Page 33 of A Most Forgettable Girl

“The one Sir Douglas commissioned,” Gunnilde admitted. “But indeed, I never got to read it, and I doubt he even realized it was lewd. Most likely he thought it was just about an acorn or some such thing.”

“Most likely,” he agreed, his voice still gravelly, and Gunnilde was suddenly and unexpectedly thrown into an astonished suspicion that he was perilously close to kissing her. Wasn’t he? Surely not. But then...why else would he be so close and staring at her like that?

Her chest fluttered and she parted her lips expectantly as he lowered his face to hers. He was! He was going to kiss her. Gunnilde closed her eyes and angled her face toward his.

Then...nothing. She felt him move again and realized he was in retreat. She felt a sudden wild despair that he should leave her wanting like this. She should have known. Always, she seemed always destined for disappointment when it came to men.

Then it dawned on her, he was not moving away, rather the opposite. He was shifting over her restlessly and suddenly she realized what he was trying to do. He was trying to anchor himself more firmly against her.

She opened her legs to guide him, jostling her body against his own until James slid into place, exactly where he needed to be. At once she squeezed her legs together, trapping his hips between her thighs, holding him fast and tethering him to her. He gasped, and Gunnilde’s eyes flew open. They stared at one another, breathing hard.

And that was not the only hard thing. His flesh was willing, she realized with stupefied gratification. More than willing, where it pressed up against her own, all hard and swollen with need, and there was nothing remotely polite about it.

James Wycliffe was keen as mustard to join his body with hers. At least, his loins were keen, who knew what torturous thoughts were whirling about that pretty head of his. Oh, gods, don’t let him stop, she thought desperately as her body throbbed and fluttered in a whirl of yearning. She wanted to pull him closer and demand he gave her the attention she craved. She hardly dared meet his eyes, lest he demand she release him, and oh, she did not want to!

“James,” she moaned, and a panicked look entered his eyes.

“Don’t,” he muttered, turning his face away. “For the gods’ sake, don’t make that noise. I can’t stand it.”

Gunnilde froze. Her expression must have shown her confused dismay for he immediately froze too, releasing her wrists and rearing back from her.

“No, I—I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, evidently panicking. “Don’t misunderstand me. I like it. I just can’t—”

“Can’t what?”

He hovered over her, his face blank. “Can’t let the situation get out of hand,” he said frustratedly. “I have not yet even kissed you.” He looked so shame-faced that Gunnilde caught her breath.

Oh. She gave a relieved smile. “Well, you can remedy that easily enough.”

He cleared his throat. “Are you saying my kiss would not be unwelcome?” he asked, and Gunnilde struggled a moment with the strangest impulse to laugh. James’s arousal was currently straining against her belly, and here he was worrying about the propriety of a kiss.

“Do not worry,” she assured him. “You can kiss me and welcome.”

He stared for a long moment and then slowly, achingly slowly, he lowered his face to hers, his lips brushing against hers, oh so softly. Their breath mingled and Gunnilde whimpered. His eyes clashed with hers as he seemed to assess if she liked it or not.

Nay, she thought faintly, seeing the storm of emotions in his eyes. She had that wrong. He was trying to tell if he liked it or not. Was she his first kiss? And why, oh why did that make her heart beat so loudly in her chest that it almost deafened her?

“James?” she whispered. He did not speak, but his eyes focused on her more intently on her face. To her frustration he remained where he was, poised over her, unmoving. “Kiss me again,” she invited, shocking even herself.

His eyes flashed, and the next second his lips were against her own again, firmer this time and less hesitant. Gunnilde gave a murmur of approval, which made him groan. Then suddenly a heavy hammering noise started. It seemed dull and distant at first and barely registered with Gunnilde before it increased in both volume and urgency until James pulled back, a look of confusion on his face.

“Open this door!” yelled a voice which Gunnilde recognized. “Open it now, I say!” As one, both turned their heads to stare at the bedchamber door, though it was surely the outer door that was pounding. “My gods, it’s Hal!” Gunnilde uttered.

“Your brother?” James said, looking as befuddled as she felt. Neither of them had moved, and he was still atop of her.

“Yes. He is expected at court for the Squires’ Solstice Revels,” she reflected. “He must have arrived this eve and heard our news.”

James cursed, then rolled off her, dragging the top sheet from the bed and wrapping it about himself. He was taking a leaf out of her book, it seemed, and she followed suit, grabbing the second blanket this time for her own. She hurried out into the sitting room and heard James drawing back the bolt and flinging the door open out in the small hallway beyond.

“Where is she?” demanded a familiar voice, and then Hal was shoving his way into the room, the light of battle in his eyes. “Gunnilde?”

“Yes, here I am, Hal,” she greeted him, walking forward to kiss his cheek. Goodness, he was now grown tall as her and had filled out a good deal since she had seen him in the summer. “You have heard my news, it seems,” she said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm as James appeared in the doorway behind them

“Married?” Hal said blankly. “Married?” He angled a thumb at James. “To this?”

“Yes, indeed.” Gunnilde took a deep breath. “And now you must greet one another as family. Hal, this is James, my husband. James, this is Hal, my younger brother.”

Hal subjected James to a hard stare. “Why does he look like that?” he asked abruptly. “I don’t like it.”