Viridian (The Hundred-Days Series Book 2) by Baird Wells

dust ruffle.
That something was fingers. Ty’s fingers.
    She sat up. “What are you doing?”
    His owl eyes blinked. “Touching
your hair.”
    “Why?”
    “It was there. I'm sitting here
waiting.” He formed his words with the careful deliberation of someone nearly
foxed, planting a fist on his hip. “You've never touched someone's hair
before?”
    Well, no , not out of
boredom . Olivia didn't admit it aloud. She was not about to engage in such
a conversation with Ty just now. He was a tad too drunk, and she was too sober
for anything deeper.
    Staring a moment longer at his
serious if unfocused expression, she ducked back under the bed and continued
searching. “Here it is!”
    “I was beginning to hope you
wouldn't find it,” he grumbled.
    Fighting a laugh, she sat back up
and pointed to the gin. “As I said, you're welcome to go to bed if you believe
my talents are less than adequate.”
    He tried crossing his arms,
betraying the gesture by wincing. “No, no. Continue.”
    Nodding in triumph, she stood and
set the brick-sized wooden box on the coverlet. “Stand up. Let's get a look at
how badly you've abused yourself.”
    “ Me ? I would say –” His
mouth snapped shut.
    Nothing . He would say
nothing, because he was wise enough not to argue with a woman who was about to
pierce his flesh. Feeling smug, she stepped close and grasped the tail of his
shirt.
    He startled nimbly considering his
injury and the gin. “Now what are you doing?”
    “Shirt has to come off.”
    “I can take it off,” he protested,
cheeks tinting a deeper shade of red. There was no rhyme or reason to his sense
of modesty.
    “As can I. Here we go.” She brought
the tail over his head, ran fingers up his biceps along raised arms, chasing
the sleeves until it dropped to the floor. She stifled the pleasure of
smoothing hands over his bare skin, the thrill of stripping even a single
article of clothing.
    Ty stared down at her, close enough
that each breath was warm across her face. Avoiding his eyes, she wondered if
their minds followed a similar path.
    She glanced to her bare third
finger, still absent a ring. John . Why had his name taken so long to
penetrate her thoughts? Maybe because they were not truly engaged. They were
just two people who enjoyed dancing together and did not enjoy eating
Sunday dinner alone.
    That wasn't fair , she
sighed. John was dependable. Distant, but he didn't sleep through the opera and
enjoyed discussing the papers. Her uncle liked him well enough. Why was that no
longer satisfying? She glanced down again and realized her fingers rested at
Ty's wrist.
    In her haste to step back, she
knocked her head against the mantle. Ty doubled over with laughter, and rubbing
her bump, she joined him. “Perhaps I'm not the one who should be tending you,
after all.”
    He wagged an unsteady finger. “I've
made my devil's deal. No going back.”
    “Remember you said so, later.” She
pulled the lid off of her case and patted the mattress. “Have a seat and let's
see if we can muddle through.”
    Grunting, he palmed the gin,
falling to the bed with enough force that the frame groaned. He swigged deep
from the bottle, eyes widening over the rim as she threaded her needle. She
frowned at her work, tossing him a glance. “You know you will regret every drop
come morning.”
    “No, I will not.” Handsome features
screwed up into the frown of a petulant child, and then he grinned. “I will not
be awake in the morning .”
    She nodded at the truth of his
words. Gin rendered him useless till early afternoon. “No arguing there.” She
poked the needle into her bodice and patted his knee. “Open up.”
    He leaned back, bracing one hand on
the mattress and spreading his knees so that she could kneel between them.
Inhaling a steadying breath, she drank in a scent that was uniquely Ty. Seville
oranges and the clean bite of Castile soap. Saddle leather and something earthy
like pipe smoke. Masculine, expensive taste charmed