Simon looked stunned.
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes.”
He set the harness aside.
“It was more than all right.”
Abigail smiled nervously.
Simon stood.
“Can I kiss you back?”
“Yes.”
This kiss was different.
Slow.
Deep enough to make her fingers curl into his shirt.
Simon’s hands hovered near her waist.
Waiting.
Abigail took one of them and placed it there herself.
His eyes closed.
The tenderness of that reaction almost undid her.
When they separated, Simon rested his forehead against hers.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“About the kiss?”
“Yes.”
“Anything more?”
Abigail’s fear returned.
Not because he pressured.
Because she did not know.
“I don’t know.”
Simon nodded immediately.
“Then nothing more.”
She stared.
“That easy?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not gambling with you.”
The answer stayed with her.
Their closeness grew.
Kisses by the stove.
Hands held beneath blankets.
Simon brushing her hair once when her shoulder hurt.
Abigail sewing a torn shirt while he watched her.
Sometimes desire entered the room so strongly neither could pretend otherwise.
Still, Simon slept on the floor.
Finally, Abigail could not tolerate it.
One night, wind screamed around the cabin.
The fire burned low.
Simon spread his bedroll near the door.
Abigail sat in bed wearing a cream nightgown, her long auburn hair loose over her shoulders.
“Simon.”
He looked over.
“You can’t keep sleeping there.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
“That isn’t the point.”
He said nothing.
“The bed is large.”
“I know.”
“There is room.”
“It ain’t about room.”
Abigail frowned.
“What is it about?”
Simon looked toward the fire.
Then at her.
“A man knowing his limits.”
Her heartbeat changed.
“I told you I trust you.”
“I know.”
“I’ve kissed you.”
“I remember.”
“I hope so.”
He smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
“Abigail.”
“What?”
“I want you.”
The directness made her face burn.
Simon continued.
“More every day.”
“You think putting me in that bed beside you makes me noble?”
“No.”
“It makes me a man lying next to a woman I’m trying very hard not to rush.”
Abigail looked down.
Silence stretched.
Then she whispered:
“I’ve never shared a bed.”
Simon went still.
She almost wished she could take it back.
He approached slowly.
Knelt beside her.
Abigail clutched the blanket.
“I was supposed to.”
Her voice trembled.
“After the wedding.”
“With Josiah.”
“But every time I thought about that night, I felt sick.”
Simon’s expression darkened.
She continued.
“He talked about me like livestock.”
“Said there would be special furniture made.”
“Special carriage.”
“Special everything.”
“He made my body sound like a property problem he was generous enough to accommodate.”
Her eyes filled.
“I started believing no man could look at me without first measuring how inconvenient I was.”
Simon raised his hand.
Stopped.
“May I?”