Page 23 of Pretending to Love a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

G raham knew this was wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He’d lit a fuse with that first kiss, and he’d been steadily burning ever since. Amelia both pushed and pulled at him in so many different ways, and a man could only take so much. Her eyes followed him, her touch lingered, and her voice softened when she said his name.

Somewhere between Alston falling off the horse and this moment, he’d lost his mind.

He dragged his lips over hers more forcefully than before, parting the delicate seam and taking that first sip of the glory inside. She opened her mouth, and he took more. He’d take everything she gave him.

He reminded himself that this charade would eventually come to an end. It had to end, one way or another, with Alston alive or with Alston’s death. He could not keep this volatile, exasperating, remarkable woman. He could not live the rest of his life feeling so... unraveled.

Her tongue touched his, timid, soft, and hot. She made a little sound, and he stiffened all over, his cock tightening his trousers. She was molded to him; she would feel it; she would know how badly he wanted her, and he would have no excuse, no words in his vacant brain, to deny what his body so readily craved.

Graham groaned, his mind creating visions of her here, right now, against the wall right behind her, lifted in his arms, legs around his hips as he covered her cries of passion with his mouth.

She answered, moaning so softly that it was only for him. He broke the kiss, trailing his tongue down her neck. Her fingers dug into his hair, and her head turned to the side, giving him more tender skin to taste. Now she squirmed, pressing closer. He slid his thigh between her legs and reached for her hips, lifting her to her toes, and rocking her. She let out a little cry as she bucked against him, the folds of her dress a hinderance between them. His cock throbbed for her beneath his breeches.

He dragged his teeth down her neck, cursing this blasted dress and its modest neckline. He wanted to lick her breasts and leave marks all over her delicate skin, but he’d already reached the frilly ruffle of her neckline, too far from the valley of her breasts to take her into his mouth.

He lightly bit the curve where her neck met her shoulder, and she shuddered. He buried his face into her neck, bracing himself for what he was about to do next, to shed the very control that made him who he was—a gentleman, a man who lived by his word. That would all come to an end when he lifted her dress and did every imaginable wicked thing he could think of doing in this alcove at this ball.

“Oh, Graham, don’t stop, please,” she whispered achingly.

Her words stunned him back to sense.

What was he doing? How had he—they—? He lifted his head, stepping back and letting go of her.

She slumped back against the wall, panting and needy. “What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not going to take you in an alcove during a ball. I am not that man, Amelia. Not with you, not with anyone.”

Her hands were shaky as she stared at him, clasping them together at her chest, like she was cold without his arms around her.

“So you’ve decided you don’t want me? You dragged me to this alcove, and you kissed me. But now you’ve changed your mind? And what am I supposed to do? Just accept that?”

He ran his hand through his hair, pulling at the roots, hoping that the pain would sober him. “Yes. We can’t be doing this.”

“And yet we did. What does that mean?”

“I’m sorry, I... I crossed the line. I got caught in the moment, the jealousy, and I didn’t think; I just acted.”

She drew in a breath. “Go away.”

He looked down at his rigid shaft. He couldn’t leave, not like this. She noticed it, and he didn’t bother to hide it. He let her look at him and see him for what he was, just another carnal beast who couldn’t control his urges.

“I’m just a man, Amelia. I can’t help what I feel or think.”

“About me, or about any woman? Could I be any woman standing here, and you’d act the same way? Was I just the one standing closest?”

He winced. “Christ, no. That isn’t what I meant. You know this is not who I am. It’s being close to you that does it to me. I confess, you drive me mad—you’re so damn beautiful. You’re my betrothed, but you’re not, and yet when I look at you...”

Her breathing had become ragged. “What? You look at me, and what?”

“You’re mine. I look at you and think no other man should touch you because you’re mine.” He couldn’t look away from her, and the way she stared back, his cock wasn’t softening anytime soon. There was a challenge in her eyes—to prove he meant it, to step toward her and take what was his.

But that wasn’t the truth. She wasn’t his. They’d both been clear, and he couldn’t let her impulsive fire spread to him.

“You should go first,” he said.

She huffed out a laugh of disbelief. “That’s it? This is over?”

“This is all that there will ever be. You’re not really mine.”

She stepped closer to him, and he tensed. He would not be able to stop a second time.

“You’re right. I’m not yours. Because you’re a coward.”

Ice replaced the fire in his blood. “Thank you for the reminder.”

She slipped through the curtain and disappeared. Graham stayed, breathing deep and hating the way his body fought with reason. At last, he got himself under control, but the night wasn’t over. They would be returning to the same residence, woefully unchaperoned, and the only thing keeping their attraction in check was their mutual anger—at him. He wanted her; she wanted him. They both knew that now. There was no hiding it. But that didn’t change anything about the inevitable future. She still believed they would part ways, with nothing more lingering between them than their shared love for Alston and their current mutual attraction.

But Graham wasn’t so sure if he could walk away from this unscathed.