In the Dark with the Duke by Christi Caldwell Page 0,42
a respectable way to punch or not punch someone, because all that matters, Lila,” he said quietly, drifting closer. The smell of her proved distracting, a floral aphrodisiac out of place with the blood, sweat, and age of the old building he’d made into an empire. “All that matters,” he repeated, forcing himself through her siren’s scent, “is knowing where to strike a person.” He brought his hand up, and she tensed as Hugh lightly cupped her waist. “The kidneys.” He glided a hand down the small of her back. “Tailbone.”
Her breathing grew lightly shallow, the rasp one of desire.
Hugh dusted his other hand down her cheek, and he briefly and lightly cradled her face. “Jaw hinge.” Gliding his palm back to her face, he angled her head slightly so that her neck was arched and exposed. Only somewhere along the way, what had begun as a perfunctory lesson had shifted . . . Undercurrents of sexual tension rippled as he became sucked deeper into whatever trap he’d inadvertently set for himself. “The side of the neck,” he murmured, touching the underside of her arm. “The pit of one’s arm.” Stretching his arm down, he stroked her leg. “The kneecap,” he murmured.
Her heavy-lidded eyes followed his every move.
Dropping to his haunches, he caught her left foot, encircling it in his hand. “The ankle.”
“Tr-truly?” she asked, faintly breathless. “The ankle?”
“Oh, yes.” A portion of the body he’d never seen beyond a place of vulnerability to be turned against one’s opponent. Never, in any of the women he’d bedded, had he noted just how desirable that slight curve was where the foot met the leg.
“The . . . groin.” His words came out thick.
Color spilled over her cheeks, and Hugh jumped up.
“The temple.” Hugh dusted the tip of his index finger in a delicate caress along that tender spot of her head. “And the nose, of course.”
She touched that pert little buttonlike appendage, drawing his eyes to the dusting of freckles, bright little flecks upon her almost ghastly-white skin.
“The eyes.” He touched the corners of her almond-shaped ones. “And, of course,” he murmured. Hugh cupped her nape. “Here. The neck.” Hers, so graceful and so long. His eyes locked on the pulse hammering at her throat.
Lila tipped her head back a fraction until their eyes met, and their lips nearly brushed.
The air all but crackled from the undercurrents of energy thrumming around and between them.
Lila darted out the pink tip of her tongue and trailed it around the seam.
Hugh’s eyes locked on that enticing flesh . . . and his honor, the vow he’d made to devote his life to finding and caring after another, waged with desire. He lowered his head, closer. Wanting a taste of her. Wanting to feel her passion set free, and because of his embrace.
What are you thinking?
“Time is up,” he said gruffly.
“What?” Her eyes flew wide. “But . . .” Regret lit their fathomless brown depths, and he couldn’t hazard whether those sentiments came from the shattered connection, or the end of their lesson. “We cannot end now. You said we had an hour.”
She was impossible, and she was going to make these damned lessons impossible.
He stepped away from her, needing some space between them. “An hour, Flittermouse. An hour is what you’ve had.”
“But we’ve only begun.” For all the hesitancy and fear she’d shown in his presence, she proved remarkably stubborn at every turn.
People didn’t challenge him. As one reviled by all, one who inspired terror in all, it was a foreign response. One that stirred an unwanted appreciation of and for the lady.
“Whatever time you waste is yours. It’s not mine. I have a business to see to.”
And if looks could kill, she’d have set him into a pile of ash from the fire blazing in her eyes. “That was why you insisted I change my garments. To prove a blasted point?” she said between clenched teeth.
“You do need to wear breeches and learn how to use your body.”
Lila threw her arms up in the air. “But going over the twelve identifying points didn’t require I change.”
He shrugged. “Timing matters. It’s all about timing. Consider that your first lesson.”
She stamped her bare foot, endearingly sweet in her fury and indignation. “But . . . our time is limited. This cannot be an entire lesson.”
“It is how you use your time that matters. Don’t forget that tomorrow, Lila.”
Lila locked her eyes on him, glaring blackly, and then stomping her way over to the screen, she