At that moment, Arabella realized that she should have taken the deal and walked out. Instead, she chose to provoke him. Andby the way he was looking down at her, the Duke was not just provoked. He was invited.
One last step and the Duke was so close that she could feel the heat radiating off him in waves, feel the steady rhythm of his breath. She could see clearly every speck of his irises.
One more step, and Arabella was surprised to find her back against a bookcase. He lifted his hand and placed it against a shelf, caging her in. She waited for the natural feeling of panic, but all she felt was anticipation.
“Perhaps you came at this hour,” he let his eyes roam her whole body, “because you were ready to offer much more in negotiating with me.”
She tried. She truly, really tried to be angry at him. There he was, arrogant and haughty, saying to her face that she came at this unholy hour to entice him into compliance. But all she could register was that deep voice of his and his massive body covering hers against the books behind her, and heat spreading in her own body.
“Tell me, Arabella,” he whispered, so close that his breath caressed her face, “are you relieved or disappointed?”
His hand found her chin, forcing her to face him and bare her neck to him. Arabella jolted at his touch, but she kept her eyes firmly on his. He let out a small laugh, somewhere between amusement and warning.
Then he simply leaned closer. Her whole body went blazing, her pulse thundered in her throat. Arabella had seen this descent twice before: once in her drawing room, where her skin still felt his lips, and the other in the carriage, the kiss that made her body tremble.
Was he going to kiss her? But even as she thought of this question, she knew that it was the wrong one. What he was going to do, she did not control, and therefore, in a way, it was irrelevant. The real issue was whether she wanted him to kiss her again. And the answer terrified her far more than his proximity ever could.
His mouth hovered over hers, so close that if she just leaned a little, she would touch his lips. Her lips parted in anticipation, treacherous, involuntary. A slow, satisfied smile curved his mouth.
“Fortunately for you, Miss Arabella,” he said, and then the movement of his lips just barely brushed hers, “the negotiations are over, and you have already agreed to my terms.”
And with that, he pushed away from the bookcase, releasing her from his hold.
Fury, the likes of which she had never felt before, seized her soul. He was merely humiliating her, toying with her as a cat does with its prey. He thought her childish and easy to manipulate. The Duke was about to be educated.
Because beneath all this audacity and boldness, she was sure that the Duke was not as icy as he pretended to be. She had seen it with her own eyes and felt with her whole body how he even thawed.
“Perhaps, Your Grace,” Arabella murmured, her voice sweet and dangerously composed, “it is you who is relieved to see these negotiations concluded.”
When he looked down at her, she saw it, the crack in the ice. The heat he tried so hard to hide. It was her turn to lightly smirk. His eyes fell on that taunting curve of her lips.
“Arabella,” he said in warning. “You mistake restraint for mercy.”
She felt his chest vibrating close to her, that low growl that told her that she had done what she thought was impossible. The Duke had snapped, and now both would suffer because of it.
“I will teach you the difference,” was all he said.
This time, he did not hover, he did not tease, he did not give her the chance to retreat. He simply took her lips with unrestrained force. His mouth claimed hers, his lips unyielding. One hand found her waist and pulled her against his body.
For a mere second, all Arabella could do was give in to the sensation of him against her body. But then she claimed what she craved. Her hands slowly went up his chest, and shegripped the half-opened shirt. She kissed him back with all her inexperienced passion, led only by instinct, unbridled and fierce.
His reaction was hunger. His hand flew up her spine and pushed her against the bookcase, rattling the books. His body was against hers, and not even air could pass between them. Arabella was suddenly aware that he could no longer pretend he was indifferent. His body answered her boldly, unmistakably.
Such was the force of this realization that Arabella completely lost herself in the kiss, forgetting where she was, who she was with, her station, her name, her reputation. All of it mattered nothing before what she felt from the toes of her feet to the hairs of her head. Blind, hot need.
She let her hands go up his chest to his neck and into his hair. Her tongue battled furiously to feel more, to taste more of him. And as if dictated by powers still unnamed to her, her body swayed to him, longing for more even if she did not exactly know what that more could be.
And for a moment, for a sweet, brief, endless moment, he got lost in this with her too. A deep rumble vibrated through her chest, and she was so close that she could feel it in her own. His fingers tightened into her skin, his other hand going around her neck, keeping her in place so that he could devour her.
Then just like that, he stopped. With a deep sigh, he looked down, eyes closed. The hand around her neck fell to his side, and the other slowly retracted, only to push his body away from the bookcase.
“It is very late, Miss Arabella.”
He took a step back and stood tall in front of her. As if some kind of annoying bodily exertion had upset his shirt, he adjusted it, not even looking at her.
“I trust that you came with your own carriage. If not, I can provide you with transportation, discreet, of course.”
Arabella was getting dizzy from this emotional whirlwind he had put her through that night. And now he treated her like this? He dismissed her after that kiss? No. Arabella was not going to go silently into the night. Her body tensed. She took one deep breath, and she was ready to speak her mind when the Duke’s eyes met hers.
