Page 67 of The Duke's Sinful Bride

Yvette steadied her breath, pushing the anger down as she met his gaze.

“Are you unwell?” she asked.

Killian shook his head, his eyes still fixed on hers, dark and unreadable. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she pressed forward, the frustration in her voice still simmering beneath her calm façade.

“Are your legs hurt?” she asked again, her tone carrying a sharpness she had intended.

This time, a soft scoff escaped him—was it amusement? Yvette wasn’t sure. But when he shook his head once more, she felt a knot form in her chest. She stepped closer, her gaze unwavering, the silence thick between them.

“So, what excuse do you have for not coming down to dinner?” Yvette demanded, the words slipping out with more heat than she’d planned. Her jaw tightened. “I would hate to think you’re avoiding me because of the conversation we had this morning.”

Her heart beat faster as she awaited his response, but instead of meeting her challenge with his usual defiance, Killian’s gaze softened, the intensity of his stare lessening as he ran a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping his lips.

For a long moment, the tension between them was palpable. He didn’t answer right away, and Yvette found herself waiting—waiting for something, anything that would ease the ache growing inside her.

But when he finally did speak, his words came slowly, almost reluctantly.

“Yvette… it’s not what ye think.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the uncertainty in his tone doing nothing to ease the storm of questions swirling in her mind. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, bracing herself.

“Then what is it, Killian? What is it that has kept you away from your family today?”

He finally met her gaze, his eyes dark and unreadable, but there was something in them—something that made her wonder if he was grappling with his own inner conflict. Something Yvette didn’t quite understand, but couldn’t ignore.

“I just needed some time to think,” Killian said, rising from the bed slowly, his expression weary as he ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to make sense of his tangled thoughts.

Yvette’s brow furrowed as she crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Surely you had enough time to think after dinner,” she retorted sharply, stepping forward with a slight tilt of her head. “When you were alone, as you always are, since we don’t share a room. So that excuse is invalid, Killian.”

He felt the weight of her gaze on him, the challenge in her tone not lost on him. His fingers twitched, and he bit his lower lip in frustration. She was right—he knew she wouldn’t let this go. She never did.

Taking a deep breath, Killian faced her fully, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made his pulse race.

“The truth is,” he said quietly, his voice a bit hoarse, “it’s difficult being in the same space as you and not wanting to take ye to bed, and especially after the conversation we had this morning, I believe it’s best not to blindly pursue the desire between us.”

Yvette’s face flushed immediately, her gaze shifting downward, her breath catching in her throat as the heat of his words settled between them like a tangible thing.

She stared at him, her mouth opening slightly before she closed it with a quick snap.

“That’s still not a plausible excuse,” she said, her voice tinged with frustration and disbelief.

He stood there, unsure of how to explain himself without revealing too much. His body ached with a hunger he could hardly control, and the truth was harder to admit than he’d anticipated.

He had been the one to propose keeping their sexual relationship purely physical, after all. But it was hard with every passing minute to separate his need for her from the way she made him feel—alive, vibrant, raw.

He couldn’t pretend that he didn’t have an animalistic need for her. It was… overwhelming. Like a hunger, that felt too impossible to resist. But he couldn’t tell her that.

“I do not know how best to explain it, Yvette,” he told her.

He saw the flush that crept across her cheeks, and for a brief moment, he was lost in the sight of her. The way her lips parted, her chest rising and falling with each breath, and the heat thatradiated between them—he could feel it as though it were his own.

Yvette pressed her lips together, in an effort to keep her composure.

“That’s your problem, not mine,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her.

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