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CHAPTER FOUR

Daisy stood before Nightingale’s room, the Duke of Frosthaven all but forgotten.

Why had she ever sought his attention in the first place?

It was a certain infamous rake who tangled up her thoughts, not the respectable duke.

Why hadn’t she seen it sooner? Of all the alternative courses of action Meredith had suggested, she had always been drawn to him.

The duke had been an excuse.

That was the conclusion she had come to—unavoidable, somewhat startling, and entirely true.

But Nightingale was also a rake. A notorious one. And therein lay the trouble. And most likely past denial. She didn’t want to change him. She doubted she could. But neither did she wish to offer her heart only for it to be trampled.

So don’t offer your heart.

Not that she was planning to. Rakes only listened to words of temptation and seduction, did they not? And that was precisely what she intended to give him. The consequences?

I will not do the right thing.

His words still rang in her head.

Hah! Did he think that would scare her? Very well, it did. But clearly not enough.

Daisy inhaled deeply and knocked. The sound struck her ears like the deafening toll of a tower bell, announcement of the most daring thing she’d ever done—and possibly, most certainly, her ruination.

The soft sound of footsteps padding closer made her breath catch, her heart pounding as she remained frozen in place.

The door opened.

And, oh, dear Lord. Nightingale filled the doorway, tall, imposing, and something like a sinful dream made into flesh.

His cravat was gone, leaving his throat exposed in a way that dared her to look closer, the sight offering a glimpse of the sculpted muscles beneath his shirt.

His blonde hair fell untamed across his brow, his eyes brooding.

The devil himself couldn’t have looked more tempting.

Yes, this was the man she wanted. Not the duke. Never the duke.

“Daisy,” he said, his voice low, gruff almost. “What are you doing here?”

Wasn’t that clear? Well, she can be even clearer. “I’m here for you.”

That caught him off guard.

Daisy seized the moment and stepped boldly closer. “Are you going to push me away again?”

“Yes.” Firm. But he didn’t move. Not an inch. “You need to leave now, Daisy. I won’t say it again.

“Then don’t say it again.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, the faintest crease appearing between his brows, “What do you want from me?”

“You, Nightingale,” she reaffirmed. “I want you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

Somewhere, a door slammed, and they both jerked. A hand gripped her arm and pulled her into the room, the door shutting behind her. Before she could blink, Nightingale had crossed the chamber, putting as much distance between them as possible. She swore she heard a string of curses, too.

“This is madness,” he ground out. “Do you understand what will happen if you’re discovered?”

Daisy nodded. “I shall be ruined.”

“And still, you knock at my door?”

She met his gaze. Held it. “Yes, Nightingale.” Then she gathered every scrap of courage and said the most tempting, most seductive thing she could think of: “I want you to ruin me.”

Rhys groaned.

Christ. This woman.

In all his years of indulgence, no lady had ever come close to driving him to the brink of madness as she had in a single night. Every instinct—every damn part of him—surged with warning. She was a peril to the very foundations of his existence.

And she wanted him to ruin her.

Bloody hell. Yes.

God. No.

But she was in his room. She wouldn’t leave unless he tossed her out—and that would mean touching her. Rhys didn’t know how long he could remain a disciplined, principled, half-cocked rake who lived by certain rules.

“Daisy, bloody hell, you can’t say that to me.”

She grinned at him. Grinned. “I love how you say my name.”

“You can’t say that to me either.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re an innocent. A wall–”

“Flower?” She tilted her head. “Not tonight. Not anymore.” She stepped closer. “And I do know exactly what I’m doing.”

“You’re playing with fire that will burn you.”

“So many warnings. Then why did you pull me into your room instead of shutting the door?”

Rhys clenched his jaw. “Because every time you look at me like you’re looking at me now, I forget every single damn rule I’ve spent years living by.”

“Well, that’s promising.” Her grin turned bewitching. “For me.”

He laughed—low, harsh, bloody desperate. “You think this is a game?”

“No. I think it’s a choice. And I’m making mine.”

“Christ.” He could feel all his principles crumbling. “You’re going to be the ruin of me.”

A small shrug. “Then we are in the same boat, are we not?”

No, they weren’t, but the words no longer had strength to form on his lips. Daisy in his room unhinged every disciplined thought he possessed. He didn’t know whether to send her away or drag her into his arms.

He lost the fight.

With a curse, he strode over and hauled her against him. “Don’t regret this.”

“I won’t.”

Rhys grunted and walked backward to the bed with her still in his arms. She followed along, her fingers curling into his shirt. They reached the edge of the bed, and he stopped, his lower body so hard he could scarcely breathe.

“I had rules. Iron ones,” he muttered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You’ve wrecked them all.”

She smiled. “Good.”

Rhys fell back onto the mattress, Daisy coming down with him, her body landing squarely atop his. He loved the feeling. He drank it in—every inch of her pressing against him—then rolled them, needing her beneath him.

She let out a small laugh of surprise that turned into a gasp when his mouth found her throat.

“You drive me mad,” he murmured against her skin, his lips dragging down the line of her neck to the hollow just above her collarbone. “Completely, irrevocably mad.”

“How fortunate for me,” she whispered, arching into his body.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of her dress, pausing. “What are you wearing? Or not wearing?”

She grinned at him. “As little as possible.”

“Dear God, Daisy.”

She chuckled.

With a groan that sounded like a damn wounded animal, Rhys pushed the dress higher, revealing the naked length of her legs. Her hips shifted, seeking his touch. Wanting. Whatever leash he’d once had on his desire was gone now, shredded.

He couldn’t hold back much longer.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed against her skin.

“Stop? Never.”

“Daisy…”

She arched closer, the curve of her mouth brushing his cheek. “Nightingale…” she shot back teasingly, breathlessly.

Christ. “Call me Rhys.”

“Rhys.”

His whole body throbbed at that. “I take that back. Never call me by my name again.” Too damn dangerous.

She chuckled, her hands finding their way beneath his shirt in answer.

Damn it all to hell. “I want you. Now. Like this.”

“Then take me.”

So simple, and yet not simple at all. “It’s not going to be romantic. It’s going to be hard and raw.”

She laughed then. “I knocked on your door, Rhys. I’m ready for anything.”

That was all he bloody needed to hear. He captured her mouth again, hot and thorough, kissing her until he thought his lungs might seize from lack of breath before breaking free. Her hands fumbled at his shirt, and he helped her, shrugging it off and tossing it to the floor.

The feel of her hands raking his chest nearly undid him.

The rest of their clothes would have to wait. A part of him knew he should be gentle. She was an innocent. But that part had scattered, and still, she welcomed him, uncouth edges and all.

He bloody loved that.

Rhys shoved his trousers down with a growl. Daisy’s eyes widened at the sight of his cock, staring—curious, intrigued, utterly unashamed.

He couldn’t help a smirk. What man would? “Want to touch it?”

She didn’t hesitate. Her fingers reached for him, light and bold all at once, wrapping around him.

He hissed and snatched her hand back. “On second thought, no touching.” Not unless he wanted to finish himself right there and then.

She laughed. “You’re such a contradiction.”

Yes, he bloody was.

But only with her.

He lowered himself over her, one hand braced beside her head while the other slipped between her thighs.

Her breath hitched, and he felt a rush of relief—she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

She was hot, eager, and more than ready for him.

He circled her bud with skill, coaxing her to pleasure while his fingers pressed inside her.

She arched, impatient for more, and he was happy to oblige—until her hand found him again.

His breath punched out in a hiss. “Daisy… Bloody hell.”

But she didn’t let go. Instead, she guided him to where his fingers were preparing her to take him, her gaze locked on his.

“Now,” she breathed. “Didn’t you want me now? That was how many minutes ago? Well, I want you now.”

Damn it all. “You are a witch.”

He didn’t deny her. Didn’t have the strength to. He pushed in, cursing beneath his breath at the tight, glorious heat of her.

She gasped, her nails digging into his arms, her legs locking around his waist. Locking him to her.

He stilled, just for a breath, his jaw clenched tight as he fought the urge to lose himself in her completely. “You feel like sin.”

“Then don’t stop,” she whispered.

He didn’t.

He thrust into her.

Into heaven.

Into madness.