Page 4 of The Alien's Cruel Starfrost Domain

And so I have hardened myself against her, against the musical notes of her voice, the summer-floral scent of her, the pull she exertson me like gravity, leaving me orbiting her like a helpless satellite to the heavy mass of the attraction between us.

I must become as hard as the iron my ancestors could never touch.

Otherwise, the heat between us will kill us both, just as surely as that iron would have destroyed them.

In a moment, I will open the door to my own chambers and stride in, as careful to ignore her just as I would ignore any servant. But for now, I give into at least that much of my desire for her, tilting my head to see her better through the tiny crack where it did not close completely.

She’s beautiful. Her hair, a bright golden red color, escapes in a riot of curls no matter what she does to try to restrain it.

Her skin is the color of avencorea fruit—pale, but with a hint of the same orangey-brown undertones that come out in the sprinkle of freckles across her snub nose.

At the moment, her entire attention is focused on the fireplace. She reaches up with the back of her hand to push one of those rebellious curls back behind her ear. When she turns to drop another scoop of ashes into the bucket beside her, I see that she’s left a smear of black soot along her cheekbone.

I want to smooth it away—just like I want to smooth away the frown that has carved itself into her forehead over the last several moon-cycles.

But I can’t, and I know it.

As she finishes stacking the last piece of firewood in the grate, I shake myself out of my trance.

I don’t want her to leave.

It’s as if I only believe she is safe when she and I are together.

When I can see her.

And if anyone ever discovered my plans—or worse, discovered how I feel about her—that belief would be truer than I currently care to admit. She definitely would be in danger whenever she wasn’t in my company.

For now, though I know she tries to avoid me, I work just as hard to find ways to be near her every day. And then,just as often, I force myself to shove away any warmth toward her. I become as cold, as frozen, as any duke of Starfrost Manor has ever been.

Only then do I ever allow myself to enter the rooms where she’s working.

Now, I push the door open and step inside. Lara jerks a little, startled by my sudden appearance. As quickly as she possibly can, she finishes sweeping the hearth with the tiny ash broom she’s brought and piles everything together into the bucket she carries with her. She stands, preparing to leave, and turns away without a word.

I can’t help myself.

“Lara,” I say, keeping my tone as cold as I can, hoping I betray nothing of my thoughts.

With her back to me, she stiffens before she turns around to face me with obvious effort.

“Yes?” she manages to grind out before following with a stiffly spoken, “Your Lordship?”

I try to think of something to say to her, some reason I might have stopped her.

“It’s appropriate to curtsy when I enter a room,” I finally say.

A muscle in her jaw twitches, bunching up as she clenches her teeth.

“Yes, sir, Your Lordship,” she mutters as she drops into a clumsy approximation of a curtsy.

I want to sweep her into my arms, pull her body to mine, feel her soft curves pressed against me.

Part of me wants her to submit of her own free will, to give in to me out of desire as I ravish those curves. I don’t want to see her broken.

But I do want to break her to my desires.

It’s all I can do to suppress a moan at the thought. Instead, I give a sharp nod and turn away, stripping off my jacket. “You’re dismissed.”

I’m unbuttoning the vest beneath it when the echo of the door shutting behind Lara reaches my ears. I blow out a deep breath, the one I’ve been holding for what feels like an Earth year, and slowly continue undressing.

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