Page 95 of The Duke's Daring Bride

Olivia shifted her weight, which—even through layers of material—caused delicious friction. He found himself holding his breath, praying she’d do it again.

“Um…Alistair?” There was laughter in her tone. “You seem to…” Another shift, another burst of pleasure. “There’s something on your mind?” she asked impishly.

Damn right there was.

He captured her mouth in his, wiping away that smile, swallowing her laughter.

It—she tasted so damned good. So right.

With a little whimper she stretched up on her toes, and again, his cock throbbed at the contact. If she kept moving against him, he was in very real danger of spilling in his trousers like a green lad.

Perhaps it would be for the best; then he could concentrate on what really mattered: bringing her pleasure.

He’d failed her once; he’d no’ fail her again.

With a gasp, she wrenched herself away, but not out of his arms. Instead she stood, panting, peering up at him.

He raised his brows, urging her to tell him what was wrong.

“I lied,” she blurted.

He froze, barely breathing. Lied about what?

“I didn’t just want a hug,” she admitted in a whisper. Her fingers were playing with the hair at the back of his neck, and the delicious caress was making it hard to focus.

She swallowed. “I want you to make love to me, Alistair.”

Thank Christ. Thank Christ.

He couldn’t help the grateful grin which came to his lips as he bent to claim hers once more, but she surprised him by leaning back, away from him.

“Wait, I…” She took a deep breath, then moved her hands to his jaw, to cup his cheeks. “Alistair, I’m no duchess. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m terrified I’m going to embarrass you.”

Frustration spiked and he shook his head. Her, embarrass him? Impossible! It was he who would embarrass her, if Society ever saw him as he truly was. Wasn’t that dinner proof enough?

“But… Look, I might not be the best choice for the Duchess of Effinghell—or even the ninety-seventh best choice—but I think being married to you…” Olivia dropped her gaze to his chin, a blush climbing her throat. “I think that might just be a good idea.”

A good idea?

Standing here with her in his arms, Alistair thought it might be the best idea she’d ever had. He slid his hands down to her arse, pressing her forward, so she could feel exactly how much of a good idea this was.

Her lips twitched and she peeked back up at him. “I see you agree.” When he smiled, she took a deep breath. “Alistair, this last week without you, I’ve realized…I want to be your wife. Not the wife of the Duke of Effinghell, just yours. And I want…”

Suddenly, she cut herself off and dropped her forehead to his chest. “God, this is harder than I thought it would be,” she mumbled.

Concerned now, Alistair moved one hand to her chin, lifting it so he could peer into her eyes, wondering what was wrong.

“I want all of you,” she whispered. “Please.”

All of you.

Her hands moved to his necktie, pulling the knot free without dropping his gaze. With her fingers on the buttons of his shirt, she halted and asked him again.

“Please, Alistair?”

All of you.

Not just his scars. Not just his past.

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