Page 12 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

Gideon grimaced, immediately regretting his harsh tone.

He realized there had been no better recourse for a young girl than to marry rather than be left alone at such a tender age.

And she seemed to have married well—at least in a financial sense—though he was beginning to suspect that wealth had provided cold comfort.

“Leila,” he began, then stopped, running a restless hand through his hair. “That night… when you appeared in my bedchamber… I hope I didn’t offend you with my proposition.”

“A proposition?” she asked, finally turning to look at him, confusion flickering across her features.

“A question,” he corrected, feeling heat rise in his cheeks.

“About my affairs,” she supplied, stepping closer to him.

“Yes.” The admission was barely audible. “I know you’ll leave soon,” he continued, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“I will,” she confirmed, her voice steady despite the tremor he could see in her hands.

“And it would be easy to have a brief liaison.”

“Brief, yes,” she repeated in a breathless whisper.

“And God knows I long for this…” The confession tore violently from his chest.

“I do too,” she whispered, and the admission nearly brought him to his knees.

She longed for him—just as he did for her.

He raised his hand and cupped her cheek, warmth spreading from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch like a cat.

A panther.

His little panther.

He swallowed. “Your marriage is just in name only,” he reasoned with himself.

She opened her eyes and licked her lips. “It is.”

“I still don’t feel right pursuing a married woman,” he said, though every fiber of his being screamed in protest.

She took a step back, the loss of her warmth hitting him like a physical blow. He curled his fingers into a fist and lowered his hand.

She turned away, her shoulders sagging slightly, and he immediately wished he could take back his words.

She retrieved something from the pocket of her gown and brought it to her face.

A handkerchief?

Was she crying?

“No matter how much I want to,” he continued desperately, “or how much our bodies seem to gravitate toward each other…”

When she turned back to him, she tilted her head slightly, her lips glimmering in the moonlight, looking absolutely enthralling. The sight of her—vulnerable yet defiant, sad yet achingly beautiful—made his breath catch in his throat.

She swallowed, the movement creating a delicate ripple in her throat, and gazed at him from beneath her lashes with an expression that made his world tilt on its axis.

“I understand,” she whispered, her voice carrying a note of resignation that cut deeper than anger ever could. “You sound like a man who’s experienced pure love and lust within marriage.”

“I have,” he said honestly, the words scraping his throat raw.

“I never will,” she replied with such quiet certainty that it broke something inside him.

“You still might,” he offered, desperately wanting to give her hope—even as his own heart shattered at the thought of her finding happiness with someone else.

“Not within marriage,” she said with a sad smile. “But maybe…”

“Maybe?” The word escaped as barely a breath.

She reached up on her tiptoes, placing her hands on his chest, her touch burning through his waistcoat and shirt. He could feel his heart thundering beneath her palms, could see the way her eyes darkened in the moonlight.

Unable to resist any longer, he wrapped his arms around her waist, marveling at how perfectly she fit against him, as if she had been made for this moment.

Their breaths mingled in the small space between them. She smelled of sweet jasmine mixed with her own intoxicating scent, and was that mint? The combination was utterly unique, uniquely her, and it made his head spin with want.

He leaned in, close enough to feel the flutter of her breath against his lips… and then she kissed him.

The contact sent fire through his veins.

They paused, their breaths mingling, their lips barely touching.

He pulled her closer, unable to resist running his tongue along the seam of her lips, coaxing them apart.

She gasped at the intimate contact, and he took advantage of her parted lips, plunging his tongue inside to taste her properly.

A soft moan escaped her, vibrating through him like music, her body pressing even closer to his until there was no space left between them.

His cheeks flushed with heat, his lips tingled with sensation, and his entire body came alive in a way it hadn’t for years.

He felt as though he were on the brink of ecstasy from just one kiss, drowning in her taste, scent, and the feel of her.

It was she who pulled away first, pressing the back of her hand to her lips as if to contain the sensation, bewilderment written clearly in her dark eyes.

That kiss… Had it rattled her the same way it had utterly destroyed his composure? Or was she simply not prepared for it to escalate so quickly, so intensely?

A strange feeling twisted in the pit of his stomach—part triumph, part unease. Something felt wrong, though it felt so incredibly right as well.

How perfectly she fit in his arms. How desperately he wanted to kiss her again.

He wanted to sip at her lips like wine, to run his tongue over every inch of her body, and then find salvation in her warmth.

God’s teeth! He was so hard it was almost painful, his body shaking with need. Sweat broke out across his skin despite the cool night air—his entire body heated, aching for more of her touch.

And aching in general.

That had been one hell of a kiss.

She seemed just as shaken, her breathing uneven, her eyes wide and dark with something that resembled wonder and terror combined.

“I… I need to—” she stuttered, her voice breaking as she pressed her hand more firmly to her lips. Then, without finishing her sentence, she turned and hurried away, leaving him alone on the balcony with the taste of her still lingering on his tongue.

The world spun around him, and he gripped the balcony railing to steady himself.

It couldn’t have been just the kiss that left him so utterly intoxicated, could it?

He pressed his gloved fingers to his lips, where the taste of mint still lingered.

That kiss was to die for.

He had a sinking feeling he would not recover from it easily.