Page 16 of The Duke Says I Do
She subjected him to another of those comprehensive inspections. He wondered what she saw. From a young age, he’d adopted a manner suitable to his dignity. He’d been a shy boy and smart enough to know that people would take advantage ifthey could, purely because he was the Duke of Granville. Portia was right – his public behavior tended to be very ducal indeed.
Something told him that she saw beneath the polished veneer. He’d never felt that way with Juliet. But then she defended herself against the world, too. When she jilted him for the raffish Duke of Evesham, he understood that he’d never really known the woman he almost married.
Portia was much less enigmatic. He liked that. At least today, when she wasn’t bristling with hostility.
“Thank you,” she said in a neutral voice, surprising him anew, because he had no idea what lurked under that tone. She shook out the apron and pulled it over her head. It was too big for her. He’d expected that. What he hadn’t expected was that she’d have difficulty with the ties.
A hiss of irritation escaped her. “Could you…”
He didn’t want to touch her. Actually that was a lie. He desperately wanted to touch her. Too much. But he feared that pristine reputation she derided wouldn’t survive past the moment his hands connected with her body.
For a few seconds, he watched her struggle. Then smothering a growl, he stepped behind her and brushed her fidgeting hands out of the way. “Here. Let me.”
“Thank you.” She sounded more subdued than usual. Or perhaps the pounding blood in his ears muffled her voice.
The apron strings were more complicated than he’d realized when he’d tugged the garment off the shelf. The ties laced through a couple of eyelets to hold the apron in place. Although they weren’t nearly as complicated in real life as they felt when his senses flooded with Portia’s nearness. His usually adept hands turned into ten thumbs.
It didn’t help that he stood close enough for her rich honey scent to torment him. His gaze focused on her nape, revealed under her upswept golden hair. He’d never before found theback of a woman’s neck a source of irresistible temptation. But the sight of that pale, tender skin made him itch to taste it.
His efforts with the infernal cords became even more ham-fisted. They’d be here all day at this rate.
He tried hard to touch only the apron, not its wearer. But it was impossible. When his fingers brushed her back, he felt her vibrating tension. The reminder of her dislike should dampen his rising ardor. It didn’t. In a futile attempt to clear his spinning head, he inhaled. All he got for his efforts was another wallop of that smoky, alluring scent.
“Have you…have you finished?” she asked with more of that uncharacteristic stammer.
Her husky voice made him think of a sleepy Portia in his bed. A sleepy Portia available and eager for his touch.
“Nearly,” he muttered and forced himself to conquer the tangle of laces. For some reason, his hands kept getting mixed up with the filmy material of her dress.
Over his thundering heartbeat, Granville could hear the uneven rasp of her breathing. He gritted his teeth and struggled to steady his hands. He was tying a knot, not drafting a complicated piece of legislation.
For God’s sake, man, you’ve touched a woman before. You’re acting like a complete clodpoll.
At last he finished, tying a clumsy bow at the back. He hoped to hell it held. He wouldn’t survive doing this again without sweeping her into his arms. “There.”
“Thank you.” That reedy voice didn’t sound at all like the Amazon who confronted Jim and insisted he hand Jupiter over.
“My pleasure,” Granville said, which was both a flagrant lie and a profound truth. Because for all his regrettable ineptitude and barely restrained hunger, he loved being so close to Portia.
She’d accused him of being cold. That was true, at least for how he conducted his life. His existence followed rules of logicand cool detachment. So how could he resist warming his soul in her radiant glow? Portia Frain was everything that he wasn’t. Passionate. Emotional. Openhearted. Vital in a way that nobody else in his calm, measured world was.
Over the last few hours, she’d made him feel more alive than he ever had. Definitely more alive than he’d felt with either of his fiancées.
So it was understandable if unwise that instead of stepping away to a respectable distance like a true gentleman, he placed his hands on those straight, tense shoulders.
Her gasp sounded like horror.
Appalled at his presumption, he jerked his hands away. What in Hades was he doing, touching a woman who hated his guts?
Granville prepared to step back. Before he could, Portia whirled around in a swirl of cobalt skirts. Burning eyes met his. He braced to read hatred or anger or, worst of all, disgust in her expression. Instead, all he saw was a longing that vied with his own.
Her hands landed flat on his chest, where his heart raced fit to burst. He reached out for her arms, as her fingers curled in his loose shirt.
Then the man widely held to have no impulses at all gave in to his impulses. He kissed her.
Chapter 5
Fresh. Tangy. A little tart. With a lingering hint of sweetness. Like eating a newly picked apple. A zing of pure pleasure, as the senses flooded with the taste of summer.
