“Sebastian?” Daisy was breathless, her eyes searching his. She appeared dazed, flushed. Consumed by the same torrent of desire coursing through him like a bloody flood.
He didn’t know what her question was, but the answer was yes. Absolutely. Undeniably. Yes. To everything. To anything. To whatever she wished. For Daisy, the answer would always be yes.
He recognized the truth of it as she sprawled across the bed, waiting for him to lay his claim. So much hung in the balance, so many words unspoken, so many falsehoods and blockades between them, seemingly unsurmountable. But he was seizing this moment because he was a bloody selfish bastard, and he was going to give her what she wanted. What he needed so badly to give her.
Release.
He swore to himself that he wouldn’t take her, no matter how much he longed to. It wasn’t right or fair to her, not when she didn’t know the truth behind their union. Not when he intended to procure an annulment. But he could give her pleasure. Just this once, even if doing so ended him in the process.
“Take off your dressing gown.” The command was torn from him.
She swallowed, gaze searching his, a pretty pink flush tingeing her high cheekbones. “You wish to consummate the marriage after all?”
Yes, cried out every bloody part of him.
“Not tonight,” he reassured her instead, leaning forward and catching her waist. Slowly, he lifted her onto the center of the bed and lowered her until her head nestled in pillows, a bounty of golden curls spilling everywhere. “Tonight we will get more acquainted with each other.”
Acquainted. Such a mild, silly verb for what he intended to do. He nearly smiled at the absurdity of it as he joined her on the bed, readjusting to keep the barrier of his own robe intact. Stretching his body alongside hers, he lay on his side, an elbow propped on one pillow to give him purchase. Sebastian couldn’t resist sinking his fingers into the lush strands of her hair. Like burnished silk, it fell back to the pillow, teasing his senses with a fresh wave of bergamot and ambergris.
“Can you not acquaint yourself with me while I’m wearing my robe?” Daisy asked, finding her starch amidst a renewed sense of modesty.
He did grin then, skimming a slight caress over her cheek. She was still flushed, and damn it if she didn’t look utterly delectable lying there, shy and beautiful as sin. “I can, but it won’t be as enjoyable for either of us, buttercup.”
Her fingers remained on the knot securing her robe in place, gripping tightly. “Enjoyable, Your Grace?”
He winced at her reversal, the habit of using his title as though they were strangers in a drawing room exchanging pleasantries. She seemed to revert to formality whenever she grew nervous.
“Sebastian,” he prompted her for what was surely the hundredth time, cupping her cheek in his palm and brushing his thumb over that irresistible lower lip of hers.
She would need some coaxing, it seemed. The bravado that had led her to defiantly urge him to take his turn at the Beresford Ball had been precisely that. He was beginning to understand her a bit, this wild summer storm wrapped up in luscious female form. An inner layer hid beneath the fierce face she showed the world, one that was vulnerable.
“I’m not certain I’m in agreement with that statement.” She eyed him warily, her gaze dropping to his right cheek for a moment before settling once more on his.
His rogue dimple, he realized, and it occurred to him that he’d seen her staring at it on more than one occasion. Clearly he would need to make use of it more often. For some mad reason, he imagined her lips pressing to the groove in his skin. The mark of happiness, as his mother had once called it.
A blessing, she’d said, her sweet voice redolent with maternal love. Sebastian had always fancied it a curse, an imperfection that rendered his face asymmetrical. But the way Daisy’s gaze stole to it with such a rapt expression, he was beginning to think perhaps his mother had been right after all.
“Which statement don’t you agree with, darling?” he asked Daisy with cheeky intention. “That getting acquainted with each other without your dressing gown as an impediment will be enjoyable, or my name?”
“Your name,” replied the minx, surprising him with a teasing smile of her own. “I’m sure your name is something sensible and suitably haughty, something more along the lines of William or Alistair.”
A strange sensation, heavy and warm and altogether unfamiliar, slid through his chest as he shared a smile with her. What the hell was it? Some odd sensation of… rightness? Was that the proper word? No, he decided instantly. More than likely, it was something else, caused by frustrated lust.
“Is Sebastian not a sensible name?” He traced the bridge of her nose with his index finger.
Strange how even touching her there, in such a seemingly innocent location, made his ballocks tighten in anticipation. He hesitated at the tip, the two of them connected by such an infinitesimal touch and yet the torrent of need between them so deep and raging. She could feel it too, this inevitable attraction they shared, sparking and threatening to burn into a full-blown flame. He could see it in the way her eyes flared, her pupils dilated, her lush mouth dipped open and her raspberry-dessert breath ghosted over his lips.
Raspberry had never been so bloody intoxicating.
“I’ve never thought it a sensible name,” she said into the charged silence. “Though perhaps it does bring to mind the sort of man who gets churlish when his wife is late for dinner.”
The chuckle burst forth from him before he even knew it was there. He had been an utter boor to her, hadn’t he? And solely because he found it so goddamn difficult to keep her at arm’s length when all he wanted was to keep her here, like this: warm and smiling and beautiful, her eyes laughing into his, her decadent pink mouth just a dip of his head away from being kissed.
Bloody hell.
Before thoughts of duty and loyalty and doubt could stop him, he dropped his hand to its natural home on the nip of her waist and lowered his mouth to hers. Fitting his lips to hers, he kissed her, coaxing her to respond with gentle pressure. He took his time with that kiss, drinking her in, savoring her.
“I’m certain,” he added against her mouth before kissing her again. This time, his tongue teased the seam of her lips, requesting entrance. She opened to him, and he swept inside. Raspberry-sweet and all that was delicious. Their tongues dueled for a moment before he broke the kiss to drag his mouth down her throat.
