“The first date?”
“Oh please, don’t make me explain that.”
“Now you must,” he said and fit a boot into the stirrup. He leaped up and swung his other leg over the side. He held his hand down and lifted her under her arm. This time, he set her down in front of him.
“Begin,” he said and flicked the reins. He kept the pace at a steady trot.
Kes didn’t like riding horses. It always hurt her inner thighs and horses sensed when their rider was untrained at riding.
He held the reins with one hand and curled the other loosely around her waist. She thought, with the warmth of his lap beneath her and his waist and chest behind her, this might be a really nice ride after all. It was better than clinging on behind him, crying her eyes out.
She told him about dating and kept it brief, but still he picked up her distaste for the subject.
“You have been hurt by men you have dated.” He guessed. His voice resonated in his chest and echoed through her.
“Yes,” she admitted. She didn’t usually tell guys about herself so soon, but Nicholas wasn’t just a guy. “In the twentieth and twenty-first century, most men slept—sleep around or cheat. There have been songs about how ‘he done me wrong’, sung by women since before I can remember. Women are beginning to take their lives into their own hands and, well, they are sleeping around now, too. It’s very hard to find someone you can trust your heart with when his dic—” Her eyes cut to what she could see of him. Women didn’t speak like that here, did they? It wasn’t a question. She knew the answer. “—his penis is—”
“His what, my lady?”
“His penis,” she said just above a whisper this time.
“Forgive me. I still cannot hear you.”
“If I elbow you in it, will you understand then?”
He laughed behind her, a rich and resonant sound against her back, sending cascades of pleasure through her. He didn’t laugh often. So to get him to relax his guard and do it was a grand accomplishment.
“Now you made me forget what point I was trying to make.”
“You kept speaking of his penis.”
She kept—“Nicholas!” she scowled for all she was worth and pushed off him.
He yanked her back. “Why are you so eager to return to that life?”
Believe me, she wanted to tell him,if it were just about you, I’d work you until I won you and never look back.
“I told you,” she said. “My father will be alone. He never remarried but dove into his work. He digs up bones and studies them. I’m all he has. And I would be leaving my friends, my work as a historian. I would miss all of it.”
“Aye. I understand.”
“No, you think it’s madness.”
“And yet, here I am taking you to see my historian friend a half-mile away.”
She turned and smiled up at him and ran her palm over his stubbled cheek.
He cupped her wrist and kissed her fingers while she whispered to him her thanks.
“But you are weary from your day already traveling. I hate to think you are exhausted and doing this for me.”
“Why would you hate to think that?” he asked, leaning down so that his lips fell across her ear. “It would be showing you my intention toward affection. It should please you, unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you don’t share my affection.”
“I do,” she told him without hesitation. She closed her eyes knowing she was in trouble when he leaned into her, his big arm resting in her lap, his face inclined to her ear. “I’m not accustomed to your behavior,” she admitted.