“It made sense. I ran a bookshop—who better to be the Alliance academic?”
“But you don’t want to anymore?” she asked, trying to focus. The mellow current had started to fizzle, leaving behind a lovely kind of weightlessness. When the last prickle dissolved, Ingrid slumped back against him. Her arms felt like they were made of silken ribbons instead of flesh and bone.
Vander didn’t react. He only held her tighter. “It’s more a matter of time. My studies at the church are taking more of it than I thought they would.”
“So you think I can do this?” she replied, seeing the stacks of books with new, overwhelming wonder.
“Be an Alliance academic? Absolutely.” He turned her to face him. She needed the help. The silky feeling had spread to her legs.
“Do you feel that?” she asked.
A coy little grin worked at Vander’s lips. “I most certainly do.”
She swatted him on the arm, though she was sure the slap landed like a goose feather. He feigned injury but then put on his sly smile again.
“I mean it. I feel an electricity whenever we touch,” he said, stepping closer, leaving an inch, maybe two, between them. Ingrid already felt hot, and when Vander reached up to run his thumb across her lower lip, she thought she might combust.
“Do you feel anything now?” he asked. Before she could answer, Vander had his lips against hers.
Ingrid held her breath, her eyes still open.
She shouldn’t be kissing him.
Should she?
Her lips moved on instinct. Her eyes slowly fluttered shut. Vander’s arms wound around her and tucked her body against his. Ingrid’s hands, trapped between her chest and his, gathered up fistfuls of his soft tweed jacket. Their kiss broke off and Vander tilted his head to press his lips to the curve of her jaw. He tasted her skin, nuzzling the slope of her neck, his breath hot. Vander held her tightly, his arms solid, his fervor rising. He felt so good and strong, and she began to yearn for his lips to climb back up to hers. If she should even be kissing him. A small voice called for her to stop and breathe. Step away. Vander’s mouth came back upon hers, silencing the voice altogether.
The knob on the door to the library creaked, the hinges squealed, and Chelle stood, openmouthed, in the doorway.
“Oh. Ah.” She averted her eyes as Vander pulled away and adjusted his spectacles. Ingrid stumbled back against a tower of books. They toppled into a heap.
Chelle recovered first. “Your gargoyle is darkening our doorstep. He’s taking your brother and sister home but refuses to leave without you. Are you, ah, finished here?”
If Luc’s sixth sense had felt the stirring of Ingrid’s blood, or the sudden stream of static that had strangely dissolved a minute later, then he very well might have entered the building to interrupt her.
Or, Ingrid reasoned as she said an awkward good-bye to Vander and followed Chelle, he had simply grown tired of waiting for her. Why did she keep doing this to herself? Hope always felt so good and buoyant—until truth sank it. Luc could lust, not love. And Ingrid wanted love.
Vander could love her. Perhaps he already did. She certainly hadn’t disliked kissing him, even though that small voice had implored her to stop. Still, kisses were one thing. Ingrid had to start thinking seriously about whether she could love Vander in return.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The thing Luc disliked most about being the Waverlys’ driver was the amount of time he spent sitting on his ass, waiting. It wasn’t the cold, which tonight was more of a bone-chilling dampness. Or the horses, even though they smelled. No, it was just his backside, aching now that he’d been sitting on it for nearly two hours while Ingrid and her family ate a leisurely dinner in a restaurant near the Champs de Mars.
The drizzly snowfall had amounted to a half an inch of dirty slush along the pavement. It gathered on the short brim of Luc’s driver’s hat and dripped steadily into his lap. Had it only been Lord and Lady Brickton dining out, Luc would have been more annoyed than he already was. But Ingrid was with them, along with Gabby and Grayson, and so Luc sat vigilantly in the driver’s box, doing something the other drivers lined up and down the curb couldn’t do: eavesdropping on his employers.
It had become a disgraceful habit, but Luc couldn’t stop himself. There was something about this family that intrigued him. However, Lord Brickton was not a welcome addition. For Luc, he was one more human to protect, and for Ingrid and the others, he was a source of nervous tension. Ingrid, Gabby, Grayson, and even Lady Brickton had all responded to his arrival with the same tightness in the chest, the same unease. It bothered Luc, the way this one man could have such an instant and dreary effect on them all.