Page 56

“I…” she squeaked.

A vulpine smile spread across Cassian’s face. He held out a hand, faint veins trailing down thick forearms and spreading across his knuckles.

“Come here,” he said, so quietly that she almost did not hear him.

Her hand was in his before she even knew what she was doing.

Emily found herself hauled forward. She gave a most undignified squeak, the sketchbook falling from her hand and clattering somewhere. Whisked off her feet, she found herself flat on her back on the chaise, with the Duke leaning above her, grinning like a wolf who had just spotted an oblivious rabbit.

“I take it you are enjoying the party, then,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to echo in her chest.

She swallowed thickly. Desire was flooding through her, making her limbs tingle, making her heart beat faster and faster until her legs turned to jelly and she was sure that if she tried to stand up, she would swoon.

“It’s most memorable,” she gasped, a little embarrassed by how breathless she had become.

Cassian lifted his hand, his warm, dry palm cupping her cheek just for a moment. Emily held her breath. Carefully, hesitantly, she let her fingers trail up his bare arm, the curves and swells of muscle flexing under her fingertips.

Is this allowed? Can I do this?

Cassian’s expression was impassive, allowing her to continue her exploration. She reached his shoulders and let her hand skim downwards across the warm skin of his chest, the soft hair tickling her. She reached the center of his sternum, hesitated only for a second, then let her fingers inch towards the waistband of his breeches.

She had no idea what she was doing, or even what she intended to do next. In the end, it did not matter. No sooner had her fingers touched his waistband than he snatched her hand, his fingers curling around her wrist. His grip was not gentle, but it was not painful either.

Pinning her wrist—both of her wrists—on either side of her head, he leaned close, his breath warm and smelling of whiskey.

“You just stay there, little Miss Belmont,” he murmured. “Be a good girl, won’t you?”

She cleared her throat, composing herself enough to recall what hehad said to herwhen she’d requested to draw his picture.

“Absolutely not,” she breathed.

Candlelight glinted off his teeth when he smiled. “I would expect no less.”

Before she could make a witty retort, he was kissing her, all tongue and teeth, his sharp canines exerting the most delicious pressure on her lower lip. Emily automatically moved to wrap her arms around his shoulders, and perhaps run her palms down the warm planes of his back, but she recalled what he’d said and kept them in place.

Shifting, Cassian pressed his lips to the side of her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Theneedbuilt up inside her, like a shaken bottle of champagne, longing to burst out. Eyes closed, she let him kiss her, touch her. His fingers trailed confidently down her sides, skimming over the covered tips of her breasts.

Suddenly, Emily hated her corset and layers more than she could ever have imagined.

Should I ask him to remove it? Should I offer?

He shifted, and she opened her eyes without thinking anything of it.

Cassian was propping himself up on his arms, looking down at her with a heated, hungry expression. There was something in his eyes she could not interpret.

“You seem uncomfortable, Emily,” he noted, his voice slightly strained.

She swallowed. “I am not.”

He tilted his head. “Good. That is good.”

He bent down to kiss her again, his lips warm and softer than before. Emily found herself missing his wild hunger. His hand slid down the curve of her hip, his fist bunching in the fabric of her skirts.

Holding her breath, Emily felt him lift her skirts, inch by inch, until his palm slid across bare skin.

His hand on her knee, warm and gentle, sent a bolt of desire through her, a throbbing almost-ache that drew out a long, shuddering breath from the very bottom of her lungs.