"And presumptuous."
"Also true."
"And you're standing in my bedchamber in a state of partial undress, telling me that you're too noble to seduce me." She let out a shaky laugh. "Do you see the contradiction there?"
His smile was crooked, boyish, devastating. "I never claimed to be smart. Just stubborn."
"Andrew."
"Tell me to leave," he said, his voice dropping to barely a whisper as he moved closer, backing her toward the bed. "Tell me to leave, and I will. I'll walk out that door and we'll pretend this never happened."
"And if I don't want you to leave?"
His hand stilled on her face. "Then tell me what you do want."
This was it. The moment Eleanor had been talking about. The choice she had to make.
But instead of answering in the way she’d intended while soaking in the tub, she found herself saying, "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?" His breath was warm against her temple.
"Making me feel like everything is a game. A wager between us." Her hands came up to press against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms. "You talk about my free will, about waiting for me to beg, as if this is just another competition for you to win."
"Is that what you think?" He caught her hands, bringing them to his lips and pressing kisses to her knuckles. "That this is a game to me?"
"Isn't it?" But her voice wavered, betraying her uncertainty.
"No." The word was fierce, absolute. "Do you remember what I said the night I proposed? That I value your free will? That I would wait for you to beg for what you want?"
She nodded, unable to speak.
“Beg me, Isobel,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety whisper that brushed against her ear as he closed the distance between them. His breath was warm and inviting. His lips grazed her lobe before he spoke again. “Tell me what you want.”
His hand skimmed the curve of her waist, his fingers tracing the delicate lace of her gown, and she shivered, her resolve fraying like silk under his touch. His other hand cupped her cheek, turning her face toward his, and she met his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest.
His eyes were dark with promise, a storm brewing in their depths, and she felt her control slipping, her body responding to his nearness with a hunger she couldn’t deny.
“You think this thing between us constitutes a game, a mere wager,”he continued, his voice laced with a seductive edge that made her knees weak.“But I assure you, I take your surrender, your pleasure, most seriously.”
His thumb stroked her jawline, his touch firm yet tender, and she swallowed hard, her throat dry.
“Cocky,”she breathed, her voice trembling, a feeble attempt to mask the desire that threatened to consume her. But Andrew only smirked, his lips curving into a wicked smile that sent a jolt of heat through her veins.
“Then let me give you another taste, my dear,”he said, his lips descending to her neck, kissing, nipping, his teeth grazing her skin with just enough pressure to send fire racing through her.
His mouth moved lower, his tongue tracing the hollow of her throat, and she arched into him, her hands clutching at his coat, her nails digging into the fabric as if to anchor herself to him.
“Andrew,”she whispered, her breath catching as his fingers slipped beneath the neckline of her gown, brushing the swell of her breast.
His touch was light. His fingertips circled her nipple through the thin fabric of her chemise, and she gasped, her head falling back, her body aching for more.
"Just say yes, and I'll give you everything you've been dreaming about in this bed right now.”
“Please,”she murmured, her voice barely audible, a plea that hung in the air like a question. But Andrew shook his head, his lips curving into a wicked smile.
“Clearer, Isobel,”he commanded, his fingers dipping lower, grazing the sensitive skin of her stomach.“Tell me what you want.”
His proximity was intoxicating. His scent, his heat, enveloped her, and she felt her control slipping further. Her body responded to his touch with a desperation she couldn’t hide.
