Page 17 of Married to the Icy Duke (Duke Wars #3)

He snorted. “I don’t think I am.”

Insufferable fellow! Charlotte stared up at him, her chest heaving, her stomach tight with a desire for something she didn’t fully understand.

He was close enough to touch. She could reach up and run her fingers across the curve of his jaw, or down the strong line of his throat.

He could touch her . She imagined his large hand spanning her collarbones, just below the hollow of her throat.

Would his hands be warm or cold, soft or gentle?

Stop it! You have already forbidden this man to touch you, and he happily agreed. He does not think of you in this way, I can guarantee it.

“Well, how about this duty?” she snapped, curling her fingers into tight fists. “I am marrying a brute out of duty. Given the choice, I would be a spinster, but I have a duty to my family that cannot be ignored.”

His eyes flared momentarily, although perhaps that was a trick of the torchlight.

“Goodness, how free you are with your opinions, my dear. You should not say such things, I warn you.”

“Why should I not? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Like lightning, his hand shot out, fingers curling around her chin, tilting up her face and curving over her cheeks. It was not a painfully hard grip by any means, but tight enough that Charlotte did not imagine she would be able to wrench herself away easily. She sucked in a breath, eyes widening.

“You know, my dear, it is a pity you insisted upon the no-touching rule,” he murmured, his voice a low, thoughtful rasp. “Because otherwise, I think I would know exactly what to do with all that fire.”

Her eyes blazed. She brought up her hand, knocking his wrist away. He released her and took a step back. Charlotte advanced.

“I would not let you touch me if you were the last man on earth!” she hissed, jaw clenched.

She didn’t know what she had expected in return from him. Anger, perhaps? Hurt? Certainly not amusement. He gave a low chuckle, a wicked grin spreading over his face.

“You think not?”

“I know not!”

He leaned closer until she could smell the sweet tang of port on his breath, overlaid with a rich, petrichor cologne. The tip of his nose almost brushed hers.

“My darling, given the chance, you would beg for me.”

Charlotte’s vision actually blurred a little with anger. How dare he? How dare he speak to her in this way? He was the one who required her help, and yet …

“I would never do that,” she responded, voice shaking. “Not ever .”

He took another step forward, closing the distance between them. He seized her upper arms, just beneath her shoulders, long fingers resting cool on her arms. The sensation of his hands on her seeped through the thin fabric of her gown.

She could feel the warmth of him, the firmness of his body. She blinked, sucking in an outraged breath, and suddenly, in her mind’s eye, she was back in his room, staring in awe at his sculpted, firm torso, longing to touch.

Fashionable gentlemen wore padding under their clothes to make their shoulders broader and their chests thicker. Some combined the effect with corsets, tucking in their waists to achieve the figure they wanted.

Isaac had no need of any of that.

“Oh, is that so?” he murmured, his voice light and almost amused. “ Never is a terribly serious word, you know.”

Before Charlotte could say a word—not that she was capable of speech at that moment—he bent his head and kissed her.

A rush ran through Charlotte as his lips fit against hers.

They were warm and soft, tasting faintly of sweet port and the chocolate cake they had eaten for dessert.

She gasped, involuntarily, and the tip of his tongue swiped along her bottom lip.

Her knees sagged, and if he had not been holding her so firmly, Charlotte was sure she would have fallen to the ground.

Abruptly, he pulled her against him, winding one arm around her waist and pressing her flush against his chest. Wildfire surged through Charlotte’s body. She reached out reflexively, grabbing at his lapels, not sure whether she wanted to pull him closer or push him away entirely.

She wanted … She wanted . She was not sure what she wanted, only that it threatened to consume her entirely, and that her head was pounding and her heart was aching, and none of the romance novels she had read, not one, had warned her about this feeling and the sudden rush of desire.

The wanting tightened in her chest, like a stone sitting between her lungs, and abruptly dropped, a heated coil surging through her gut and rushing between her legs.

It was an ache, a sharp one, and Charlotte gasped aloud, her lips still fitted against Isaac’s.

His tongue slid deeper, sliding over her lower lip and then back again just as quickly.

She felt the tiniest press of his sharp teeth against her lip, drawing her towards him.

Then a voice came tearing through her private world.

“Are you two still out there?”

Charlotte tore herself away from him, panting for breath. Her lips felt oddly raw, almost swollen , but not in a painful, unpleasant way. She ran her fingers over her lips, glancing nervously around. That was Sybella’s voice. Could she tell what had been going on?

Charlotte pointedly did not look at Isaac.

“Yes, we’re out here,” she called, her voice cracking just a little.

If Sybella noticed the strangeness when she stepped onto the terrace, she did not let on.

“Tommy is sound asleep,” she said smoothly. “I ran into Thalia in the halls, and she asked me to speak to you, Charlotte. She wants to plan a shopping trip for tomorrow, if that’s acceptable?”

Were they really discussing such mundane things as shopping when Charlotte’s world had just been turned on its head? Apparently so.

“Yes, that would be fine,” Charlotte managed.

Sybella nodded, smiling. “I’m glad. If you’re going to be married in a week, you’ll need to get started on finding a suitable dress as quickly as possible!”

“Six days,” Isaac stated flatly. Both women glanced at him. Charlotte’s heart sped up simply at the sight of him. She cursed her traitorous body. She would bring it under control.

“I beg your pardon, brother?” Sybella managed at last.

He stepped past Charlotte, striding inside without a backward glance.

“The wedding takes place in six days, not seven,” he said shortly. “Today is over.”