Page 21 of Daring with a Duke (The Jennings Family #2)

21

Ash

A sh’s heart felt as though it had been torn from his chest and rammed over a stake. Watching Felicity fall apart—her eyes more frantic, more panicked than any horse he’d ever worked with—it destroyed him. He felt her pain acutely, two like souls: lonely, aching, starved.

Their shared turmoil swirled around them, sending unstable emotions spinning wild and unrestrained.

Resentment raged, fueled by the impossibility of having her, of her being promised to his son while she yearned for anything but.

Fury festered from the fates thrusting them together, torturing them with the unattainable.

Contempt coursed through him—at his weakness, because his lips were a hairsbreadth from hers, about to take a small piece of happiness that he didn’t deserve. He was weak, so bloody weak for her.

So, he gave in to his weakness and softly pressed his lips to hers.

And his heart lit up.

Her soft lips sent shocks spiraling out from deep inside his chest. She gasped against his mouth, sucking the air straight from his lungs. And he could only pray she felt it, too.

That he lit her up inside the same way she did him.

His hands tightened on her face, hers sweeping up to cup his own. Her lips parted on a sigh, and he dipped inside, softly, slowly, with a desperate sort of hesitance, like he was afraid he was one breath, one heartbeat, away from this moment disappearing. But when her tongue gently tangled with his, she didn’t disappear. No, she shivered in his arms, a shiver that shook right through into him, like there was some impossible connection starting, building, between them.

They lost themselves in the passing of lips over lips, bodies pressing harder, fingertips grasping firmer. His pulse escalated past the point of what should be possible. Her desperation was palpable, and it only fueled his own. He was desperate for her, desperate to shield her and save her from the grim future set out for her.

His hands dropped to her waist, digging into her, driving her into him. And it grounded him, brought him back from where he was falling, falling into whatever depths of feeling she was drowning him in.

His tongue slid against hers, hers against his. Equal in this in every way. He had rarely kissed his late wife; she hadn’t wanted his lips, his touch, his attentions. And what he had shared with wenches was purely lust-filled, sloppy and rushed. But this…it was everything that had ever been missing from his life.

Had he thought his emotions were out of control before? He was a bloody fool. The emotions careening inside him now should be harnessed and wielded as a weapon, their power that potent. Their power that dangerous.

But that was nothing compared to the feel of her tongue battling with his, the delicious sounds coming from the back of her throat. Noises that sounded too much like need, like promise. Like things forbidden.

And even as her kiss infused him with bliss, pain lanced through him. And he knew he must pull away. But after just one more taste, one more caress. He needed to memorize the feel of her, all soft dips and valleys. Memorize the taste of her, all lemon and sugar. Memorize the smell of her, all fresh air and wild countryside.

He ran his hands down her waist to her hips, flexing over her hipbones and pulling her even closer. She ground into him, her body instinctively seeking what it needed, what he could give her. Another painful squeeze of his heart. Couldn’t give her. Not his .

His hands traveled to her flexing thighs, digging into the soft muscle. His cock throbbed against her; the heady mix of lust and emotions he didn’t dare name was too much. This woman. She was compassionate and generous, tough and tenacious, lively and ridiculously amusing. Not his .

He lifted his hands back to her face, slowing his kiss, coaxing calm with gentle passes of his thumbs over her jaw. They broke apart, panting, her amber eyes whisky drunk. Because of him. His groin and his heart throbbed in an equally demanding rhythm.

He carefully set her back off his lap and stood, helping her to her feet as well. He brushed the backs of his knuckles over her silken cheekbone, flushed a deep rose, and his heart cracked at the sight of her. Not his .

“I have never desired anything more in my life than you,” he said, his voice nothing but a pained rasp. “You are dangerous Felicity Jennings. Because you make me want to discard my principles and fuck the consequences.”

Like end the betrothal and keep her for himself.

Shame strangled him. He shut his eyes, his entire face tightening, hardening like clay exposed to heat. Just thinking it made him want to head to the cove and punish himself with a hard, painfully cold swim. Swim until he couldn’t feel anymore, until the cold numbed him all the way to his heart.

He sucked in a breath and locked onto her amber eyes, eyes no longer heated, but dimming, fading fast. He forced himself to say the words between stiff lips. “Which is why I’m going to get on my horse and leave.”

His hand fell away, and he did as he said. He turned away and left. And it took every ounce of frayed restraint to not look back, to not steal one more glance.

He didn’t look back. But it was too late.

He had already stolen more than he ever should have allowed himself.