He rose from the table and joined her at the hearth. He took her hands, one at a time, and held them between his own. “You’re cold,” he said as though she’d done it on purpose.
“I suppose the turning weather has seeped under my skin.” As if to punctuate her statement, a flash outside the window signaled lightning, followed by a clap of thunder.
He rubbed her hands briskly. “The storm is blowing in quickly. You ought to have said something. I’ll build up the fires.”
She shook her head. “It is plenty warm in here. Likely it is a case of nerves. I am unsettled, and now that the rain is beginning to fall on the festivalgoers, I am feeling quite bad for them.”
His lips quirked, and he held one of her hands up to his mouth, cupping it in his and softly blowing warm air onto it. “You feel bad for the festivalgoers whose parade is literally getting rained upon. Festivalgoers who have been the target of your envy all day.”
“Certainly! I hate to see their fun come to an end.”
He chuckled and repeated the warming process with her other hand. The small gesture was proving so effective she found herself quite warm all over.
“You are amazingly good at playing nursemaid. Did you know that? Have you had occasion before to be so . . . motherly?”
One eyebrow shot up. “Does my attention to you truly feel maternal?”
She swallowed. His nearness was deliciously warm, and she wanted to snuggle against him and hold him tightly. Maternal? She sighed. Not in the least.
She looked up at him, and those intense golden-brown eyes held a hint of laughter, mixed with an exasperated smirk she was certain should spark her temper.
“Not maternal, I suppose, but you seem very . . . natural . . . at all of this.” She waved her hand in a small circle. “This caring-for-an-invalid sort of thing.”
“I’ll be honest.”
“Please.”
“I could care for you as an invalid with much less familiarity and significantly more professional efficiency.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I suppose you could.” She cleared her throat and tried for an expression that would read Mature Conversation Between Two Adults, Neither of Whom Feel Self-Conscious. “And you’ve another situation with which to compare?”
His lips twitched. “Another situation where I’ve cared for an invalid with more professionalism? Less familiarity?”
“Yes. Just so.”
“I believe I can gather a memory or two. Between military service and police work, I’ve been occasionally called upon to lend aid.” He paused. “Heaven knows I ought to be reprimanded at the very least for my presumption. Would you rather I establish clearer boundaries? More distance?” His voice was low and wrapped around everything in her that still felt chilled.
She felt fairly breathless. “I believe that would be counterintuitive, wouldn’t you say? How can you keep me safe from a distance?”
He tucked her hair behind her ear. “An emotional distance, perhaps, would be more appropriate. Less of this sort of thing.” He trailed his finger softly along the curve of her neck.
She licked her lips. “But Josephine is off on an errand, so it naturally falls to you to fix my hair . . . warm my hands. And after falling from the sky, it would have been positively criminal for you to neglect me.”
“I do admire your logic.” He put his hands in his pockets, and she swayed slightly forward, regretting the loss of contact. “One might suggest those hours directly following the ‘sky falling’ were a natural response to fear of death or paralysis.”
That didn’t account for the night before, when the prospect of another lovely kiss had been unintentionally curtailed by one well-meaning vampire-valet.
Oliver sobered, and she knew he laced his flirtation with honesty. “If I were any sort of gentleman, I would treat you now with less familiarity, not more.”
“You are more of a gentleman than the majority of men I know.” Her throat felt thick, and she swallowed. Honesty was painfully emotional, and she didn’t want tears threatening when she had entirely too much time to wallow in it. She gave him a half smile. “I am still quite traumatized, you know. Any sudden change in your treatment of me could be awfully dangerous and extremely irresponsible on your part.”
He lifted that one brow, but for the first time, it didn’t feel condescending. In fact, when combined with the smile that played at the edges of his mouth, the warmth she felt turned to heat.
“I should hate to be accused of neglecting my duty to you, Miss O’Shea.”
She nodded. “I should hate to feel obliged to report your dereliction to your superior.”
“Speaking of my duties.” He nodded toward the sofa. “You ought to sit. Rest your ankle.”
She sighed. “Perhaps in a moment.” She smoothed the lines of his vest. “I am too restless to sit.” She fiddled with a button on his chest and lifted her eyes to his, stepping a few inches closer.
He pulled his hands from his pockets and cupped her elbows, slowly inching his way up her arms to her face. “You’re playing with fire,” he murmured.
“Perhaps.”
“Do you ever do anything by halves?”
She smiled. “What would be the point?”
He chuckled softly and shook his head, finally lowering his mouth to hers in a kiss that robbed her of breath and coherent thought. He braced her against him with an arm around her waist and one at the back of her neck. She clutched his vest in tight fists.
The shrill ring of the telephone intruded, and Emme was content to ignore it, but then Oliver broke contact with a sigh. She swallowed, overwhelmed, and when he straightened, she relaxed her fingers and tried to smooth the mess she’d made of his vest.
Oliver clasped her hands in his, kissing her knuckles. “Probably a timely interruption,” he whispered and left her to answer the call.
She placed her fingertips against her lips and watched him walk away, running a hand through his hair. He picked up the receiver, his back still to
