Daring In a Blue Dress by Katie MacAlister

her hands for him, and he allowed herto pull him up. “I wanted to be a psychologist for a while, and one of the things I learned in two years of psych classes is that you need to desensitize whatever you’re afraid of. If I make a big deal about you talking to me, and touching my hand, and staring at my boobs, then soon you won’t even think twice about those things.”
    He felt the color rushing to his face again. Dear god, had she noticed his reaction to her earlier? He’d kept careful control of his libido since walking into the library, but perhaps she knew the way her scent sank into his blood. Horrified, he pulled his hands from hers, and stammered, “I wasn’t ogling your breasts!”
    â€œNo, you weren’t, and that makes me wonder why.” She puffed out her chest and peered downward at her breasts. “Is there something wrong with them? Do you not like them? Would a push-up bra help?”
    He stared first at her face, then at her chest (since she seemed to expect him to do so), then back to her face. “Are you . . . is this more desensitization?”
    â€œNo. That was ribbing.
This
is desensitization.” She put both her hands on his chest, and leaned forward, kissing his cheek. “There, now you’ve been kissed by a woman you just met, and you got to look at her boobs with her full permission. And we both survived with no ill effects.”
    He was speechless for a few seconds, wishing she’d stay standing so close to him, but she immediately backed up. “Thank you,” he finally got out. “I . . . thank you. For everything. For understanding.”
    â€œYou’re welcome.” Her head tipped again, the hair sliding in a way that made his fingers itch to touch it. “Maybe tomorrow we can throw caution to the wind and hold hands.”
    That sounded like a very fine idea to Alden, but he couldn’t possibly tell her that. Instead, his mouth blurted out the very worst thing it could. “There’s a woman coming here, to the house.”
    â€œOh,” Mercy said, and once again, he felt a slight withdrawal of her personality. It was as if a cloud had rolled in front of the sun. “Gotcha. You’re in a relationship.”
    â€œNo, I’m not,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s . . . someone I might like, is all.”
    â€œI understand. I wasn’t trying to push myself on you, just in case that’s what you were thinking. I mean, you’re nice, and I like you now that I know you don’t loathe me, but I wasn’t chasing you. The hand-holding thing was just a joke. If you’d rather I not get touchy-feely, I won’t.”
    What the hell? How had it gotten to this point? He wanted badly to tell her that he had no intention of liking whomever Alice sent out to him, but couldn’t think of a way to say that without sounding horribly churlish. Instead, he addressed the more important issue. “No, I don’t mind. You touching me, that is. Christ, that sounds risqué.” He took a couple of deep breaths, adding, “Well, that just made it worse. Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should start over.”
    â€œCan’t do that.” She glanced at her watch, made a
tsk
ing noise, and collected up all the papers that had spilled onto the floor. “Ack, it’s been an hour already. Fenice is expecting me.”
    â€œWhy can’t we start over?” Alden asked, more because he wanted to see what Mercy would say than because he really wished to erase the last few minutes.
    â€œBecause I’ve already kissed you, and once you kiss someone, there’s no going back. Would you mind moving your left foot? Thank you.”
    â€œI don’t . . .” He moved aside, bending to help her collect the papers and books. “I’m not . . . this woman who is coming isn’t someone I’m involved