Page 32 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

Aye, she was wearing a silk glove—she was a bloody earl’s daughter, after all!—but it didn’t matter. Despite the scarring, skin and flesh he would’ve said was dead, he could feel her.

Her touch was scarring him worse than the firebomb.

Stop. He tried to say the word, but couldn’t make his lips work. Stop torturing me.

“Demon…”

Fook him, her whisper was like a caress. How was it possible he’d only known this woman for a day? Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

And when he did, she pushed herself up on her toes and kissed him.

Kissed him like she wanted this.

He was frozen, a statue, right up until the moment her tongue—the tongue which had touched her own lips this morning, and made him hard—brushed the seam of his lips. Suddenly, his remembered how to work.

With a growl, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, until her feet barely touched the ground. He was the one to deepen the kiss, to claim her, to own her.

His tongue played with hers, and when she nipped at it, he had to resist the urge to smile. Two can play at that game.

He clamped her lower lip between his and tugged, pushing his pelvis toward her belly so she didn’t misunderstand him.

Georgia whimpered, low in her throat, and the part of him which hadn’t turned into a feral monster wondered if he’d gone too far…the moment before the book on Greek myths hit the ground and both her arms wrapped around his neck.

When was the last time he’d tasted a woman? Surely they had never tasted as sweet as Lady Georgia Stoughton.

Her fingers twined briefly in the hair at the back of his neck, tugged, then released him. He took that to mean she wanted him to ease off, so he did, loosening his hold on her. But when she slid down his body to rest on her own feet, his lips followed until he was bent awkwardly to continue the kiss. Continue the contact he needed.

Her arms stayed around his neck.

As his kisses moved to the corner of her mouth then back, a thought struck him: This could be a very dangerous barter he’d made.

Aye, she was his, and he’d already ensured it. But would he still be the same man after Hogmanay?

Finally, Georgia loosened her hold on him, allowing him to give one more nibble at her lower lip—bilious hedgehogs, that lower lip! It was going to be the death of him!—and straightened. They were both breathing heavily as they stared into one another’s eyes.

She was his. For the next five weeks, he was her master.

But this kiss…those touches…Demon swallowed down a shudder. Right now she could snap her fingers, and he’d follow her anywhere.

Her hands slid from behind his head to his cheeks, where she clasped his face. She was nestled against him, holding him as if…as if he was something to be valued.

And then she smiled. She smiled, and it was a stiletto blade, sliding into his chest, so cold and sharp it took a moment to notice. Oh, he was in trouble.

“Goodnight, Demon.”

Demon. Not my lord, not Endymion, but Demon.

He swallowed, trying to ignore how she’d rocked him to his core.

When she released him, it felt as if all the heat had left the room as well. She stooped and picked up the dropped book, then stepped away. Turning, she sent him another shy smile over her shoulder, then hurried from the room.

He stared after her.

A kiss.

It had just been a kiss, a simple—

Nay, nothing simple about that kiss.

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