Page 52 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

So sweet.

Undoubtedly, but that did not matter.

Look at her chest heaving, and the passion in her eyes. She wants you.

But in the long run, he would break her heart because he was unable to commit.

Taste. Now.

The future was so far away. To the devil with everything but the here and now and this tempting woman before him.

Standing, he took her hand in his and brought her finger to his lips. Her breath hitched, and she exhaled and succumbed, allowing him to mold his hardness to her softness. With all barriers between them gone, he licked away the icing. Sweet rosewater and tangy skin were his complete undoing. He sucked her finger into his mouth.

She gasped.

Her finger wasn’t enough to sate him. He needed all of her. He released her finger, intent on capturing her lips, but a force hit him from the side. Teetering, he blinked as Gen backed away.

“Floppy, no,” he said as the wagging dog pressed his paws into his hip.

Seeming to understand that Jonathan was vexed, the mutt dropped onto all fours. He lifted his nose into the air and sniffed. Placing his front paws on the desk, Floppy turned his attention to the bowl and shoved his snout into it. Jonathan helplessly watched as the dog lapped up their makeshift ink.

Laughing so hard that she snorted, Gen slid the bowl out of the pup’s reach, then waggled her finger at Floppy.

Jonathan huffed. There was no way he could reprimand a dog whose eyes were crossed as he enthusiastically tried to lick a pink dollop from the tip of his nose.

“My lord,” Peters said from the doorway. “Lady Davenport asked me to let you know that your meal is ready.”

Dinner came earlier each evening since they were spending so much time at The Silk Knuckles. Not that Jonathan cared about that. However, this longing consuming him since Gen had entered his life was beyond vexing. It seemed that even the universe knew that he shouldn’t kiss Gen. Still, his heart and his body were loath to accept it.

“Thank you, Peters,” he said. “Shall we?” he asked Gen.

She gathered her towels, bowls, and dog.

Begrudgingly Jonathan escorted Gen and her overprotective, pego-jamming mutt to the dining parlor.

Chapter Sixteen

Genevieve inspected theword shield she’d created one last time. She’d had a lot of failed attempts, so it had taken her a few days to turn the pasteboard, ribbon, foolscap, thread, glue, and fabric that she had gathered from the Davenport’s staff into her vision. She was especially proud of the gold embroidered letters on the ribbon. She’d stayed up late last night, taking care that each stitch was meticulous. One of the benefits of working so hard on her project was that it kept her from obsessing about her almost first kiss. Her strenuous boxing lessons also provided respite from her obsession with Jonathan’s lips. In fact, she’d been training so aggressively that Franny insisted she take tonight off to let her muscles rest.

As much as she enjoyed the every other day runs beneath Mother Nature’s exquisite sunrises, they were just another reminder of how much she ached for Jonathan Davenport to press his lips to hers. Jonathan might poke fun at his running ability, but the truth was, he was exceedingly athletic, and his silly acrobatics, which included leaps, tumbling somersaults, and handstands during the middle of their road work, were immensely entertaining, endearing him to her further.

Woefully, although he was sometimes flirtatious, he had kept his physical distance since that late afternoon almost a week ago. She’d visited his study every day since, and there had been no icing licked from her finger or strong arms pulling her close. And yet, he always seemed pleased to see her. His smile was broad,and his eyes twinkled whether they were in his study, enjoying a meal, playing with Horatio in the small garden, or training at the gymnasium.

A few days ago, Lady Davenport had provided her with a fine drawing book bound with ribbon, and Genevieve had sketched pictures of animals in advance. She’d reported to his study, shown Jonathan the pictures, then spelled the animal beneath her drawing in big letters.

“Cat… Dog… Rabbit…Owl.” He’d gotten every word correct until she’d held up a picture of a cow. “Camel,” he said.

She shook her head.

“That is the bloody worst sketch of a camel I’ve ever seen,” he said. “And you misspelled it. It’s notC O W.”For a moment, she’d been confused, but then she realized he was teasing her. She was rather an abysmal artist.

“Mayhap you draw better with icing.” He’d smirked. “I can offer any part of my body you would like as a canvas.”

As in his back, where his shoulders were broad? Or his chest, where muscles bulged?

Not only had her cheeks heated with embarrassment, but her body had also caught on fire. Despite his suggestive offer, he still hadn’t tried to kiss her again.

“Gen,” he had eventually said, his tone deadly serious, “I appreciate your effort, but I can read the words in isolation. Well, most of the time, and if there aren’t too many letters.”