The Defiant Wife (The Three Mrs #2) - Jess Michaels Page 0,24

where they would be alone or too close. The temptation of her was far too great. And yet here he was, about to do both.

But what other choice did he have? She’d been so upset in the study. The anger he’d sometimes sensed just below the surface was bubbled up and the pain was almost palpable.

He wanted to help her. To somehow repair even a tiny fraction of the damage his wayward brother had done. And the best way to do that was to let her feel it. Stifling it was hurting her, so she had to let it out.

He hurried down the stairs and through the back of the house out onto the small terrace that overlooked a tidy garden. Phillipa stood across the expanse and turned to face him as he exited the house to join her.

His breath caught as he looked at her, just as it always did. She had calmed herself a little since her outburst, but her cheeks were still flushed with color, her blond curls bobbing around her face as if to frame that perfection. Taunt him with it.

She clenched her hands at her sides. “You brought a…a pillow?”

He glanced down at the pillow he’d taken from his bed. “Yes,” he said. “And two cravats.”

She blinked and her brow wrinkled with confusion. “I’m sorry, what are you having me do?”

“You’ll see,” he promised, and beckoned her closer by crooking his finger. She stared for a moment and then obeyed, and his cock made itself very known in that moment.

Christ, he was going to make things worse not better if he couldn’t rein in his lust. He thought the least erotic thoughts he could as she reached him and tilted her head in question.

“Hold out your hand,” he said. “Palm down.”

She did so after a brief hesitation and he went to work wrapping it with the cravat. In and out, with expert skill, until he tied off the fabric and left her hand half-covered in silk.

“What are you doing?” she asked, but didn’t resist when he grabbed the opposite hand and repeated the action there.

He focused on the work as best he could, rather than how soft her palm was, how her fingers curled against his as he worked the fabric in between each one.

“We are going to box,” he said, and backed away from her.

She stared at him as if he’d suggested they swim out to sea and live in a fairyland island. “Box?” she repeated.

“It is a wonderful way to relieve strain,” he said. “I go to my club in London regularly to punch through whatever is troubling me.”

“Are you any good?” she asked.

He arched a brow. “The very best.” Then he laughed. “That isn’t true. I am middling, at most. I couldn’t compete, if that’s what you mean. But I don’t have to be the best to enjoy something.”

She smiled. “It isn’t ladylike.”

He arched a brow. “I will have you know that I’ve heard of a ladies club in London.”

Her eyes went wide, though he thought he saw a flicker of interest in the green depths. “I cannot imagine.”

“Now, in my club, we might have pads to hit, bags when we practice.” He held up the pillow. “But this will have to do.”

She seemed to ponder that a moment, perhaps letting what felt so foreign to her sink in. “So you want me to punch your pillow?”

He lowered it. “You’d prefer to punch me?”

She looked at the face in question. “Er, no. I like your face as it is.”

“The highest compliment.” He raised the pillow again. “Just swing. Don’t think about form or anything else. Just hit the pillow.”

She hesitated a moment, then cocked her fist back and grazed the pillow with it. He frowned as he dropped the pillow down. “That’s the best you can do? After your display of anger in the study? Come, pretend the pillow is Erasmus.”

Her lips parted. “I couldn’t—”

“You can,” he corrected her. “And, in fact, I insist you do.”

She rolled her eyes like he was being ridiculous, but edged her way back. This time when she walloped the pillow, it was much harder. She hit it again, again, and the longer she hit, the more focused she became. She hit with one fist, then the other, over and over. She hit so hard she began to grunt with the exertion, that a thin sheen of sweat broke on her brow.

And with that exertion came emotion. Just like in the study, he could see her losing