“Hey, Simon.” I gave a little wave as I scooped up my basket and set it on the bar.

He didn’t wave back. “You’re not at pub sing. Again.”

“No. I’m not. Were you taking attendance?”

“No, I wasn’t taking . . .” He tossed his hat with its stupid feather onto the bar, where it slid down to rest next to my wicker basket. “Where are the volunteers? I told them they needed to stay the whole day, help you out so you can do things like go to pub sing.”

“We cut them loose a little bit ago, when things slowed down . . . wait a minute.” I held up a hand. “You told them?” All day I’d thought Chris had gotten us the volunteers, based on our conversation earlier that week at the bookstore. But Simon had done it? Why?

“Yes, I told them. You needed them, obviously.” But he answered the question absently; now he looked around the tavern with thunder in his eyes. “These tables are all switched around.” He turned to me now, and I stiffened my spine against the force of that thunder aimed in my direction. “Why are the tables switched around? What are you doing?”

“Fixing the layout.” I took hold of my basket, the wicker digging into my palm as I gripped it tightly. “It looks more inviting this way, doesn’t it?”

He shook his head, like his brain was unable to comprehend something being different. “They’ve been arranged the same way for the past ten years. There’s no need to change it now.”

I sighed. “Okay. Look.” I came around the bar and took his arm with the hand not holding a basket. I marched him back to the main path and pointed. “Look,” I said again. “See how some of them are grouped together in little sections? People can gather. Congregate. And since Stacey and I have a little more free time, thanks to those volunteers, we can be out front more, like you said. Flirt. Play dice games. Maybe you can drop by again, in character, you know? Pirates hang out in taverns. If we add color to things, people might get a kick out of that. They’d stick around.”

“And buy more drinks.” The words sighed out of him, and I could see he understood my point of view now, even if he didn’t want to.

“And spend more money,” I clarified. “Isn’t that what this is about? Bringing in more cash, raising more money?”

He nodded, but the nod turned into a shake of the head. “I don’t know.” He stalked back into the tavern to scoop his hat off the bar. “Some of the tables are all closed off.” He gestured toward a grouping of tables off to the side. “Those don’t look inviting at all. And what about all this empty space in the middle now? It looks like it’s not planned out.”

“I thought maybe we could get someone in.” I shrugged as I followed him back to the bar. “I don’t know, someone with a guitar or something. Entertainment.”

“Entertainment?” He punctuated the word with a bitter laugh. “So, what, am I just supposed to pull an extra bard out of my ass now?”

“Not a bad idea,” I shot back. “Maybe it would dislodge the stick that’s up there.” Oh, crap. I hadn’t meant to say that.

He threw his hat back down onto the bar, and the thunder in his eyes turned apocalyptic. “Excuse me?”

Okay, maybe I had meant to say that. I’d had enough. “What is your problem? I’m just trying to help out here.”

“I don’t have a problem!” But the way he shouted it at me belied that. “And I don’t need your help! I just need you to be a tavern wench! Why do you want to change everything?”

“Why do you want to keep everything exactly the same?” I shouted back. “For God’s sake, Simon, I moved a few tables around. It’s not like I burned down the bar. Aren’t you supposed to be a pirate? You sure are a stickler for the rules.” I was done playing nice. I thought we’d been getting closer, with the banter at the chess field and the flirting in the tavern. I’d thought that maybe we were going to be friends. My heart sank as I realized I needed to let that idea go.

Simon didn’t notice my emotional turmoil. “This is your first year here, and you think you know everything about how to run this Faire. You think—”

“Oh, I do not.” I slammed my basket back down onto the bar, next to his hat. I was so sick of him that I wanted to burst into tears. I wanted to flee from this man who infuriated me so I would never have to speak to him again. But I was done dancing around our mutual dislike; better to get it all out in the open and over with. So I faced him, hands on my hips and not giving a damn about the green in his eyes anymore. “Why do you hate me?”

That shut him up. His rant stopped on a dime, and he blinked at me. “What?”

“Why do you hate me?” I hated the way emotion clogged my voice, anger and sadness mixed together. I’d seen the memorial to his brother; I saw how much it took out of him to keep this Faire going. All I’d wanted to do was help. But like he’d said, he didn’t want my help. Any closeness between us was nothing but an act, brought on by costumes and accents and false personas. I should have known better.

“I don’t hate you!” But he raked a hand through his hair, and the way he glared at me made me beg to differ.

“Everything I do is wrong,” I persisted. “You hardly ever speak to me except to criticize something. I’m doing my best here, but to you it’s not good enough.” My voice faltered on those last words: not good enough. Jake made me feel that way. I wasn’t about to let Simon do the same. Not without a fight.

“That’s not . . . damn it!” He broke off with an inarticulate sound of frustration and he paced away from me a step or two, as though I annoyed him so much that he couldn’t stand to be near me. “I didn’t come here to fight with you!”

I had to laugh at that, but it sounded more like a scoff. “Of course you did. What else would you want to do with me?”

His eyes flared, and oh, no. I really hadn’t meant to say that. Before I could blink he had stepped closer, impossibly closer, crowding me against the bar. I barely had time to draw a startled breath as he took my face between his hands and his mouth came down on mine.

Holy shit, Simon Graham was kissing me.

Twelve

This was nothing like the staged kiss we’d shared during the handfasting ceremony. This kiss was determined—hot and purposeful. Simon had run out of words for his argument and had decided to use his mouth in a different way. He kissed me like he had something to prove.

Just as my brain registered what was happening and I started to respond, he wrenched his mouth away. But he didn’t go far; he leaned his forehead against mine, his hands still cradling my face. I dragged my eyes open but they were heavy, like I’d been drugged. I struggled to focus on him.

I wasn’t the only one who seemed drugged. His eyes were hooded and half-closed, and his gaze stayed fixed on my mouth. “Emily.” My name was a sigh, a low and desperate sound my body responded to in an instant. “I’m sorry. God.” Even while he apologized he pressed his lips together, as if holding on to our kiss. Savoring it. He swayed into me and I caught my breath, anticipating another kiss, but he straightened up instead. He dropped his hands and I missed his touch immediately. “I shouldn’t have—”

No. “Shut up.” I didn’t want him to say he regretted kissing me. I didn’t want him to say anything at all. Talking made things go wrong between us, and his mouth was only a breath away. Now that the shock had worn off I wanted him back.

So I hooked my fingers in the open collar of his black shirt and tugged. I had just enough time to see his eyebrows swoop up in surprise before his mouth crashed onto mine again. This time I was ready, and I gave him a soft place to land. I opened my mouth under his, welcoming him, inviting him in. He sank into my kiss with a groan.

Simon kissed like a pirate. His lips were soft yet demanding, but his tongue . . . plundered. There was no other word for it. One hand cradled the back of my head, fingers anchored in my hair to better steer our kiss, while his other arm went around me, pressing me close. I loosened my grip on his shirt to slide my hands along the back of his neck. He was hot under my hands, but he shivered at my touch and kissed me harder. I was surrounded by him, by the scent of warm leather and warmer skin, and when his mouth traveled to my jaw, my throat, his tongue tracing a line that his lips followed, I pressed myself closer, eager for more of that heat.

He groaned again, and kisses became nips at the base of my throat as his hand tightened at the small of my back, pulling me into him. It was my turn to shiver at the rasp of his beard against my skin and the hard lines of his body against mine. Your typical English teacher shouldn’t be this well muscled, but I was quickly finding out there was a lot about Simon that wasn’t typical.

The world around me began to spin, and my chest felt tight. This was new; no man had ever kissed me until I swooned. It was a heady thing at first, but it became uncomfortable fast. My passionate grasp on the back of his head quickly became a desperate clutch of his shoulders as I tried to stay upright.

Simon noticed the change immediately, and when my knees buckled under me his embrace immediately went from amorous to supportive. “Whoa.” He caught me by the elbows and held me up. “Hey. Are you okay?”