.
She rested a hand on his chest. Her eyes lowered again, the dark, lush fan of her lashes brushing her cheeks. Oliver tensed, his entire body straining toward her as she leaned closer. He felt the drift of her warm breath against his skin, the press of her fingers against his chest, and then…
She let out a soft sigh and touched her lips to his cheek.
Her lips were soft, her hands warm, and her kiss…
Oliver felt it everywhere, echoing in recurring vibrations through every part of him, like a tuning fork finding the perfect pitch. He’d shared kisses with other ladies—open-mouthed, passionate kisses, but he’d never experienced anything more erotic in his life than the quick, shy press of her lips against his cheek.
“Thank you,” he whispered. He stroked his knuckles over the delicate arch of her cheekbone and traced his thumb over her jaw before easing slightly away from her.
He expected her to leave him then, to pull away, retreat to her side of the carriage and never spare him another glance the rest of the way to Cliff’s Edge.
But that wasn’t what she did.
A shuddering sigh left her lips, and her fingers curled into the edge of his waistcoat. She opened her devastating blue eyes and gazed up at him for a heartbeat before her eyelids fluttered closed again.
And then…
Then she leaned forward and touched her lips to his.
As desperate as Oliver was for her mouth, he never would have taken such a liberty, never would had stolen from a kiss from lips she hadn’t offered him, but as soon as her mouth touched his it was as if a flame had been set to dry kindling. “Dinah.” He gathered her against him with a groan and opened his lips under hers.
Dear God, her mouth…it was so soft, so sweet. He’d imagined kissing her a hundred times, but he could never imagine the desire, the tenderness and love that crashed over him like a tidal wave.
This is what it feels like to kiss the woman you love.
He was lost to her, lost in her, hers in every way a man could belong to a woman. He could never kiss another, not after her. “Dinah, I…please, sweetheart.” Oliver didn’t know what he was begging her for, unless it was more. More of her mouth, more of her lips, more of her touch.
Dinah’s only answer was a soft whimper, but she twined her arms around his neck and sank her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.
“Open your mouth for me, love.” Oliver’s restless hands moved up and down her spine, molding and coaxing her body into his until they fit together like two puzzle pieces. His mouth grew more demanding, even as some distant part of him warned him if she was going to deny him—if she was going to tear herself from his arms—it would be now.
But she didn’t. She let out a soft, breathy sigh, and opened her mouth against his.
It was an invitation. A hoarse groan tore from Oliver’s throat as he seized it, his tongue invading every corner of her mouth, caressing and teasing and urging her to match his eager thrusts with her own.
He nipped at her bottom lip, then slicked his tongue over the tender pink flesh. “Every corner of your mouth is sweeter than the next.”
She bit his bottom lip in return, her lips curving against his mouth when he gasped, and his body jerked against hers. She pressed closer, close enough so her plump breasts were crushed against his chest.
Oliver was losing himself in the taste of her, her touch, the supple curves of her body pressed against his. “I’ll never get enough of you, Dinah. Never.” He tangled his hands in her hair, groaning as a few loose locks brushed against the skin of his hands. “You’re mine, sweetheart. You’ll always be mine.”
He didn’t realize he’d said the wrong thing until she stiffened against him, and by then it was too late. She was drawing away, leaving a cold, empty space in his arms where her body had been. “No. Dinah, wait—”
She tore her mouth from his, breaking the kiss, and before he could draw a breath she was across the carriage, staring at him with dazed eyes as she raised a shaking hand to her swollen lips.
Oliver wanted to weep at the loss of her. “Dinah, it’s all right.” He held out his hand to her. “Come here, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”
“No. I shouldn’t have…we shouldn’t have…” Her chin shot up. “This doesn’t change anything.”
Oliver’s heart shuddered at her words, at the confusion in her eyes, and fear made his voice harsher than he meant it to be. “Yes, it does. It changes everything.”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “No. It changes nothing, Oliver.”
“You want me,” he insisted hoarsely.
Her throat worked, but she shook her head. “Desire isn’t love.”
Dinah was as good a shot with words as she was with a pistol, and she’d aimed well. Oliver felt as if his heart was exploding inside his chest. Pain and anger pressed against his throat, tried to spill from his lips, but he wouldn’t chastise her. Couldn’t, not when she was gazing at him with wide, frightened eyes.