“Because, Deena,” he murmured, a slow, devastating smile curving his mouth, “every time you look at me like that, pink-cheeked and breathless, I find myself far less interested in any other woman in the room.”
Deena swallowed, forcing her voice steady. His nearness made her unable to think straight. “I was not looking at you like anything.”
“Weren’t you?” His gaze dropped to her hands, then lower to her thighs, before returning to her eyes. “Your body tells a different story.”
“I—I’m not sure what you want me to say!” she blurted.
“Just say yes to our deal.”
She drew a shaky breath. “Yes.”
His smile was slow and devastating. “Good girl.”
He rose, offering his hand to help her stand. She took it, her fingers slid against his palm, and the contact lingered. He was warm, firm, and her skin tingled under his touch. She wasn’t sure if it made her uncomfortable or desire more.
And what is more?
Neither of them let go immediately.
“You should go,” he said at last. “Before I forget, we’re only talking.”
Her heart stuttered. “We are only talking.”
“Are we?” He lifted her hand, brushing his lips to her knuckles as he placed a soft kiss on them. “Because it doesn’t feel like it.”
Deena pulled free, stepping back. “Austin…”
“Go,” he repeated in a gentler tone.
She moved to the door, not understanding or trusting her own body.
“And Dee?”
She glanced back.
His eyes burned through hers. “In seven days, we will find your blackmailer. Trust me.”
Deena stood in front of the mirror in her sunlit bedchamber, twisting to inspect the fit of her pale green dress. The fabric hugged her curves just enough to feel elegant without being immodest, and it was perfect for whatever her grandmother had planned. Her maid, Elise, fussed with the ribbons at her back.
“Almost ready,” Elise murmured.
Deena nodded absently; her mind had been wandering often to Austin. She pictured him waiting at breakfast, his sleeves rolled to his elbows displaying his strong hands.
What would those hands feel like unpicking her gown’s buttons? Sliding bare over her skin, strong fingers rasping against the soft skin of her waist, pulling her flush against the hard planes of his chest until she could feel every inch of him pressing insistently?—
A sharp knock at the door shattered the illicit fantasy and heat flooded her cheeks.
“Enter,” she called steadier than she felt.
The door flew open, and her nephew Percy, hurtled like a cannonball, slamming into her legs. “Aunt Dee! You are here!”
She laughed, scooping him up despite his growing size. “Percy! You've shot up like a weed. You’ll be taller than your papa soon.”
“Will not!” Percy wriggled, grinning. “Papa says I’m to be a duke someday, just like him.”
Dominic stepped in behind, his tall frame filling the doorway, and his dark eyes crinkled with warmth. Deena hadn’t seen him for months. She smiled at him as she remembered their last visit six months ago just before little Mary fell ill and could not travel again. Everyone waited on bated breath for her recovery and Deen had never prayed so much in her life.
But Mary was a fighter. At just two years old, she was already showing signs of her father’s stubbornness. Percy, on the other hand, was five and adventurous, kind and friendly like Selina and his late mother.
