A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,18

footsteps, or the clink of tack, or the jostling of a chain.

Heart drumming, every muscle poised to scoop her up and dive into the shadows, he scanned the dark room. He’d closed the door but had not locked it, which was a reckless, amateur mistake. Now the closed door obscured his hearing while the open lock left them unprotected. Stupid, stupid, distracted, stupid.

Slowly, sound by sound, the night reanimated. He heard hoofbeats in the distance. Gutters dripped. Insects clicked and whirred.

Helena sucked in a breath to speak. “I will—”

Declan leapt forward, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pressing a hand over her mouth.

“Shhh,” he whispered, speaking to the whirl of her ear.

She went tense. She breathed in a slow, shaky breath.

“Not yet,” he whispered, his lips against her ear.

She nodded. Another moment passed. And another.

The night unspooled with no other sound but the rapid draw of their mingled breath. Far away, someone laughed. A horse whinnied. London rumbled at a low shuffle. Declan’s heartbeat slowed; he swallowed, and let out a breath.

Bone by bone, Helena’s tenseness began to drain. She went soft and malleable beneath his hands. He’d been braced against her, but her shoulders relaxed. She was soft in his arms. Her neck bowed, tipping her chin into his wrist.

She was perched on the edge of the bench, her knees sticking out, and they parted just a little—just enough. His thighs slid between her legs; he was flush against the bench, her legs on either side of him. He need only scoop her up to hold her. She need only wrap her legs around his haunches to—

He held his breath, not trusting himself to move.

Softly, she murmured some word. He was reminded his hand covered her mouth. He released her. His palm settled on her thigh.

“It must have been nothing,” he said softly. “The wind.”

She licked her lips, nodded, rustled.

Move away, he ordered.

Move on.

Move your head from your loins.

Move your priorities into plain view.

Declan did not move.

One hand held her shoulder, the other clenched her thigh. The cotton was fine beneath his fingers and, idly, he rubbed circles into the warmth of her skin.

She looked up. He could just make out the green of her eyes. She appeared . . . mystified, like she was walking through a dream.

Declan’s control, already so thin, rapidly drained away. A very distant chant of No, no, no pecked his brain, an inconsequential bird in an inconsequential tree, miles away.

“This is new,” she whispered, “in the way of resistance.” She licked her lips. “I had not thought to seduce one of the grooms.”

“Please do not say that,” he rumbled. “This is not resistance, nor seduction. This is not happening.”

“I believe it is happening,” she said. “I’ve never been . . . taken up by a man before. It is a singular experience.”

Declan opened his mouth to say something but realized that honestly there was nothing he could say. He thought of pulling away but did not have the strength. He thought of tossing her over his shoulder and hauling her to the house, but that ship had sailed. He didn’t have the will to return h—

Suddenly he was struck by the glimmer of an idea.

A very bad but potentially effective idea.

It would be like dropping a heavy bundle down a hill instead of lugging it down on his back.

He stepped closer and repeated her last words. “A singular experience, you say?”

She narrowed her eyes, confused. Her lips formed the most irresistible almost-smile.

If she told him to stop, he would. If she looked alarmed or distressed, he would stop.

If she was afraid of him, she would not ask favors of him or test his loyalties.

If she was afraid of him, she would not seek him out in dark stables.

If she was afraid of him, she would not torture him.

He stared at her mouth, waiting impatiently for her to say the word.

Please tell me to stop.

Slowly, carefully, with fingers that shook, he reseated his hands on her waist. He met her gaze; their eyes locked. His expression was meant to convey entitlement and possession and strength.

She laughed.

She actually laughed. A light, musical sound. “Well,” she said. “Come on, then.”

Declan growled, and scooted her to the edge of the workbench in one forceful yank. She sucked in a little breath. She settled her hands on his forearms as she tipped her head up. The word stop seemed like the furthest thing from her mind.

Declan went slowly, carefully, closing the distance between them. With the pressure