Page 63 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

“Oh, My Lady,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a register that seemed to vibrate through her very bones, “I know just enough.”

Emma gasped, her chest heaving with each rapid breath, the tension between them thick and suffocating. The scent of him—sandalwood, leather, and something uniquely him—enveloped her senses.

“I know that you want me,” he added, his gaze dropping to her parted lips, “just as much…” Ragged breaths punctuated his words. “… as I want you. Do you not?”

And she had no defense against that silken dare and declaration rolled into one, no snappy comeback, her anger retreating at the naked desire she saw in his gaze as he stared down at her.

Indeed, it had been quite a while since she’d been looked upon like that, and she couldn’t deny the brazen desire burning bright and strong in her lower belly.

With a sound akin to surrender, Victor’s control finally snapped. His hands seized her waist, pulling her roughly against him as his mouth descended on hers.

Unlike their first tentative kiss by the lake, this was pure, undiluted passion—demanding, possessive, almost savage in its intensity.

Emma gasped against his lips, her hands instinctively rising to push him away, only to curl into the lapels of his coat instead, drawing him closer.

His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her with a thoroughness that left her trembling. One large hand slid up her spine to cradle the back of her head, angling her face to deepen the kiss further, while the other pressed her hips firmly against his, leaving no doubt of his desire.

“My Lady.Mine,” he growled against her lips, the word a dark promise that sent liquid heat through her veins, that same liquid heat pooling between her legs. “Tell me you feel this too.”

“I shouldn’t,” she whispered, even as her body arched into his touch.

“But you do.” It wasn’t a question. His mouth trailed scorching kisses along her jaw to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “Say it, Emma. Say you want this as I do.”

“Victor,” she breathed, his name foreign yet perfect on her tongue. It fell from her lips as though she’d spoken it all her life. She supposed it should sound so natural, given how many times she’d awakened from desire-hazed dreams with that name chasing the air out of her mouth. “I can’t think when you?—”

“Then do not think, pet.”

His mouth captured hers again, swallowing her protests with a kiss that obliterated rational thought, leaving only sensation in its wake—the solid strength of his body against hers, the intoxicating taste of him, the dizzying knowledge that the fearsome Duke of Westmere was coming undone in her arms.

This was nothing like their encounter by the lake. That had been a revelation, a first taste of forbidden fruit. This was consumption, possession, a wildfire that threatened to devour them both.

Emma was already being consumed, breath by ragged breath. And she found that she didn’t mind. Not at all. In fact, she wanted to be consumed whole.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, mussing it as she pulled him closer, meeting his ferocity with her hunger. The cool stone wall of the garden alcove pressed against her back as Victor crowded her against it, one muscular thigh sliding between hers, his large hands spanning her waist with a grip that bordered on desperation.

She felt the place between her legs moisten with her desire, and she feared he might scent it in the air between them. But she did not have the chance to seek clarity because Victor pressed his body against hers so that there was no more distance between them.

And Emma’s brain nearly melted in her skull.

Oh God, this is too much.

“I’ve thought of nothing but you,” he confessed raggedly against her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “Your scent, your taste, the sound of your elusive laughter—it haunts me, Emma. Torments me.”

And yet not nearly enough.

She gasped as his mouth returned to hers, his kiss deeper, more demanding than before. His tongue swept inside, claiming her with a thoroughness that left her trembling and clinging to his broad shoulders for support.

The taste of him—brandy and something darker, more primal—flooded her senses until she could scarcely remember her own name, let alone why she should resist this overwhelming tide of desire.

“Tell me to stop,” he commanded hoarsely, even as his lips traced a burning path down the column of her throat to the sensitive hollow at its base. “Tell me now, or I won’t have the strength to leave you.”

Instead of pushing him away, Emma’s hands slid beneath his coat, feeling the powerful muscles of his back flex beneath her palms.

“I can’t,” she admitted, the confession torn from somewhere deep and true inside her.

At her tortured admission, a sound like triumph rumbled in his chest. His hands tightened possessively on her waist, lifting her slightly to better align their bodies. Through the layers of silk and wool, she could feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against her—thick and deliciously heavy, sending a shockwave of heat to her core.

“Oh,” she moaned against his mouth, and she felt his answering shudder within her very bones.

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