Page 68 of Corrupting his Duchess
“Because you’re teasing.”
“Only a little,” he said, voice lower now. “But that’s because if I speak plainly, you’ll stop me.”
She didn’t deny it.
He moved another step closer. Close enough to see the flutter at the base of her throat.
“Tell me to leave,” he said, “and I will.”
She said nothing.
He smiled faintly. “No objections, then.”
Her hand curled around the doorknob, knuckles pale against the cold metal. “This is mad.”
“Undeniably.”
She swallowed. “And you’re very close.”
“I know,” he murmured. “And I haven’t even touched you.”
His voice was velvet now, soft and low and impossible to ignore.
He watched her breath slowly, the rise and fall of her chest steadying beneath fabric he suddenly envied. “Your Grace…”
He leaned in, just enough to let his words graze the shell of her ear. “I remember how you tasted.”
She froze.
He caught her scent, lavender and something softer beneath it, something warm and clean and entirely her, as he watched the fine line of her neck rise with a breath she tried to steady. Her skin seemed to warm beneath his gaze, as though his nearness alone had stirred something between them.
His mouth curved. “You kissed me first, remember? I’ve been trying not to think about it since.”
“I shouldn’t have,” she whispered.
“You did,” he said. “And I’ve never been so grateful for anything impulsive in my life.”
His hand lifted, hesitant, offering, until his fingers brushed the side of her neck.
She closed her eyes.
He wasn’t supposed to want this. He wasn’t supposed to need anything. But she’d undone something in him, simply by not asking for it.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Good,” he said. “Because I plan to do nothing you won’t allow.”
Her breath trembled.
He wanted to stay. To press a kiss to the inside of her wrist and say nothing more. But he wouldn’t touch what she wouldn’t give.
She opened her eyes.
Their gazes locked, heat blooming slowly between restraint and longing.
Then, softly, she said, “I don't know what I want.”
