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I’m jealous of an old woman? What’s wrong with me?
“You two make a lovely sight,” the Count says, looking at my sister and me. That same dirty feeling ekes into my veins, making me feel unwashed and uncomfortable.
Maggie answers something appropriate and polite, and I just push my chair back. “Excuse me.”
Half-hearing the protests of my mother, I rush out of the dining room and try to find a bathroom. I open and close three doors before finding one that leads to a large, lush washroom, closing the door and leaning against the vanity.
Why is the Duke here? Why do my eyes always seem to be drawn to him? Why do I care if he’s entertaining half the table, and not me?
I should never have slept with him. It’s made a mess of my head, and I don’t know how to make it right again.
The bathroom door opens. I yelp and open my eyes wide when the Duke steps inside, closing the door behind him.
“Ada,” he says, and I melt at the sound of my name on his lips. His arm sweeps around my waist, catching me as I waver on my feet.
“What are you doing here?” I stammer.
“I was worried about you.”
I scoff. “Why haven’t you spoken to me, then? It’s been nearly two weeks.”
Heath’s brows draw together, and his lips drop open. “There are things going on that I can’t talk about. It’s complicated.”
“And that prevents you from speaking to me?”
He chews his lip, ducking his chin. “Yes.”
I scoff, trying to push away from him. His arm loosens around my waist, but I don’t quite have the courage to take a step back. I like his closeness a bit too much.
Lifting my eyes to his, I try to look for some sort of clue. “What’s going on between us?”
The Duke’s lips drop open and snap shut again. His hand slides from my lower back up my spine.
I step closer to him, pressing my chest against his. My breasts really are very sore. I ignore the pain, tilting my head as Heath sweeps his hand over my cheek.
“You look gorgeous tonight,” he rasps.
I close my eyes, shaking my head. “Why are you saying that to me? Why talk to me at all? Aren’t you just going to leave here and ignore me again?”
“The last thing I want to do is ignore you,” he says, leaning his forehead against mine.
My knees knock. He’s so close, and his body feels so good pressed up against mine. But we’re in a bathroom in Count Gregory’s mansion, and the Duke has been pretty much ignoring me for two weeks. Shouldn’t I have a little pride? If he wants to be with me, don’t I deserve more than stolen kisses at parties?
But then the Duke shifts his head and brushes his lips against mine. He parts them, sweeping his tongue across the seam of my mouth. I moan softly, already drunk on his kiss.
It feels too good in his arms. He feels too safe and warm and alive, and I’m too weak to resist.
Even when the Duke deepens the kiss, pressing me up against the vanity, I don’t pull away. I know I should stop. I should have some pride. I should demand he take me out on a date or—at the very least—talk to me outside of a public event.
But his body is all hard planes and male strength. His lips are warm and wanting. Even when he grabs the fabric of my gown and rolls it up to my thighs, I can’t quite bring myself to stop him. His fingers slide up my thighs as his kiss becomes more insistent.
“I came here to see you,” the Duke whispers against my lips. “I don’t want to be here, in this house, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
“So why not call me?” I stare into his eyes. What does he mean, he doesn’t want to be in this house? What happened between him and Count Gregory?
I try to look mad. I should be mad. I should be angry that he slept with me and hasn’t spoken to me outside one quick visit to his house. I should be furious. I should have some scrap of pride and take myself away from here. My body betrays me, though. My feet step wider to allow his hand to slip between my thighs. When he feels the heat of my core, he groans.
“I wasn’t lying when I said you were magnificent, Ada,” he growls, nipping at my bottom lip. “I want to see you every day. I want to wake up next to you and fuck you senseless every single morning.” His hand tugs at my panties, pulling the damp fabric to the side. When he feels my wetness, he groans again. His fingers slide through my arousal, and I can’t lie. I can’t pretend to be cold with him when my body is an inferno. I can’t pretend to push him away when all I want is more.
