Page 15 of Accidental Groom

“I know you won’t sleep with me, and I would never expect you to.” His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and I swear, I stop breathing. This man is far too attractive for him to be talking tomelike that, but my traitorous body ignites anyway. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to other things, if you wanted them.”

My knees feel weak. “What—what kind ofother things?”

His hand finds my waist, pulling me in closer to him, and I barely manage to fight the hitch in my breath. “The kind that would make you forget every doubt my son conjured up in your head,” he says. “But only if you want.”

I force myself to swallow, sense and reason losing the battle that’s barely playing out in my mind. “And if Idowant to?”

For the first time in all the years I’ve known him, Harald Highcourt’s mouth twitches into a genuine grin. Not one out of professionalism, not one out of obligation. “Then I’ll make you feel good enough to drown out the bullshit in your head.”

I should say no.

I should laugh, pull away, remind us both that this is supposed to be a business arrangement currently held together with duct tape and glue until we deal with the legal bit in the morning.

But the weight of his hand on my waist makes my head spin, the heat of it seeping through the layers upon layers of silk, and when his fingers dig in, the noise in my headquietsfor the first time today.

So I don’t laugh.

I don’t say no.

I arch into his touch instead.

The sound he makes, half sigh and half groan, sends a shiver down my spine.

He leans into me, his mouth brushing the curve of my ear. “Tell me what you like,” he rasps. “You want my hands? My mouth? Got something in your bag that you prefer?”

My face heats exponentially. “I…”

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost the nerve you showed me back in the church,” he chuckles. His hand moves at my waist, sliding around to the ribbons holding the dress closed, and begins topull. “Use your words.”

The words slip out before I can second-guess myself. “I didn’t—I didn’t pack anything.”

He hums softly against my ear. “Then you’re down to two options.”

My mouth goes dry, struggling to swallow nothing. When the single word escapes me, it’s nothing more than a puff of air, a sound so quiet I’m not even entirely sure he’s heard it. “Both.”

“Greedy.” I can feel the curve of his lips against my cheekbone, the faint breath that warms my skin. “I like that.”

His free hand slides to the back of my neck, holding firm, keeping me in place. His other slips beneath the laces, each one loosening, finally letting mebreathein this godforsaken dress even as my breaths come quicker from the faint touch of his fingers at the small of my back. The hard planes of his body press against my chest, heat radiating through the dark grey wool.

“These,” he murmurs, giving one final tug to the laces, “are in my way.”

The dress loosens further, enough that the two sides of the back gape, enough that the straps on my shoulders slip and the cups of the breasts shift. I bite back a whimper as the stiff fabric moves, barely holding on.

“Though I think I like the anticipation of stripping you bare.”

He pulls at the last one, and the dress falls, pooling at my feet in a hushed rustle of starched and boned silk.

A wounded sound breaks from my throat, my arm instinctively moving to cover my bare breasts and the faint red line from where my stomach creases.

His hand leaves my waist just long enough to grab for my wrist, though, and pulls it away — leaving me entirely exposed, save for the lace underwear still clinging to my hips.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes me in. The swell of hips I’ve always hated, the softness almost everywhere, the way my chest shudders with every breath.

“You’re staring,” I murmur.

“Memorizing,” he clarifies. His hand leaves my wrist, his knuckles choosing instead to ghost over my ribcage and the underside of my breasts. “Christ.”

I don’t have time to ask if that was a positive or a negativeChrist. The fingers at my neck disappear, moving instead to my knees, and before I’ve truly processed what’s happening, he’s lifting me—effortlessly,somehow. “Harry?—”