Once Upon an Irritatingly Magical Kiss by Bree Wolf

Chapter Thirteen

A Far Cry from a Gentleman

Christina felt her stomach do flip-flops and somersaults until she felt queasy and slightly lightheaded. He stood so close, so very close, and his eyes were such a deep shade of green that she could have lost herself in them. Nonetheless, his words were teasing and challenging and put her on her guard. Despite his easy smile and quick humor, Christina was certain that Mr. Thorne Sharpe was a dangerous man.

Perhaps she truly ought to reconsider.

Perhaps.

“You cannot intimidate me,” Christina snapped, only her voice sounded all but strong. In fact, she could not help but despise the slight tremble she heard with her own ears.

That slow smile once again curled up the corners of his mouth as he inched another fraction closer, no doubt fully aware of how deeply his presence unsettled her. “I have no wish to intimidate you. Far from it.” He exhaled a slow breath, and she could feel it brush against her lips. Faintly. Just faintly. And it sent a thrilling shiver down her back. A shiver he was also fully aware of for the right corner of his mouth quirked upward in acknowledgment.

“Why did you come here today?” Christina asked simply to have something to say, something that would fill the quiet and the strange sizzling in the air between them as though something were on fire.

“Did I not already answer that question?”

Christina sighed exasperatedly. “And that is precisely why you are not a gentleman.”

Mr. Sharpe frowned. “Because I refuse to answer the same question twice?”

Once more, Christina felt her anger flare and she gritted her teeth to tamp it down. “Because you refuse to play along in order to protect a lady’s sensibilities.” Indeed, saying it out loud made it sound almost nonsensical.

That irritating grin of his returned. “Are you saying you, my dearest Christina, have sensibilities? That is indeed a shocking notion and quite removed from the truth, would you not agree?”

Christina wanted to sink into a hole in the ground. Never before had she encountered a man as blunt and unaware of society’s unwritten rules as him.

Before she could say anything, Mr. Sharpe laughed. “I did it again, didn’t I?” His gaze searched hers. “Before, you did not truly wish for me to answer your question again but were merely using it as a distraction.” His eyes remained on hers as he spoke, searching, contemplating. “A distraction from what?” he mused before that knowing smile once more returned.

Heaven help her, but this man was infuriating!

“I believe you should leave,” Christina hastened to say before he could read more on her face. Never before had she noticed how expressive it had to be. Could others do the same? Read her thoughts on her face? Or was it only him?

She made to turn away, but his hand closed over her arm, holding her back. His touch made her head snap back around, her eyes wide as she looked up at him, uncertain what she feared, or perhaps wanted, to see.

Looking down at her, he pulled her closer, something annoyingly victorious flashing in his green eyes. “I’m making you nervous, not because you fear me, but because…” He broke off, and his brows rose meaningfully.

For a long moment, they simply stood there, his hand wrapped around her arm, keeping her in place. In truth, it was wholly unnecessary for Christina had no wish to be anywhere else. Yes, Mr. Sharpe frustrated her to no end. She despised him…or at least tried to. Nevertheless, there was something…

She could not help but think that…

He almost looked as though…

“Will you change your mind?” Mr. Sharpe whispered gently, his gaze holding hers as he waited patiently. Or did he? Out of the corner of her eye, Christina took note of the rapid beating of his pulse, speaking against the inner calm he was portraying.

“No.”

A small smile began to form upon his face. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation, wondering how she could for her own pulse was beating as fast as his.

His smile deepened. “Good,” he said as though her answer had truly brightened his day. “Then I suppose we will be married soon.” His voice was soft and teasing, and Christina could sense hidden meaning dancing upon each and every word.

“I suppose so.” Despite the shiver that danced down her spine, Christina did not drop her gaze. He made her nervous. He made her feel all kinds of things she had never experienced before. He also made her want to stand tall. It was as though every word from him was a challenge, and to her surprise, it seemed as though he did not wish for her to back down. Indeed, he did not seem like an ogre, determined to get his way, to intimidate others into submission.

Perhaps she had been wrong about him. Perhaps he would prove to be a somewhat decent man. The thought had occurred to Christina before; only it was always swiftly followed by doubt because if Mr. Sharpe proved to be a decent man after all, should she then not allow him to marry her friend? Would he then not be a good husband for Sarah?

“I shall speak to your father,” he told her, his eyes still lingering upon her face as though expecting her to faint or lose her temper at any moment. “Are you hoping for a grand wedding?”

“Not at all,” Christina replied, uncertain what exactly she was hoping for. Yes, she had often heard other debutantes gush about elaborate wedding celebrations. Christina herself, though, had never entertained such ambitions. She had always kind of pictured her future husband, imagined the kind of man he would be, the way he would look at her. Was that not what was important? To find oneself married to someone who…

Her thoughts trailed off, and a deep sigh left her lips. The Whickertons married for love, did they not? Her parents had. As had her grandparents. And now, Louisa and Leonora were both happily married as well, married to men they genuinely loved.

I’m breaking with tradition, Christina thought to herself, feeling a pang of guilt, of remorse. Always had her parents encouraged her to follow her heart.

Again, Christina recalled the day Aunt Francine had come to Whickerton Grove all those years ago. The day still seemed as clear to Christina as it had back then. She remembered well Aunt Francine’s despair over the decision forced upon her. Yet Aunt Francine had chosen herself, her own will, her right to be the master of her own destiny. She had not bowed her head, and Christina could not help but feel as though she was disappointing everyone by agreeing to a marriage she did not genuinely want. She had given up her passion in order to find happiness in marriage, had she not? To ensure that her family would never be lost to her? Still, she was marrying Mr. Sharpe for fairly rational reasons, was that not so?

She was marrying him to protect Sarah.

She was marrying him to avoid a scandal.

She was marrying him to–

Christina blinked, finding those expressive eyes of his searching hers. How long had she been standing here, staring at nothing? Had he said anything to her? Had she failed to respond?

“Are you all right?” he asked gently, reaching out a hand to brush a curl from her forehead. The tips of his fingers never brushed her skin, but she could feel their soft pressure as he trailed them along her hair, his fingers curling downward behind her ear. Still, he withdrew his hand before his fingers reached the slope of her neck.

Awareness trailed down Christina’s spine, and her gaze remained fixed upon his, her breath lodged in her throat as she continued to wonder if perhaps a small part of her did want to marry him.

Christina cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine. What were you saying?”

The teasing smile once more appeared upon his face, and she could not help but think that he was rather delighted with her distractedness. “I was asking you how soon the wedding should take place. I’ve heard that sometimes a special license is procured in these situations; however, if you would rather wait three weeks…” His voice trailed off; but the way he lifted and arched his brows, his mesmerizing eyes sparking with something wicked, made Christina smile.

“You’re impossible,” she laughed, shaking her head at him.

He grinned. “Am I? Careful or I might come to think that you do not loathe me nearly as much as you would like me to believe.” Again, his hand reached out and he captured the end of a curl between thumb and forefinger, giving it a slight tug. “When you look at me like that, someone who does not know you might even think you’re beginning to like me.”

Christina closed her eyes, for she could not help the smile that stretched traitorously across her face. “Like what?” she demanded, meeting his eyes once again, knowing that not doing so would only encourage him, give him the wrong impression.

Again, his fingers gave her curl a soft tug as though he wanted to urge her closer. “Well, I did not fail to notice that your eyes are no longer shooting daggers at me. Instead, there is a very fetching soft glow upon your cheeks, and I cannot help but wonder if perhaps…I put it there.” His brows lifted into arches, the look in his eyes conveying even more than his words had.

Christina could not deny that in all likelihood Mr. Sharpe was correct. Still, that did not mean she had to say it out loud. Instead, she chuckled, pulling her curl free. “I must say for a man who is generally considered not to be a gentleman you certainly think quite highly of yourself.”

Grinning, he shrugged. “Well, you cannot deny,” he whispered, slowly lowering his head closer to hers, “there is something between us, can you? You feel it too, do you not?”

Christina pressed her lips into a bit of a thin line, feigning ignorance. “Feel what?”

Holding her gaze, he waited. Then he said, “Honestly, it would make everything a lot easier if you simply admitted to it.”

Christina frowned; yet her pulse seemed to quicken. “Admit what?”

His grin deepened, and his hand suddenly reached out, slipped around her waist and pulled her against him.

Christina exhaled a sharp breath, her eyes locked onto his. “You… You should not be doing this.” She had meant to chide him, to put him in his place, yet her words came out breezy and hesitant.

“Because it is not proper?” he asked, and she could feel his breath against her lips. “Or because you do not like it?”

Christina gritted her teeth. “Why do you always tease me so? Why do you demand an answer when you can see that—?” She clamped her lips shut, afraid to say too much, to reveal too much. Indeed, his closeness was addling her mind. She could not think clearly. If she was not careful, she might admit that she—

That she what?

“You’re trying to be upset with me,” Mr. Sharpe whispered as one hand slipped from her waist and reached up to grasp her chin. He gave it a soft pinch, another teasing gesture, another challenging gesture. “Yet you’re failing miserably.”

Christina hated that daring gleam in his eyes, that victorious glimmer as though they had been opponents locked in battle and he knew her to be weaker, he knew she would eventually admit defeat. “I was right,” she snapped, lifting her hands in order to push him away. “You are the most infuriating, irritating and—”

“And you like me,” he whispered, his fingers holding onto her chin, resisting her attempts to push him away. “No matter what you’re trying to tell yourself, to convince yourself of, you like me.”

In shock, Christina stared at him as his words continued to echo in her head. Was it true? Did she? Yes, perhaps, there was some kind of redeeming quality in him, something that made him tolerable, something that—

He chuckled. “Don’t look so shocked.” Then a soft frown came to his face. “You truly didn’t know, did you?”

“No!” Christina exclaimed before she could stop herself. Instantly, she felt heat rush to her cheeks, finally giving her the strength or rather the determination to break free, to remove his hands from her body and step back. “I mean, no, I do not. I didn’t mean to say that I did not know because I cannot know what is not…” Clamping her lips shut against the embarrassing babble that came out of her mouth, Christina felt her hands ball into fists.

“I like you as well,” he said rather unexpectedly.

Christina’s head snapped up and she stared at him. She could not deny the warmth that began to fill her heart at his words, wondering why it was there when it had not been before. Did she seek his affections? “You… You like me?” She wasn’t quite certain what she was asking or why. The moment itself seemed strangely surreal, and she did not quite know what to do with it.

Taking a step toward her, he nodded. “Is that wrong of me? Do gentlemen not like the women they are to marry?” That teasing grin returned to his face. “Would you not consider that foolish? To find yourself, gentleman or not, betrothed to a most exceptional woman and not be glad for it?”

Focusing on evening her breathing, Christina looked at him, wanting to believe his words, wanting to believe that despite everything he was glad to marry her.

Her.

Not her family or her family’s connections.

But her.

Again, his hand reached out and tugged upon one of her curls. “I cannot help but think that we shall get along splendidly, you and I.”

Christina could not help but agree, at least quietly. Was she a fool to do so?

A soft chuckle drifted from his lips. “Goodbye, until we meet again, Chris.”

At the sound of the nickname her family used for her, Christina felt her eyes narrowing almost reflexively. “Do not call me that!” she chided, once again feeling the sudden need to put him in his place and uphold her own. Mr. Sharpe had a way of distracting her, confusing her even, that she could not help but feel that she might lose herself if she were not careful. Indeed, he was a dangerous man!

“Why?” he demanded in that casual way of his that Christina was slowly coming to expect from him. “I’ve heard your sisters call you that. Do you not like it?”

Christina shot him a challenging look. “They are my sisters. You’re not.”

He chuckled. “But I am to be your husband.” Again, he inched closer, another challenging look lighting up his eyes. “Am I not also permitted to use it?”

Christina could not deny that a part of her, deep, deep down, did not oppose his suggestion. She had always liked being called Chris. It was unconventional and daring and unique for a woman to have such a nickname. At least, outside of her family. Only she was not certain if it would be wise to allow him to use it…just yet. Perhaps she ought to make him work for it. “I shall think on it,” she finally told him in a rather haughty manner.

As expected, he seemed to find her reaction amusing, another one of those infuriating chuckles leaving his lips. “By all means.” He grinned at her, and then…

…then he leaned forward and gently brushed a kiss onto her cheek.

It was fleeting and brief and utterly chaste, and Christina felt as though any moment now her heart might jump from her chest. A strange sensation rolled through her body, teasing her skin and almost drawing the air from her lungs. Never before, had she felt so overwhelmed.

And Mr. Sharpe knew it. The dreaded man knew it! The teasing grin upon his face attested to it as he pulled back and his eyes once more met hers. “See you soon, Chris,” he whispered, issuing yet another challenge before he stepped away and left the room.

With her knees suddenly feeling beyond weak, Christina sank down onto the settee, trying her best to restore her sense of balance and composure. Was this what the rest of her life would look like? Married to such a man? Would they forever be teasing and testing one another?

In the back of her mind, an annoyingly honest voice whispered, would you mind?