Page 42 of Claiming His Christmas Angel

“Fuck,” he snarled as blood appeared on his chin.

Using the end of the towel he’d thrown over his shoulder, he applied pressure to the minor cut. Atticus glared at his image in the mirror. Last night had been sheer hell. He’d been pushed to the brink, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could resist temptation.

Not long, if Octavia forced the issue as she had last night. Atticus shoved the thought into the dark recesses of his mind. All he needed to do was keep his lust buried deep. Mocking laughter whispered through his head. He ignored the sound and finished shaving.

A short time later, he was in the kitchen folding eggs and milk into a mixture of flour and other dry ingredients. He’d told Octavia he could cook, but coffee, bacon, flapjacks, and scrambled eggs were the extent of his capabilities. He was fortunate Gus had taught him how to prepare those simple dishes before the old ranch hand had refused to give Atticus any further instruction.

The minute one of the cowhands had told Gus that Atticus was a duke and the new owner of Peaceful Sky Ranch, the cook had ordered him never to come near the chuck wagon again. As hard as he’d tried to change Gus’s mind, the wizened man had refused to teach him another thing.

Gus had said it was unseemly for a duke to work on a ranch, even if he did own the place. As for cooking, the older man had said it wasn’t dignified for Atticus to work in the chuck wagon, let alone learn how to cook. Atticus’s mouth twisted in a small, wry smile as he remembered Gus’s sun-weathered features and taciturn manner. At least the wizened old ranch hand had taught him enough to ensure he and Octavia would have a hearty breakfast.

Atticus was in the middle of flipping a hot cake when he heard a soft gasp. Turning his head, he saw Octavia standing in the kitchen doorway staring at him in stunned amazement. Atticus chuckled at her expression before his amusement vanished, and a wave of lust crashed through him. Forcing himself to crush his reaction to her, he focused his attention on her ankle. She appeared unaffected by her fall last night, but it was important she not put too much stress on the ankle.

“You shouldn’t be on your feet,” he chastised her in a voice harsher than he meant it to sound.

“I’m perfectly fine. My doctor last night did an excellent job with my bandage, and my ankle doesn’t hurt at all.

A sweet smile curving her lips, her expression said she wasn’t intimidated by his irritation one iota. Atticus strode to the doorway, and with his hands on her shoulder, he turned her around and guided her toward the dining room table. Yanking a chair away from the furniture, he forced her to sit down.

“Just because it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t mean it’s ready for you to abuse it, either.”

Scowling down at her, Atticus watched Octavia’s head tilt to the side as she met his gaze. The moment her eyebrows rose upward, a small smile touched her enticing lips. He stiffened. Christ almighty, she was up to something.

“I don’t know why you’re being so ill-tempered. My ankle isn’t troubling me one bit.”

“I am not cross,” he grumbled. “I’m emphasizing the fact that you need to stay off that ankle.”

“What an interesting word that is,” she said in a soft voice that invited him to surrender to temptation. The impish smile on her lips made his body tighten as desire knotted his muscles.

“What word is so interesting?”

“Need. It can mean so many things.” Octavia ran her gaze over him in a leisurely fashion, and Atticus clenched his jaw as he struggled to keep his cock under control. As if understanding he was struggling, she smiled. “In fact, I’ve come to the conclusion that I have a number of different needs.”

“Which are?” he asked, ensuring his question held a silent warning not to test him. The smell of food burning made him dart a glance toward the kitchen before looking back at Octavia. Gray eyes sparkling with mischief, she laughed.

“Breakfast for one thing, preferably not burnt.” The amusement in her voice made him mumble an oath beneath his breath, and another laugh parted her lips. “We can discuss my other needs over breakfast.”

The sultry note in her voice was like a sledgehammer slamming into his chest. The woman was trying to flip the tables on him. Atticus’s lips curled with what he knew was a menacing smile. One hand gripping the back of her chair and the other pressed into the table, he bent over her to press his mouth against her ear.

“Careful, Aphrodite, angels who play with the devil often have their wings clipped,” he whispered.

As he turned his head to smile grimly at her, he grew rigid as she kissed him. Dumbfounded, his heart slammed into his chest as he breathed in the fresh spring scent of her. The instant her tongue glided across the seam of his mouth, he almost gave way to her blatant attempt to deepen their kiss. When he didn’t, Octavia retreated from him, then pressed her hand over his heart.

“I find playing with the devil quite exhilarating,” she whispered, her beautiful, gray eyes taking on a drowsy look that highlighted the desire burning in her gaze. “Especially when the angel knows there’s only one way for the devil to clip her wings.”

Shock rippled through him as Octavia’s hand slid downward to his thigh and then across his growing erection until her touch made him so hard he had to grit his teeth. A come-hither smile curving her mouth, her tongue darted out to wet her lips. The action shot a bolt of carnal lust hurtling through his limbs as her gaze met his. With a jerk, he jumped back from her.

Christ almighty. If he didn’t find a way to stop this madness. He was going to be the one who had his wings clipped. The smell of burnt food was now a pungent odor flowing into the dining room, and with a low snarl of suppressed emotion, Atticus spun away from her and stalked back into the kitchen.

“Damn her,” he muttered as he disposed of the blackened flapjacks.

Last night, he’d come so close to making love to Octavia. Now, it appeared she’d come up with a strategy to get her way. She’d decided to seduce him, and it wouldn’t take her long to be successful, because the weak barriers he’d erected between them were already on the verge of collapse. That had been confirmed the instant Octavia had made his cock grow hard with one simple touch.

With a confidence Atticus knew had been dormant inside her, Octavia had declared her determination to wage an all-out assault on his self-control. Her change in behavior had knocked him off-balance and left him struggling to keep his head straight.

Atticus picked up the bowl with the flapjack batter and used a ladle to spread out four circles of the mixture on the griddle. The woman didn’t realize it, but she’d forced his hand. He was out of time. Atticus would have to ask her to marry him right away.

Last night at dinner, he’d tried to persuade Octavia it was possible for two people to have a happy marriage based on friendship. Every argument he’d put forward, she’d countered with stubborn skepticism. If she refused his proposal on that count, it meant he had no choice but to use the certainty of a scandal to force her hand.