Hattie Glover’s Millinery

warm, earthy and masculine, his personal scent that snagged her desire and drew it forth.
Hattie swallowed as he reached to straighten the crown and measured it with a critical eye. “The beading looks even to me, and I prefer the veil without the Gibson roll that is so popular right now. Loose hair like this. Natural.”
He smoothed strands away from her face, his thumbs grazing her cheeks. Then his hands came to rest on her shoulders, and he gazed into her eyes from so close she could see the striations of blue in his irises. “You make a breathtaking bride, Miss Harriet Glover.”
How very long it had been since a man had touched her like this, intimately caressing. For years, she hadn’t received so much as a hug from anyone. Not until she’d hired Rose and the woman had become her friend as well as employee. But brief sisterly embraces were a world away from this sensual touch that rooted deep in her stomach and unfurled tendrils to every part of her being.
For long seconds, perhaps an eon, they remained frozen in a tableau, his eyes questioning, his palms heavy on her shoulders, then he slowly slid his hands down the length of her arms before slipping them around her waist. Still, Hardy didn’t incline his head to kiss her, and Hattie realized he was awaiting permission.
She wanted to give it more than she could ever remember wanting anything, but she could not say “yes” aloud. Instead, she gave a slight nod.
He matched her nod of agreement, then leaned to cover her lips with his: warm, soft yet firm, simultaneously an invitation and a claim. Their mouths melded, tongues barely touching between parted lips.
A heartbeat later, Hattie clutched his shoulders, rose up on her toes, and attacked him with the pent-up passion she’d locked away for so long. She’d craved physical contact but hidden the fact from herself, burying it under work and obligations, convincing herself she was perfectly happy in her quiet, solitary existence. Now her need roared up to devour her. Shamelessly, she pressed her body against his full length, seeking his warmth and solid strength. Her hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his neck, feeling the tickling ends of his hair and the strong muscles of his neck beneath his shirt collar. She didn’t recognize herself in this voracious creature functioning on a purely carnal level. Where was daytime Hattie, who would reel her in and tame her into proper behavior?
In the end, it was Hardy who grasped her waist firmly and moved her body away from the growing hardness in his trousers. He broke free of her hungry mouth to regard her with glazed eyes. “You are…”
A wanton! An ungrateful girl whom we have taken in and given a good Christian home to for sixteen years. How could you, Hortense? If your mother had lived, she would be so disappointed in you. Aunt Elaine’s voice was as clear in Hattie’s mind now as the day she’d spoken those words.
“Magnificent!” Hardy finished his thought. “But I shouldn’t stay.” He glanced up at the ceiling, indicating her flat above. “Better not to get lost in passion until we are absolutely certain.”
I am! I want you right now, right here on the sewing table, the wanton inside her shouted. But Hattie drew her robe closed over her nightgown and tied the belt more securely as she stepped back. “You are right. I lost myself. I apologize.”
“Stop. I don’t mean to discourage you. Don’t misunderstand. I am very attracted to you, but I don’t want you to hold regrets later and I fear you might.”
Hattie couldn’t meet his eyes she was so embarrassed.
Hardy grasped her chin and tipped her face up. “Trust me, it is not my nature to turn away a willing woman. No, wait. That does not sound right. I only mean to say I like you very much, and I fear losing this friendship we’ve begun to form. It’s not that I don’t find you utterly desirable. I do. Absolutely! I’d like nothing more than to take you and just…” He gritted his teeth. “Oh, this is not coming out well at all.”
“Do you think so?” Hattie’s sarcasm rose in a thorn wall around her bruised feelings. “I understand, Mr. Hardy, and appreciate your looking out for my welfare, as I am merely a feeble, weak-willed woman who does not know her own mind.”
Guy grimaced. “There is nothing I can say that is going to improve this, is there?”
Even in the midst of her humiliation, he could make her smile. “I’m afraid not. Perhaps you had better go and let me get back to work.”
“I will. But only if you tell me you’re not finished with me yet. I plan to keep on wooing you, Mrs. Glover, if you are amenable to that.”
“We shall see,” she replied, but couldn’t extinguish the smile lurking on her lips.
Hardy saw it and seized it with one more kiss before he went to gather his hat and coat. “I will see you again soon. Goodnight, Mrs. Glover.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Hardy.”
“Call me Guy. And may I call you by your given name as well…Harriet?”
“Goodnight,” she repeated softly. “Thank you for the information, and for… everything after that.”
He grinned widely, took a step toward her as if he would like to go for round two, then shook his head and backed away, tripping over an empty box before reaching the door.
When it had closed behind him, Hattie exhaled deeply and removed the half-cocked bridal veil from her head. She ought not to be getting entangled with this man, and yet, she hadn’t felt so alive and vibrant in a very long time. The mask of Mrs. Harriet Glover had slipped and young Hortense Gladwell had peeked out.

Chapter Eight
Hattie Glover put him off-kilter, and Guy wasn’t certain he liked that feeling. She was such an intoxicating mix of practicality and unbridled passion that he could scarcely reconcile