“What have you done here?” His voice had fallen into a hypnotic lull, edging her fear further and further away.
The cerulean blue of his eyes—framed by long lashes—held her fast.
Unable to look away, uncertain why she would want to, Daria watched as he brought her hands to his mouth.
“You’ve gone and marked yourself,” he murmured.
Without breaking eye contact, Gregory drew her finger into the hot, moist cavern his mouth made.
The warm, wet heat sent a lightning-sharp charge through her. Heat gathered low in her belly. His gaze lifted to hers as he sucked slowly—then deeper, harder.
That warmth spread lower still, to that forbidden place between her legs. A sharp ache bloomed there.
Biting her lower lip, Daria twisted on the bench in a futile attempt to ease the pull of it.
“You needn’t be afraid,” he whispered.
The worry of before—where he was taking her, what he might do—was buried beneath unfamiliar sensations. A tingling swept up and down her spine, a heated shiver that made her nerves dance.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she blurted out.
Gregory froze and then came off her finger with a little pop.
Amusement danced in his blue eyes. “Should I turn you over my knee?” His lashes slipped and his gaze darkened.
“Is that something you…want to do?” she ventured. “Because it sounds like you do, and I would deserve it.”
His strangled breathing filled the carriage.
“Gregory, are you all right?”
“Is this how I die?” he asked thickly.
She thought he might be teasing but answered him anyway. “No.”
“Yes, I want to spank you, little raven. But not in anger.” Holding her stare, he brought her still-damp finger to his mouth and drank it once more.
A fresh wave of warmth rushed between her legs. She knew the reason. She knew he was the only man who could make that terrible ache go away. He’d done so twice.
He stilled, his head bowed over her hand, and lifted only his eyes to her.
“I was terrible to you last night, Gregory. You were right to be upset with me, and you are welcome to be angry now.”She paused. “Though I’d rather you were not. Either way…I am sorry.”
Gregory slowly slipped her finger from his mouth a second time, but he retained his hold upon her hand. “Are you apologizing?”
“Yes.” She frowned. “That is what ‘I am sorry’ means.”
A smile she had seen unsettle rooms played at his mouth. “I am aware.”
Blushing, hating the skin he’d strangely insisted was beautiful, Daria pressed her fingers into fresh fists.
Gregory retrieved her hands, claiming them for his own. “What I am unfamiliar with, Daria, is a person tendering them so freely.”
“But I was wrong.”
His grin vanished. “Do you believe you alone carried responsibility for all the words spoken?”
She opened her mouth.
