Aisling interrupts the dark thought as she steps inside and runs her fingers along the dresser. “So, this is where I’ll be sleeping.” She doesn’t sound thrilled.
“We’ll be sleeping,” I correct. “Unfortunately.”
She stiffens. “Is there no other bed in the house that one of us could use?”
A spark of irritation hits. “None that aren’t occupied by family or staff. And it’d start rumors if we slept apart. Rumors are already starting to spread about why we wed so quickly. We can’t afford to give people more reason to gossip—not if we want this to look real.”
“And forcing me into your bed will do that?” she mutters almost to herself.
There’s a hit of truth in it that makes me flinch.
“This”—I gesture between us—“is temporary.”
Her jaw tightens. “Believe me, I’m counting the days.”
A beat passes between us—sharp, hot, and electric.
I don’t know why everything we say to each other feels like a knife fight.
Maybe because it’s easier than feeling anything else.
With a huff, Aisling turns her back to me and starts to undress.
Tension floods my body, and I turn away to give her some privacy.
But from the corner of my eye, I can’t help noticing her struggle.
It would appear the buttons on her dress are rather tricky, and after undoing the first few at the back of her neck, she fails to catch the one resting between her shoulder blades.
Trying again, she adjusts her position, her slender arms straining to get a good angle.
Then she swears under her breath. “Can you help me with my dress? These buttons are impossible.”
The request nearly knocks the wind out of me.
While the skirt is ivory satin, fitted flawlessly to her body, the bodice is a fine lace, the fabric that covers her arms and back so delicate, I can see the creamy color of her skin beneath.
It practically glows against the fabric.
Pale. Soft. Vulnerable.
Every button is like a pearl down her spine—and there are far too many of them.
My mouth goes dry.
I step forward, hand hovering before I touch her.
She smells like champagne, sweat, and roses, so I hold my breath as I undo the first button.
Then another.
Slowly.
Each pop of fabric is a sin.
Her breath stutters, just a fraction.
My fingers graze her spine.
