Page 8 of The Hellion and the Captain (Scandals and Scores #2)

“Well, lads, I think it’s time we called it a night,” Colin announced, his arm wrapped securely around Lily’s waist, holding her tightly against him.

The other men murmured their agreement, downing the last of their drinks. Rhys glanced at Emmaline, who seemed to be lost in thought, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup.

“I should probably be getting home as well,” she said, almost to herself.

Rhys found himself speaking before he could think better of it. “I’ll see you home.”

Lily looked over at them, opened her mouth as though to say something — likely to offer their intention of doing so — but then stopped, shaking her head with a small smile on her lips as she said goodnight to Emmaline.

“I can get there myself,” Miss Whitmore said stubbornly — of course.

He shook his head. “It’s not safe for a lady.”

Emmaline looked up at him, surprise flickering across her face before it was replaced by that easy, teasing grin. “Why, Mr. Lockwood, are you concerned for my virtue?”

He rolled his eyes, standing. “Hardly. I’m more concerned for the poor sod who might try to accost you and end up on the receiving end of your sharp tongue.”

She laughed at that, a genuine, throaty sound that made something in his chest tighten. She stood as well, smoothing out the skirts of her awful dress. “Very well, then. Lead the way, my gallant protector.”

Rhys snorted but couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through him at her proximity.

He said goodnight to his teammates, placing his hand on the small of Emmaline’s back as he led her to the door of the pub, unable to help the part of him that wanted everyone to think that she was off limits, that — for tonight, at least — she was his to look after, to take care of.

They stepped out into the evening air, the temperature having greatly cooled over the past few hours.

Rhys had to stop himself from holding out his arm or taking her hand in his — it would be too much, when they were nothing more than acquaintances, friends of friends.

“Tell me about Williams.”

She stopped so suddenly it took him awhile to realize she wasn’t still walking beside him.

“Williams?” she said, her eyes wide.

“Emmett Williams. When I mentioned his name, it seemed as though you knew him.”

“Why would I know him? I told you I didn’t.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, and he studied her. She wasn’t telling the full truth, that he knew, but he didn’t see a way to push it any further.

“Never mind,” he murmured. “I made an error.”

She nodded and after a couple of minutes, their easy banter fortunately returned, the conversation flowing between them.

Rhys found himself laughing more than he had in a long time, his earlier irritation with her nearly forgotten.

There was something about Miss Whitmore that drew him in, made him want to know more about her.

He should find her a hack to see her home, but he was enjoying walking with her so much that he didn’t want to give up on this time with her.

“Tell me, Miss Whitmore, what truly brought you to the pub tonight?”

“I prefer it to those events that are fabricated by society,” she finally said, her face forward, and he noted the small freckles dotting her pert nose. She turned to look at him, her eyes, an intriguing almost violet color, dancing. “My parents believe I am with Lily.”

“I am not exactly Lily.”

She laughed at that, as he stared at her. There was something about her that reminded him of someone else he knew, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Perhaps her mannerisms or her eyes — he wasn’t sure.

“No, you are certainly not,” she murmured. “Lily has so many other things in her life now, though, that despite how much I tell my mother I am with her, I almost never am.”

“You miss her,” he stated.

“I am happy for her,” she said as they entered Ellesmere Park, and he knew that their time together was coming to an end, whether he liked it or not.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t miss the part she played in your life,” he said, and she looked at him with brows raised.

“You are wiser than I thought you were, Mr. Lockwood.”

“Call me Rhys,” he said, surprising himself. “When I hear Mr. Lockwood, I think I am at the bank.”

“Very well, Rhys. You might as well call me Emmaline. I prefer it to Miss Whitmore, at least among friends.”

“Am I your friend, then?”

“I suppose you can be, even if you do find me contrary now and again.”

She came to a stop in front of a long drive to what must be her house, and he did the same, turning to face her.

She was a tall woman, but the perfect height for him, the top of her head stopping just beneath his chin.

He bit his lip as he stared down at her. He needed more, as much as he wished he didn’t. What was it about this woman? She would drive him crazy, and yet… he certainly wouldn’t be bored.

“What are you thinking right now?” she probed .

“Honestly?”

“Always.”

“You captivate me, Emmaline,” he murmured.

“Of course I do,” she said with that coy smile, and he laughed again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so much in one evening.

“What am I going to do with you?” he said, shaking his head.

Emmaline’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she took a step closer to him, her voice low and teasing. “I can think of a few things you could do with me, Rhys.”

His breath caught in his throat at her boldness, the way his name fell off of her lips. Before he could think better of it, he reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft skin. “Emmaline,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

She leaned into his touch, her lips parting slightly. “Yes, Rhys?”

Just when he was about to give in, unable to resist any longer, she stood on her toes and closed the distance between them, her arms winding around his neck, pulling him close as his hands slid down to her waist, holding her tight against him as their lips crashed into each other.

The kiss was electric, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through his body from where they were joined. Her lips moved beneath his, practiced, with a passion that matched his own. All of those conversations, all that teasing, had only been foreplay for this.

He nipped at her bottom lip, eliciting a soft gasp from her that only spurred him on.

Rhys couldn’t get enough of her, the taste of her, the feel of her pressed against him, and while he could have kissed her all night, when she backed him up until his shoulders hit the wrought-iron fence behind him, he returned to the moment, of where they were, of who they were.

“Emmaline,” he murmured, lifting his hands to cup her face and ease their mouths apart. “We have to stop.”

Breathless, Rhys rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he savored the lingering sensation of her lips on his. “That was...” he trailed off, unable to find the words to describe the intensity of what had just passed between them.

“Unexpected,” Emmaline finished for him, a small smile playing at the corners of her kiss-swollen lips as she leaned back to look at him. “But not unwelcome.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, trying to ignore that his fingers were shaking ever so slightly. He had never been so affected by a woman before, and certainly not by a mere kiss.

This woman was dangerous, for she had the power to make him feel things that he hadn’t known were possible.

“No,” he managed, swallowing hard. “Definitely not unwelcome.”

She took a step back, her fingers trailing over his arm as she walked away from him.

“Goodnight, Rhys,” she said with a wink as she took a first step toward the house. “Always a pleasure.”

Once he saw that she was safely inside the house, her deep, throaty laugh echoed behind him, and he turned to see the door still open an inch, as her eyes followed him down the drive.