Page 51 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess
Rosaline watched him, her heart pounding in her chest. He was retreating, building walls around himself, as he always did. But this time, she would not let him. She would not allow him to push her away. She would break through those walls, one brick at a time. She would make him see her, truly see her. “What are you hiding?”
“You know very well what I hide,” he hissed, his voice lowering to a menacing tone. His eyes were like twin flames, heated with a dangerous intensity. “Your uncle…”
“My uncle?” she repeated, bewilderment thickening her words as confusion clouded her thoughts. She could feel her mind scrambling to make sense of what he had just said. “What has he to do with this?”
Adam opened his mouth to speak, but the words faltered on his tongue. A flicker of realization crossed his face, quickly masked by an impassive expression. She could see the shift—the way his jaw tightened, the way he seemed to retreat into himself.
“Nothing,” he muttered, almost too quickly, turning away from her.
The lines of his face hardened, the mask of indifference sliding back into place as though it had never left.
“Nothing?” Rosaline scoffed, her voice laced with disbelief. “Or is it something else? Is it…is it just that you find me…repulsive?”
The room seemed to close in on her as Adam’s eyes burned into her with a fury she could not yet understand. He whirled around, his movement as swift as a storm crashing through the night, his features twisted with a rage that both terrified and strangely exhilarated her.
“Repulsive?” he repeated, his voice rising as the absurdity of her accusation seemed to dawn on him. He exhaled sharply, his breath hot and ragged. “Do you truly believe that, Rosaline?”
Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, and her hands clenched tighter in frustration.
But before she could answer, he surged forward, taking her wrists in a grip that sent a shock of heat through her body. His touch was fierce, commanding, and it took everything in her not to pull away. Instead, she stood her ground, meeting his heated gaze with the same defiant fire that had always been her hallmark.
“Every time you are near,” he growled, his voice low, almost primal, “my senses are ablaze. My body…it aches for you, yearns for you with a ferocity I cannot control. This—this torment, this insatiable desire, it consumes me.”
The words hit her like a sudden storm, throwing her into a whirlwind of confusion and longing. Her breath hitched, her heart pounding. She could feel his raw need, the dark hunger in his eyes, and the heat between them was undeniable.
He was closer now, his scent enveloping her, his hands searing her skin with a touch that was both tender and possessive.
He pulled her against him, his chest a wall of warmth and power that made her feel both safe and utterly lost.
“I want todevouryou, wife. I wish to feast on you until you are left trembling,” he rasped, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver of desire through her that she could no longer deny.
Her pulse raced, her thoughts scattered. She wasn’t sure if she should pull away or lean in. She was torn between her stubborn pride, her intellect, and the overwhelming pull of his desire.
As he tilted her chin up, his gaze drinking her in, she felt something shift between them, something palpable and fierce. His eyes traced the curve of her cheek, lingering on the faint scar she had always hated, the one that twisted slightly when she smiled, marking her as different.
For a moment, he seemed to soften, his thumb brushing delicately over the scar, his touch feather-light. She could feel the heat in her cheeks rise with the vulnerability of the moment, and inwardly, she recoiled.
“Do you truly believe I find you revolting?” he demanded, his voice softening into something tender that unsettled her more than his anger ever had.
Before she could answer, he captured her lips with his. The kiss was sudden, fierce, demanding, a claim he made on her lips with a hunger that left her breathless.
His kiss tasted like sin, like desire, and she couldn’t resist it—didn’t even want to resist it. It was everything she had longed for, and yet everything she feared.
He pushed her gently against the cool oak of his desk, his hands exploring her body with a masterful touch, igniting a fire that mirrored the passion in his eyes. She felt as if the very earth had shifted beneath her feet.
His presence enveloped her, and she could not think beyond the urgency of his touch.
Just as the heat between them reached a fever pitch, a sharp rap on the door shattered the spell.
The room fell silent for a heartbeat, the weight of interrupted passion hanging heavy in the air.
“Go away!” Adam snarled, his voice rough with barely suppressed frustration.
He buried his face in her neck, his breath warm against her skin, and she couldn’t stop the soft, pleading moan that escaped her lips.
It was a sound of yearning, of frustration, and the way Adam’s eyes darkened in response made her feel like the very center of his world.
“I apologize for the intrusion, sir,” the butler’s voice quavered. “But Lord Northam has arrived.”
