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Breathy.

Drat, she thought, her thought somehowalsosounding breathy.If I wanted to change the mood, I’ve managed the thing nicely…

Benedictwas no longer looking at her like he was annoyed. No, now he was looking at her with heat. With hunger.

She took an involuntary step backwards. A predator’s smile spread across her husband’s lips, and oh, Emily’s body remembered how those lips felt against her own, against her jaw, against the pulse of her throat which now pounded and raced.

“Say it again,” he purred.

She shook her head, an instinctual protest. It was unreasonable, she knew. She had to call himsomething, after all—they were now bound for life, and wasn’t that quite a thought. He’d already disallowed polite address, and he wasnotthe type to allow trite nicknames.

His given name would have to do.

But she feared if she gave in on this, she’d end up giving in on everything.

Yes,whispered a traitorous voice.Do that. Give in.

And because Benedict really, trulywasthe most contrary man alive, her refusal—her foolish, nonsensical refusal—was the thing that seemed to please him. He prowled forward. She stepped back and bumped into the wall.

“Come now, Emily,” he said. This, she felt, was an object lesson on why she should not cede to this demand. When he saidhername, after all, it didn’t feel like a mere word. It felt like a caress.

And then itwasa caress, his fingertips reaching out to touch her elbow—Emily had never before paid such attention to her shoulder—before sliding up her arm in a glancing touch.

She didn’t know whether she should jerk away or lean in to get more of the contact. Trapped between the two, she stayed utterly still.

Benedict, however, did not. Leaving gooseflesh in his wake, he trailed his fingers up and up, skipping over the short sleeve of her wedding dress, then across the shelf of her collarbone, up her throat, and around the edge of her jaw. He twined his fingers into her hair andgripped.

It didn’t pull. It didn’t hurt. But it was firm and undeniable, that grip.

Something fragile inside Emily trembled under the pressure of it, threatened to break.

Yes,said the traitorous voice again.Yes.

Stubbornly, she rebelled, steeling herself, even if nothing felt quite right about that choice.

“Emily,” he prodded again, the tiniest, barest hint of a mocking lilt to the word. “I’m waiting.”

He leaned in, his frame perfectly sized to let him curl all around her. She could feel the heat of him from her toes to her crown. She could feel the gentle brush of his breath against her cheek.

True to his word, he waited.

He waited and waited with some sort of wretched wellspring of eternal patience, the only movement in him that gentle flow of his breathing. His grip in her hair remained firm, unyielding. She thought she might die if he let go.

And something in the surety of that grip freed her just enough to close her eyes and whisper his name, something in her certain that this wasn’t justgiving in,that this wasbeing brave. Something in her certain that those two things were more related than they seemed.

“Benedict,” she said, letting the word grow as breathy and syrupy and warm as she felt inside.

His hand clenched tighter—he didn’t let go—as his mouth came crashing down on hers.

It wasmoreof a kiss than the ones they’d shared previously, more heat, more fury, more passion, moreeverything. It was a cliff, the highest mountain, and Emily wanted to throw herself off it. He’d catch her, wouldn’t he? He was still holding on.

She opened as his tongue invaded, wanting more, more, always more. His body surged against hers, pressing her firmly against the wall, his free hand clenched in a fist beside her head, the veins bulging at the wrists. The sight of those veins, the controlled strength they indicated, touched her straight down to her bones as he kissed viciously against her pulse point.

It was all so good that she almost didn’t care that they were still standing in a hallway. Almost.

“Benedict,” she moaned which made his attack on her neck become even more vigorous. He was going to leave a mark, something that, oddly enough, filled her with a sense of satisfaction. “Benedict, wait?—”

The groan that ripped from him was agony. “No, Emily. No, please?—”