Page 44 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

Demon moved beneath her, and she realized he was kicking off his shoes. First one, then the other.

“There,” he murmured, so she could feel it in his chest. “I’m half-clothed.”

For some reason that made her want to laugh again, so she did, allowing her joy to spill out. It felt good to laugh. His arms tightened around her and his eyes slowly closed.

She felt him relax, which really was a remarkable thing. Until the muscles in his shoulder and chest began to soften, she hadn’t realized how tense he’d been. Because he’d been startled by the settee breaking? Or the rush of his release?

Georgia laid in silence for a few moments, listening to the sound of his heartbeat slowing beneath her cheek as her fingers idly played with the collar of his shirt. He seemed content to hold her, which in itself was remarkable; he’d always left immediately after cleaning her, in the past.

Finally, with a small, happy sigh, she lifted herself enough to brush a kiss against his jaw. When he didn’t react, she leaned farther, and kissed his chin. The corner of his lips twitched in reaction.

So she brushed a kiss across his scarred cheek. When he shuddered, she did it again, then she claimed his lips for a deeper kiss, which caused his cock to jump against her belly.

She smiled as she pulled away long enough to whisper, “That was not so bad, was it? Fooking in this position.”

“That wasnae fooking,” he muttered, but he didn’t elaborate.

Another kiss, and he held her gaze until she straightened again.

“Ye did that on purpose,” Demon accused. “Ye seduced me because ye wanted something.”

She wriggled against him and winked cheekily. “Yes I did, and I got it.”

“Nay.” He lowered his brows in a mock glare, although his fingers were making gentle circular caresses on her hips. “Ye were trying to wear me down. Are ye trying to dispatch yer father’s debt sooner?”

Her smile faltered.

Father’s debt.

For a few hours, she’d forgotten about it. Forgotten the reason she was here, with Demon.

For a few hours, she’d thought only of herself, and what she wanted…not why Father had sent her here.

“Georgia?” His hands had stilled.

She forced a cheerful tone. “Yes, I do want something, and since you are in such a delightful mood, I shall ask for it. I want to decorate for Christmas. I want to celebrate the holiday.”

“Nay.” His pale gaze flicked away.

Stifling her sigh of disappointment, she used one fingertip to brush a lock of his hair from his forehead, then another. “Will you tell me why not?”

“My mother…” Demon’s eyes flicked toward her, then away once more. “My mother always turned the holiday into a grand event in London. All of her favorite people—glittering, making noise, talking about themselves and how wonderful they are. She thrives on excitement. Attention. I have nae interest in that.”

Humming, she focused on his hair, drawing the strands away from his face and straightening them against the fur of the rug. “I can understand that. She sounds…determined.”

He snorted. “That is a mild assessment.”

“I do not…” How to make him understand? Georgia touched his jaw, where his scars traveled down his cheek toward his ear. “Demon, I am not asking for that. My father’s idea of the celebration was subdued and somber, and dinners with his brother—my Uncle William—were frightfully boring. But the colors!” She exhaled, smiling at the memories. “Christmas is the one time of year he did not object to me bringing in the outdoors. There was always a large Christmas tree in the parlor. My sister and I could decorate with flowers and pine boughs and holly and berries, and he permitted it, as long as it was tastefully done. The formal dinners were stifling, but the decorations…”

She blinked, realizing she’d been lost in her reverie.

“And yer husband?”

“Roger?” Of course Roger; what other husband had she had?

Demon’s chin jerked in a nod. “Ye spoke of him, earlier.”

It felt strange to be splayed, mostly nude, across another man while speaking of Roger, so she pushed herself upright, until she was straddling his hips. She would’ve rolled right off him had his fingers not dug into her thighs, telling her without words to stay.

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