Page 30 of Olive Becket Plays the Rake (The Seattle Suffrage Society)

Olive scanned Emil’s latest note one more time, assured herself she was making the right decision, and knocked on the door to the floating house.

It was easier than the first time she’d visited.

The day was warmer, the wind less biting, and the man inside far less intimidating.

Oh, some days he was still too good-looking and self-absorbed for her tastes, but he'd proven he wasn't all flash.

A caring, patient man was hiding beneath the swagger.

And for whatever reason, he liked her.

She’d spent the three days since the accident analyzing their every interaction.

Somehow, during their game of cat and mouse, they’d become friends.

More than friends, really, but she didn’t have the experience or the courage to put a name to it.

Besides, wasn’t that why she was there? To see what else they could be?

She hesitated, then knocked again. She was early.

Emil wouldn’t know her last lesson had been cut short.

Was she being a bother? She glanced around the quiet boardwalk, biting her lip, her confidence rapidly fraying.

No. She wouldn’t leave. He’d invited her.

She had every right to be there. She would simply wait outside until he showed up at the appointed time.

Although…hadn’t she once glimpsed a couple of chairs on the front deck through the boxy bay window?

Before she could change her mind, she rounded the corner of the house and strode down the narrow perimeter deck.

Trailing her good hand on the wooden railing, she peered into the shallow water and admired the abundance of ferns and trees.

It would be beautiful here in summer—not that she would be there to see it, of course, but still.

It wasn’t hard to imagine sun-soaked days, carefree splashing, and lazy naps.

She sighed and shook her head. It would be foolish to get ahead of herself.

To believe that life could be for her. She would focus on the here and now, where she stood a chance to experience something she never had before.

Then, on the far side of the house, she heard a faint, rhythmic plunk, like something dipping into the water. She rounded the corner to the front deck and came to a halt.

Out in the lake, Emil sat low in a long, narrow boat, rowing toward her in steady, powerful strokes.

His shirt, damp with sweat, clung to the hard lines of his shoulders and arms. She stared, dry-mouthed, as the sleek boat glided alongside the dock with one final pull.

He tossed the oars aside and hopped onto the deck with a fluid, practiced grace.

Then he reached up, his muscles bunching and shifting, to run a hand through his glistening black hair.

Her palms began to sweat, her mouth went dry, and desire pooled between her thighs.

She wanted him. She wanted him badly.

“Hi,” she croaked.

He yelped, then whirled to stare at her in astonishment. “Jesus Christ, you scared me.”

“Thought I’d turn the tables.”

His mouth twisted into that lovely lopsided grin, and they stood for an interminable amount of time, smiling at each other like simpletons.

“I thought—”

“I’m early—”

They both stopped, then laughed.

“You first,” he said.

“I’m early.” She lifted one shoulder. “That’s it. Now you.”

“I thought I had time for a quick row.” His smile turned wolfish. “Wanted to work off a bit of excess energy before you arrived.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

He sauntered forward to tower over her, his body heat exuding into the cool air. His salty musk, laced with the faint scent of sun-warmed wood and lake water, curled around her. Her breath hitched and her pulse hammered, but she met his gaze with all the strength she could muster.

“Because someone kept begging for my kisses the last time I saw her, and I am a man all too eager to please.”

His arm looped around her waist, pulling her in close.

She was already tilting her face upward when the memory rose, unbidden, of how he’d gone cold after their first kiss.

How his terrible smile had hollowed her out and made her feel foolish.

She couldn’t bear that again. Not when her lips fairly tingled with the desire to kiss him.

When her body begged to melt against his.

And her heart—the dratted thing—yearned for more than she dared say.

“Wait,” she blurted.

He stilled. “What’s wrong? Is it a bug?”

A startled laugh tore from her throat. “Not a bug, no. Is that really the only reason you can think of why I may hesitate?”

“Considering the number of times you puckered up in the carriage? Yes.”

“That was the laudanum’s fault!”

“I know.” His hand stroked up and down her back. “But I also know it gave you the courage to express things you’d usually keep to yourself. The only thing I don’t know is what’s causing you to think twice now. So why don’t you tell me?”

She searched his expression and found no judgment there, only patience. He really did want her to tell him. Besides, what was the point in dodging the hard questions? If she wanted that kiss—and she did—she needed reassuring first.

“You…you won’t give me that terrible smile after we kiss, will you?”

“What terrible smile?”

She grinned as broadly as she could, showing every tooth. His hand stilled on her back.

“That better not be an imitation of my signature charming smile.”

“I’m afraid it is. I don’t like it.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because it isn’t real. You use it to cajole people into giving you what you want. Or to pretend everything is fine, even if it isn’t. I…I don’t want you to use it with me.”

He blinked, clearly never having considered that. “What should I do instead?”

“Smile normally, of course.”

“And what does that look like?” She gave her best approximation of his crooked smile, and he barked out a laugh. “Oh, for the love of God. I never look like that.”

“You do right now,” she insisted, touching the corner of his mouth before he could argue. The soft curve she found there filled her chest with joy. “I like it.”

He groaned dramatically. “All right. I’ll try to look ugly for you.”

“It’s not ugly. It’s real.”

“Maybe I won’t smile at all.”

She tilted her head, pretending to think it over. “That could work, too.”

“Come here, you wretched tease.”

He swooped down, and then his lips were on hers.

She sighed into his mouth, her lips parting eagerly as he sipped and teased and caressed.

She rose on her tiptoes to meet him, her good hand climbing its way up his chest to rest against his thudding heart.

She’d never felt such hunger for a man. Never had a man feast on her lips like she was all the sustenance he needed to survive.

It was strange. Wonderful. And only made her want more.

He walked them backward slowly, his lips not leaving hers, until the backs of his knees hit the porch swing.

He broke the kiss with a ragged inhale, then sank onto the swing and pulled her onto his lap. His hands steadied her as she draped her legs over his and leaned carefully against his solid chest. She chanced a glance upward and was met with a radiant, crooked smile.

“Oh my,” she breathed, then immediately flushed. But Emil didn’t seem to mind her brainless reaction. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his splayed hand on her back gripping her tighter.

“That was supposed to be a simple kiss hello. But like everything else with you, things got quickly out of control.”

“Should I apologize?”

“For making me lose myself in a kiss? Never.” He gave her a wry look. “But that is exactly why I wouldn’t kiss you in the carriage. Imagine Winnie’s horror if you’d emerged with bruised lips and mussed hair.”

“She might not have been as scandalized as you think.” She gave him a mock glare. “One of us should have realized she was eavesdropping.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “I’m afraid you fully occupied my attention.”

“Although,” she continued, playing with the top button of his shirt, “there was one thing that confused us both.”

“What’s that?”

“The pronunciation of the word. You know. The one that means kitten.”

Olive was amazed to see his ears redden. So there was something that could embarrass him.

“Min k?raste,” he said finally.

She repeated it, committing it to memory. “Unfortunately, neither of us could remember the term of endearment I came up with for you,” she lied.

Kitten and beloved were not on the same level, and she would sooner die than make the same mistake twice.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” His attention lowered to her injured wrist, bulky in its wrapping and cradled in her lap. “How is your wrist?”

“Healing, thank goodness.”

“Can you play?”

“Not yet, but I already found a replacement for my weekly hour in the Turner Hotel lounge, so the manager shouldn’t be too upset with me. And Mrs. Loughlin was understanding when I had to cancel playing at her birthday luncheon. I should be able to play after that.”

His brows furrowed. “What will the cancellations do to your expenses?”

“It won’t be easy, but we’ll manage.”

“What does that mean?”

The blunt question made her bristle. Why couldn’t he accept her lie as easily as Winnie had? “It means I’ll figure something out.”

“Why should you have to manage when you could thrive?”

She sighed in exasperation. “It’s not as if this is the first time this has ever happened. Two years ago, I had pneumonia and lost several weeks’ pay. We managed.”

“You keep saying that word. Manage. It’s a stupid word.”

“Now, wait just a minute—”

“We’ll go to Ballard,” he said abruptly. “You’ll give lessons to my family to make up the pay.”

“You can’t force your family to learn piano just so I—”

“My sister has begged my father for years,” he interrupted. “I’ll collect you on Sunday and we’ll visit.”