Myheadispounding,and I’m sorely reminded of one of the many reasons I avoid drinking. Worse than the headache is trying to piece together exactly what I said to Azalea last night. By the time she came into my study, I was on my third bourbon, or possibly even my fourth. Honestly, I’m surprised I at no point decided to just start drinking straight from the decanter.
Thankfully, I was able to draw up enough sense for myself to know that I needed to go to bed once I opened my mouth, but still, I fear I said too much to her. More than that, I fear the repercussions if she were to remember too much. I also hate that I missed dinner with her. Well, more accurately, I skipped it.
I have no idea what version of Azalea I’m about to walk into as I raise my fist to knock on her bedroom door. It’s early, probably too early to be considered decent to be visiting her, but I need to know if I ruined everything.
My knuckles rap against her door three times, and I swear each knock equally shoots a reverberation into my head and chest. Both for completely different reasons, but both eliciting a deep ache.
The door is yanked open, and my breath hitches as I look down at her. She’s looking away and doesn’t notice me openly gawking at her right away, so I drink in every inch of her that I can before it’s ripped away from me, relishing in the tiny details my eyes hungrily devour.
Azalea is standing in front of me, dressed in nothing but a black silk nightgown with an emerald robe loosely tied around her waist. Both sleeves of the robe are shrugged off, leaving her shoulders bare except for the thin black strap holding her nightdress up. Her curls are tied in a knot on the top of her head, with a few wisps falling in front of her face, leaving her glowing skin further on display. I see the small beauty mark nestled in the crook of her neck, and I desperately ache to brush my lips against it.
My mind drifts, thinking about what it would feel like to push past the hem of that nightgown and let my hands trail up her full thighs, feeling the softness of her skin rubbing against my palms while the silk glides across the back of my hands. I wonder which would feel softer.
“Rhoden, I told you if—” She finally turns her head and stops.
Pink dots sprout on either of her cheeks, and dammit if it doesn’t make me want to push my way inside and see where else I can make that blush bloom across her skin.
She jumps into action, slamming the door in my face with such force that it causes a slight breeze to ruffle my hair. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my thoughts, which are currently sending all of my blood rushing straight to my cock.
“Azalea?” I call and raise my fist to knock again.
Before I get the chance to, the door swings open, and Azalea is standing back in front of me. Her deep green robe has been replaced with a thicker, bulkier robe far too warm for the current weather, and it’s tied securely around her waist, effectively covering every inch of skin that had just been on display. I’mfairly certain her new ensemble is the cause to the droplets of sweat that begin to bead around her hairline, but she does an excellent job at appearing unbothered by it as she stares up at me, her signature scowl firmly in place. I can’t stop my lips from tilting up.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” I tease. She’s already angry with me, what harm could come from stoking the fire a little?
“What are you doing here?”
“In my castle?”
“In my room,” she says through clenched teeth.
“Well, I’m not in your room.” I coolly slip my hands into my pockets, never taking my eyes off of her. “Unless that was an invitation?” I take a step closer, bringing my toes to line up with the threshold of her doorframe. Just as I expected she refuses to step down, and tilts her chin up to me.
“How’s your head?” There’s an edge to her voice, and I suddenly remember what brought me here in the first place. Faltering slightly, I realize that her remembering my drunken escapades last night means I must not have fucked up too badly.
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” I try to play it off, hoping she would drop the subject. That was foolish on my part.
“I’m talking about how you made a complete fool of yourself and babbled absolute nonsense whilst being drunk off your ass and then proceeded to not even bother showing up for dinner.” Her lips thin annd every ounce of sweetness a smile should hold is replaced with venom.
“Right, well, I thought I could make that up to you.”
“Not necessary.” She shrugs and goes to close the door in my face again, but I wedge my foot in-between the door and its frame, stopping her.
“I insist.” My teeth are slightly bared as I let some of my frustration seep through. Normally, I would like to think I could keep my wits about me, but my head is pounding, and afterseeing her in that tantalizing slip of silken fabric, my cock is throbbing too. “I have a picnic ready for us in the gardens.”
She lets her eyes lazily drift up and down me before a wicked smile takes over her lips. “Say please,” she says, blinking innocent eyes up at me.
“Excuse me?”
“You want me to spend the day with you, so you can feel better about how you treated me, right? So, say please.”
“You want me to beg?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, Braxton. No one’s asking you to get on your knees.”
“I have no qualms getting on my knees. But I’m not going to beg.” I see that blush I love so much freckling her cheeks again. She swallows heavily before regaining her composure, and I love knowing I was able to break it, even if only for a moment.
A heavy pause sits between us. I don’t know what she’s thinking about, but now I can’t stop envisioning dropping to my knees for her. Trailing kisses along her thighs, moving higher and higher—
