Her stomach betrayed her with an embarrassing flutter. Every time he called her sweetheart, she felt warm all over, and that was becoming exceedingly inconvenient.
“How did you get here before me?” she demanded, folding her arms tightly. “Surely you were not participating?”
Damien pushed away from the door and strolled deeper into the room, entirely at ease.
“I cheated,” he admitted casually.
Seraphine blinked at him. “You cheated?” she repeated, staring at him in disbelief.
“I assisted my sister in hiding the vase,” he said with absolutely no shame, spreading his hands slightly. “I knew exactly where it was.”
“You are impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head.
“I have been called worse,” he replied with a shrug.
Seraphine rolled her eyes.
“Ah,” Damien murmured, pointing vaguely towards her face.
“What?” she asked, frowning.
“That eye roll,” he informed her.
Without hesitation, she rolled them again. His green eyes darkened immediately.
“Sweetheart,” he said softly as he took a step closer, “you are forbidden from rolling your eyes at me.”
Instead of feeling intimidated, Seraphine felt laughter bubbling inside her. It was ridiculous. The Duke of Wexford commanded vast estates, managed countless tenants, and intimidated half the aristocracy with a glance. Yet here he was arguing about eye rolling.
“Oh?” she asked sweetly, lifting her brows.
Then she rolled her eyes a third time. Before she could react, Damien's hand slid around her waist. A small gasp escaped her lips as her hands instinctively settled against his chest.
“Are you teasing me?” he asked, lowering his head slightly towards hers.
His voice had dropped into a seductive tone. Heat flooded her cheeks.
His hand felt warm through the fabric of her gown. She should have stepped away. She should have reminded him that he had already rejected her proposal. She should have remembered every sensible reason to keep her distance.
Instead, she stood perfectly still.
“Perhaps,” she whispered, unable to look away from him.
His gaze immediately dropped to her mouth. The room suddenly felt much smaller, the air seemed thicker, and every sound beyond the walls faded away.
“Dangerous answer,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against her side as his hand slid upward, close to her breast.
Seraphine's pulse hammered.
“Then perhaps,” she replied softly, lifting her chin, “you should stop asking dangerous questions.”
For a moment neither of them moved. Then Damien lifted one hand and gently cupped her cheek. The touch was surprisingly tender. She drew in a sharp breath. His eyes searched hers as though giving her one final opportunity to retreat. She did not.
Slowly, he lowered his head. His lips brushed hers softly. Tentatively. The sensation sent a shiver racing down her spine. Then he kissed her again. This time with unmistakable hunger. A quiet sound escaped her as she melted against him. Damien groaned into the kiss. The sound seemed to vibrate straight through her.
His arm tightened around her, pulling her closer until she could feel the hard strength of his body. Without thinking, she tangled her fingers into the front of his shirt.
Every sensible thought vanished. The kiss deepened. Warmth swept through her. His hand slid from her cheek into her hair. She felt utterly surrounded by him. Protected. Claimed. The realization should have alarmed her. Instead it made her heart ache. When she finally pulled back for air, Damien rested his forehead against hers.
