Her brow knitted and unknitted. “We could, starting with the gentleman offering the lady a chocolate.”
She rose and began pacing. This meant a Tremendous Idea had struck—she would not even realize until a few minutes later that she’d left her seat in the excitement. His true intentions remained safe for now.
She stopped midstride. “The gentleman should offer the lady chocolate on a number of occasions, at a tea, at a picnic, on a rowing excursion—fewer and fewer people around them as their acquaintance deepens.
“We should intimate the first time he offers her a chocolate to be the occasion of their first meeting. They will both be a little shy and the chocolate offers a good excuse to exchange a few words. At the picnic they will know each other better. Their postures will be less stiff, they will lean into each other without quite noticing that they are doing so. By the third image—on a rowing boat—they know each other even better, but they have never been in such close proximity for so much time. It is as exciting as it is taxing: They’d like to be closer, but of course they must restrain themselves.”
He wondered now how he’d ever thought of her as bland and bloodless, when she was both quick-witted and inventive. “We can run these first three images together—in the same magazine issue, for example, separated by a few pages of text each. We should make it clear, by the end of the third image, that we intend to tell a story, this couple’s story. And that it will continue in future installments.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Yes, you read my mind: I did intend it as an ongoing story. But your idea is marvelous; a quick succession of vignettes would achieve greater interest faster. After that, we will present new developments in the courtship at regular, but not too close, intervals. And of course our young lovers must overcome a gauntlet of challenges on their way to happiness. But at each step along the way, our chocolates are there to help cement their attraction, comfort their heartbreak, and eventually, celebrate their happiness.”
“We will introduce new varieties when our couple’s children arrive one by one,” said Fitz. He was invariably swept away by her enthusiasm and her barrage of interesting ideas. “And should our chocolates be a success, they will also accompany those children through the ups and downs of childhood and adolescence.”
“Not to mention each milestone anniversary of our couple.” She smiled. “Chocolate is such fun. Would that asparagus were half as enjoyable to think about.”
“The last asparagus advert was quite genius, if you ask me.”
The advert had shown individual asparagus spears in tartans and plaids, in a good-natured parody of the images of the Highland regiments famously used to advertise Huntley & Palmers biscuits. People had chuckled all over Britain and the sales of preserved asparagus had jumped sky-high.
“You’ve always been very uncritical of me,” she murmured.
“The very thought of those bagpipe-playing, bearskin-wearing asparagus still makes me snort.”
She blushed and bent her neck, a gesture of immense modesty. If he hadn’t experienced it, he’d never be able to imagine her thrashing beneath him, her hand between his legs. But it was all he thought of these days, her heat, her temerity, her abandon.
“I think we did well today,” she said. “You can pass on the ideas to Mr. Gideon and I’ll be glad to look at the first sketches when you have them.”
Without waiting for an answer, she rose. He rose, too, and walked her to the door.
He’d meant to open the door for her, but instead he blocked it. Before she could say anything he took hold of her face and kissed her, pressing her into the nearest wall.
All these years. All these years.
Her mouth was chocolaty, her tongue eager and nimble. She dug under his waistcoat and dragged at his shirt, pulling it free of his trousers. He flicked open the buttons on her bodice, pushed down everything in his way, and captured her nipple in his mouth.
His trousers, her skirts, all obstacles were shoved aside. He lifted her and drove into her. The sounds she made, rough, beautiful, sounds of the loveliest distress. And her face, her exquisite face.
“Open your eyes,” he ordered.
She only squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
“Open your eyes or I’ll stop.”
He did stop. She whimpered in protest. Her eyelids fluttered then raised—slightly. She kept her gaze down.
“Look at me.”
Reluctantly, she did.
And in the depth of her eyes were all these years—seasons they’d known, paths they’d trod.
Slowly he entered her again. Everything reflected in her gaze: shyness, yearning, ripples of pleasure.
The pleasure turned fierce, then ferocious. He labored to draw breath. In the wash of her climax, she closed her eyes. He closed his own eyes and yielded to the moment.