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“Goodnight, Killian,” she replied softly.

Without another word, he turned and disappeared through the adjoining door, shutting it firmly behind him.

Once inside his own chamber, he exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair.

He was hardagain, his body responding to her presence in a way he couldn’t control.

He cursed under his breath, his frustration mounting.

She’s yer wife, a voice in his head whispered. Ye’ve every right to take her to bed.

But he knew better. Giving in to his desire would mean surrendering control, and he couldn’t afford that—not now, not ever.

Theirs was a marriage of convenience and nothing more, and it should stay that way.

With a growl, Killian strode to the washbasin, splashing cold water onto his face in a futile attempt to calm himself.

He couldn’t deny the truth any longer.

Yvette was getting under his skin, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

That night, Yvette sat alone in her room, her thoughts whirling around the earlier encounter with Killian. Her heart still raced at the memory of him standing so close, the heat of his breath brushing against her skin.

Even now, hours later, the tension lingered in the pit of her stomach, coiled tight like a spring refusing to release.

She pressed her hand against her chest, willing herself to calm down, but it was futile. She couldn’t shake the intensity of the moment.

His gaze, dark and consuming, had pierced straight through her. It wasn’t love—she was sure of that—but it was something. Something undeniable, something magnetic.

Yvette closed her eyes, but the image of him returned. The way his shirt had been undone, revealing the strong lines of his chest. The way he had walked toward her with purpose, like a predator stalking its prey. She shivered, though her cheeks burned with heat.

Had he felt it too? She thought back to the way his voice had deepened, the slight rasp of restraint as he’d spoken. Had he wanted to reach for her in the same way that she’d wanted to lean into him?

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her nightdress as she tried to push the thoughts away, but they only pulled her in deeper.

Frustration bubbled in her chest, and she let out a silent scream, burying her face in her hands.

Why? Why was she reacting this way?

Yvette fell back onto her bed, her arms spread wide as she stared up at the ceiling. Her body betrayed her, heat pooling low in her belly, a dampness she didn’t entirely understand spreading between her thighs. She clenched her knees together, mortified at her own response.

“Stop,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling with both embarrassment and irritation.

But her mind refused to obey. It replayed the moment he’d grasped her chin, the calloused warmth of his fingers against her skin, the dangerous way his voice had lowered when he warned her not to play games. And the way he’d looked at her…Heavens, she could still feel it, as though he were here now, standing just out of reach.

She sat up abruptly, her frustration mounting.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. Sliding her legs over the side of the bed, she pressed her feet into the cold floor, hoping it would ground her.

Yvette took a deep breath and resolved to clear her head.

When morning came, she would go for a ride. Yes, a ride through the countryside would surely help. She needed the fresh air, the steady rhythm of the horse beneath her, and the freedom of open space to shake off this maddening tension.

She nodded to herself, as if solidifying the plan would grant her peace. Climbing back into bed, she closed her eyes once more, though the tension remained, pooling like a storm cloud in the distance.

For now, she could only hope that dawn would come quickly, bringing with it some semblance of clarity.

CHAPTER 8