Page 31 of The Duke and the Temporary Bride

This time, too, she seemed to look past his scars. Into his eyes, holding them with an unblinking stare. There was an honesty in her eyes, a softness that was so very unlike the fiery passion he knew she possessed in spades.

It was so intense that Benedict found himself looking away, his heart racing.

What was that?

“I do not think you are ugly,” she whispered.

He scoffed. “Lies do not become you, Selina.”

“Truly,” she insisted and took a step toward him, breaking through that invisible barrier. “I do not. Not your face, anyhow.” She laughed. “Your temperament and personality… that is another matter.”

He could not help but smile.

She was standing less than two feet away from him, and he looked down at her. The smile he wore reached his eyes, and she returned it. Silence fell between them again, only this one was not awkward. Still tense, but for an entirely different reason.

In the past, any attraction that Benedict and Selina had felt was the result of their hostility to each other. She would argue. He would shout. They would get close, and that proximity would bring out a side in the two of them that neither could understand. Even if it made perfect sense from afar.

It was explainable, and Benedict had convinced himself that the attraction was not real. That once they cooled down, they would both realize this and ultimately regret what they had done. That she would regret it, especially.

Only now…

There was a spark between them. A heat resulting not from words but from a desire that Benedict could see in her eyes as much as he could feel in the way she carried herself. She held his gaze, and even more than the other night, he wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss her.

Not to throw her around. Not to dominate her. But to kiss her passionately and be kissed back in the same way.

His eyes flicked to her lips. She licked them. Standing over her, so close, all he needed to do was lean in, and he was certain she would accept him.

“So, we are in agreement then.” Benedict looked away and took a step back. It was subtle, but he thought he saw disappointment in her eyes as he moved away. “A truce.”

She tilted her head, a curious look in her eyes as she studied him. “A truce,” she agreed. “Which means no more avoiding one another.”

Benedict swallowed. After what he had just felt, he was beginning to wonder again if maybe avoidance was the smarter play. It was easy when anger and antipathy were the cause of his lust. That, he understood.

However, this was something else entirely. Something he did not understand.

“I will do my best,” he said with a stern expression, attempting to pull back a little from their previous moment of honesty.

“Your best?” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “That does not sound very reassuring.”

“I am quite busy,” he explained, still stern, gesturing around the study and to the piles of paper on his desk. “Being a duke isn’t all balls and masquerades and dinner parties.”

“Oh…” She bit her lip, looking downcast—a look that stabbed Benedict through the chest like a cold knife.

“But I have been working too hard,” he added quickly, again pivoting. “Especially of late.”

She perked up. “Breakfast?”

“Excuse me?”

“Breakfast,” she repeated. “I was about to break my fast before coming up here, and now that we have agreed on this little truce, would you care to join me?”

“Oh…” He considered it, saw the danger, and decided on a middle ground instead. “I will try—meaning, give me five minutes,” he hurried to explain when he saw the disappointment in her eyes. “I just need to finish up something here and then I will be right down.”

She smiled appreciatively. “I will make sure to save you a plate.”

“How very kind.”

“Oh, I can be kind.” She laughed as she slowly stepped back toward the door. Her hips swayed as she did so, those curves of hers drawing his eyes as if she was doing it on purpose. “It is not all fire and brimstone.”

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