Unfortunately, his heels hit the wall behind him.
His wife did not retreat.
No.
Instead, she closed the distance between them and pressed her glorious lithe body against his.
She grasped his head firmly between her palms . . . . and kissed him.
A drugging, intoxicating kiss that set his blood to pumping and left his hands aching to touch her.
But Tristan knew.
If he touched her—if he returned her kiss—he would crumble. He would beg and plead and promise her anything if only she would stay with him, be with him, accept the burning fire of his love—
Pathetic milksop,his father’s voice rang in his ears.
Undeterred by his lack of response, his wife broke off the kiss and continued to tug at his neckcloth. “Though I appreciate how attractive ye be in all your ducal finery, Your Grace, I like ye more disheveled and wanting under my palms.”
“Isolde,” he growled, trying to catch her hands, anything to stop their torturous caresses.
“And I’m going to keep kissing yourself until ye kiss me back.” She leaned up, intent on his mouth once more.
He dodged, her lips finding the underside of his jaw.
“No,” he all but snarled.
“Nae?!”
“I refuse to give you a goodbye kiss and then watch you leave with your father.”
Finally, he managed to capture her wrists and halt her scorching exploration.
He glowered into her ocean-blue eyes.
“Och, ye be in fineKendallform. A true marriage, ye said . . . ye want a true marriage between us. In a true marriage . . .” She paused, her eyesglistening. “In a true marriage, Tristan Gilbert, we choose one another. Full stop.”
His chest collapsed, all bravado evaporating.
She seized the advantage and pressed upward once more, kissing him so softly, so tenderly, Tristan felt his heart crack.
“But,” he breathed against her mouth, “you left with your father.”
“Aye, to tell him I would be staying with yourself. He deserved tae hear my decision in private.”
A terrifyingly incandescent hope exploded in Tristan’s chest, clogging his throat. He dropped her wrists, his palms grasping her trim waist.
“Let me repeat, just in case ye didn’t understand,” she continued. “I”—kiss—“pick”—kiss—“you.”
As if finally given permission, his arms slipped fully around her, crushing her body to his chest.
Blood roared in his ears. He pressed his lips to her hair, her temple, the delectable dip beneath her ear.
“But . . . you said,” he whispered into her skin, voice hoarse, “you said you would always choose your family over me.”
“Aye, and ye declared I would never have been the bride of your choice. Did ye mean that?”
“You are the only bride I ever wanted. The only one I ever envisioned.”
