Page 28 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
“I see there is no lock on this door,” Damien said after a pause. “Do not worry. I will not try to enter.”
“I do not doubt it.” She raised her voice a little, hoping he could hear the steadiness in it. “You strike me as a man of honor.”
A dry laugh followed, quiet and sharp-edged. “On what grounds? I have done nothing but behave like a bloody cad since the moment I met you.”
“I disagree,” Emma murmured, moving closer to the door.
Her fingertips grazed the wood, and she nearly drew them back when it creaked slightly. As if, on the other side, Damien had done the very same.
She breathlessly wondered if they were touching the same part of the door, their hands separated by a few inches of wood. Itwould take so little for him to reach her. The door was hardly a fortress.
“I came to apologize. For the times I have been unable to control my baser instincts. It has happened twice now… and it isn’t like me.”
“It isn’t like me, either,” Emma breathed.
His voice was so close now, deeper too, as though his lips rested against the wood. Emma's dressing gown had loosened, wickedly so, the cord coming undone in her haste to reach the study. The thin fabric fell further apart so that her breasts almost touched the door. How far from his hands were those bare bosoms? How far from his lips if the door were not there?
“If this is to work,” he continued, voice taut with restraint and something darker, “we must agree to certain boundaries. I will not be accused of being a ravisher or exploiting you. Do you agree?”
Emma’s lips parted. Her breath shook.
“Yes,” she exhaled, the word slipping out of her like sin.
The rich timbre of his baritone reverberated through her. She had experienced nothing like it before. Her body was pressed against the door now, and her dressing gown slipped from one shoulder. Her cheek lay against the smooth, painted wood, as did her breasts and her hips.
“Are you well?” Damien asked suddenly, “You sound... odd.”
Emma swallowed hard, amazed at the erotic imaginings that were exploding into her mind's eye. She did not want him to stop talking. She did not wish to reply. She wanted to revel in his hoarse voice and recall the feel of his hands on her. She was no better than a harlot in thought. No better than the courtesans whispered about in drawing rooms with disapproving clicks of the tongue.
But in that moment, she could not bring herself to care.
“I am well,” she replied, gasping the words.
A pause stretched between them.
“It is far from easy to say these things,” he murmured finally, voice low, frayed at the edges. “Part of me wants to throw open this door and finish what we began. I realize it makes me the lowest, most base creature, but I cannot help it.”
Emma’s breath hitched, her nails curling against the painted wood.
“We are both base creatures then.”
The doorknob turned. It was round and made of smooth brass.
When she saw it move, she panicked and clamped both hands around it, moving so that she could stand over it with all her strength focused on holding it. It turned in her hands, and the cold metal touched her intimately. She bit her lips against an involuntary moan but pressed her hips firmly forward.
But the handle shifted again, slow and insistent, twisting wickedly beneath her palms. Each time, the metal rubbed against her most intimate area. The knowledge that it was Damien controlling the movement of that metal sent Emma wild. She gritted her teeth, feeling such pleasure that she had never experienced before. She raised herself onto her tiptoes, her thighs tensing urgently, squeezing tightly together.
And then—it stopped.
Silence. A floorboard creaked. He was stepping away.
“Don't stop!” she cried hoarsely.
Her eyes went wide with horror as she realized that she had spoken the words aloud that were far better kept within her head. She clapped both hands over her mouth.
The doorknob twisted again, fully this time, and the door cracked open. Emma flung herself against it before Damien could see through. She slid one arm through the gap, palm out to hold him off, to keep him from seeing her like this.
Damien said nothing.
