Don't Want You Like a Best Friend (Mischief & Matchmaking, #1)

by Emma R. Alban

Gwen searches the milling crowd, smiling and nodding without engaging. There’s only one person she wants to find, and she grins when she spots her chatting with Albie.

Beth is here to get a husband. That’s the point. It shouldn’t be anything but good that she’s found a dancing partner.

Beth suggests, pulling Gwen from thoughts of steadying Beth on the back of an enormous horse, of the two of them in breeches.

Beth deserves so much more than mediocre Lord Montson.

Gwen holds on to the tips of Beth’s fingers and squeezes, before letting go with a chagrined smile as the two of them are pulled apart by their parents.

Gwen shrugs, tangling their fingers together. Nothing’s felt as good as sitting here with Beth, soft and close and thrumming.

They’ll suffer the intrusion of Montson, isn’t that enough? Do they really have to be parted too?

But she’s sitting at the table with Beth, poised for a whole afternoon with her, their knuckles knocking together, shoulders brushing. Her cheeks are starting to ache from smiling.

Gwen says, smiling as Beth leans into her, giggling. It sends a little spark through her chest, that laughter just for her.

All the while, her thumb continues to draw hypnotic patterns against Gwen’s pulse. She wonders if Beth can feel the way her heartbeat is jumping through her gloves.

Gwen swallows hard and nods, her breath catching as their eyes meet, close and secret. Between the perfume and the sun and Beth, she’s a little bit dizzy.

Wishes she and Beth could simply sit at their own table, pressed up close. Wishes she could spend the afternoon with Beth’s gloveless fingers tangled in her own, cheeks pink, breathless from laughter.

Is that what Gwen wants? Is that what she wants with Beth?

“I want you—” Gwen says, breaking off with a hiss.

“I’m not jealous of your beau,” Gwen mutters. And then her lips crash onto Beth’s. Beth gasps against her mouth, frozen in shock. Her mind goes totally blank.

Gwen goes to pull back but Beth’s hands shoot out, quite of their own accord, clutching at her waist, anchoring Gwen against her.

It’s just the two of them here, secret against the world.

She groans, turning her head to capture Gwen’s lips again, sucking on her bottom lip before she slicks her tongue across it. They both shudder as Gwen meets her, tongues and teeth and open-mouthed kisses that are all hands and neck and sweet and raw—

She’d let the whole world watch for another minute pressed against these aging barrels with Gwen’s lips on hers.

Beth struggles to find the words—more, please, soon—can’t explain how desperately, how ardently she wants to stay like this forever.

The heat of it makes her push her tongue to the roof of her mouth, which careens her back to her kiss with Gwen yesterday—the press of her hands, the slick of her mouth, the clenching pleasure of—

The press of Lord Montson against her back as they steered the ship did nothing for her. Nothing like the jolt she felt holding Gwen, being held.

She’ll have more than enough time awake alone tonight to replay her kiss, to mull her confused emotions, to plan exactly how she can next get Gwen alone.

Didn’t think a thing of her retiring early. Didn’t see her sitting on her window seat until it was nearly light again, reliving the kisses, wondering what happens now. Wondering how to do it again. Wondering what kind of life she could lead that would give her Gwen.

That the tingle of their hands touching or her admiration of Gwen’s face was anything more than natural observation. But now—now thinking about her smile, her touch, her laugh—it sends butterflies fluttering against her stomach.

What she feels for Gwen she will never feel for anyone else. It is singular, and beautiful, and she wants more of it. More of Gwen’s hands and her lips and her time and her affection and—

But how is she to settle that in her head, when she feels nothing for Lord Montson and everything everything everything for Gwen?

It’s been two days since she’s seen Beth and it feels like she could crawl right out of her skin.

Is what she’s feeling love? This all-consuming thought? The heated tickle across her skin when she thinks of their kiss? The thought of Beth’s smile bringing one to Gwen’s face? Is that love?

She knows it won’t ever feel the same with a man. It’s not that the kisses of her first seasons were terrible, but they weren’t . . . Beth’s.

Because it’s Gwen. She kissed Gwen. Well, Gwen kissed her, and she kissed back, and then Gwen ran away and the whole world has turned upside down and now she’s just sitting there—

Beth feels her pulse accelerate as Gwen’s hand brushes the small of her back to gently push her inside after her mother. The contact sends shivers up Beth’s spine.

And something as simple as browsing a fish market sounds so fun because Gwen would be there. She makes everything fun.

Their fingers brush as Gwen passes her the oyster and Beth nearly fumbles it into her lap, her cheeks flaming.

She swallows hard as Gwen slurps her oyster from its shell, tipping her head back to get the rest of the sauce. The bob of her throat and the line of her neck and the way her tongue snakes out to rim her lips—dear God, that was perhaps the most arousing thing Beth’s ever seen.

Gwen wants her, just as much as Beth wants her back.

She wants to spoil and savor and touch and kiss and dote on Gwen the way she sees Lord Havenfort doing for her mother. She wants to be with Gwen, in all ways. Slurping oysters, and exchanging kisses, and going on walks, and reading quietly in the library. Just—living with her.

Everything is better with Gwen.

She takes a chance to sneak a look at Beth and finds her equally flushed, but her eyes are still resolutely settled on the stage.

Their fingers tangle together instantly, warm and tight and wriggling, and Gwen feels heat rise all the way from her belly button to her scalp.

All other thoughts die on her tongue as their eyes meet. Gwen hesitates a moment before bringing her other hand up to brush at Beth’s cheek.

She looks beautiful and a bit debauched, and Beth finds her hesitance sliding away altogether.

She didn’t know women could be rough together, could be playful together, could be heated and wanting and clutching together until Gwen kissed her at the party.

She wants to know what Gwen tastes like everywhere.

As much as the desperate, feverish kisses stir in her belly and warm her from toes to ears, she doesn’t want this to be some fumbling mess between them.

Gwen laughs, reaching up to smooth one of the dozens of flyaways from her face. “You’re beautiful,” she says. Beth blushes further, lifting one of the hands braced by Gwen’s head to trace the line of her jaw. It shoots tingles up and down Gwen’s spine. “You’re beautiful,” she counters.

“You’re so pretty,” Beth whispers. Gwen shakes her head. “You are.”

“I love you too,” Beth whispers, leaning down to press her forehead to Gwen’s. “I want to stay right here forever.”

There must be a way she and Beth could be together like this, always.

She wouldn’t give up last night for anything. To know that joy—even if this is the heartache she feels forever as a result—it’s worth having known it even once.