Page 21 of A Duke's Keeper
He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, his voice unsteady. “Slow down.”
“Like hell.” She pulled his face back to hers and ran her tongue along his lips as he’d done to her.
His grip tightened on her hips, his hands like fire through her thin dress.
She wanted those hands everywhere. She guided his hand to her chest, where her breasts felt heavy and aching.
He pinched her nipple through her dress. “Camille,” he moaned.
Her name on his lips set her ablaze, and she went up in smoke.
Chapter Six
He was goingto combust any second. She was like a raging fire, and he’d been dry for months. They were on the streets, standing on a dilapidated corner of cobblestone more dirt than stone. It was dangerous and dirty, and he couldn’t have cared less.
This had to stop; his hands on her hips were too tight, his touch too rough.
Buxom widows, ladies bored of their old, infirm husbands—he had his choice of lovers—yet he’d never struggled with restraint in the bedroom before. Then why the hell was he going mad keeping himself from pushing her against the nearest wall and jamming himself to the hilt between her legs? She was a force of nature, a deadly combination of ice and fire a man could willingly lose himself in.
Her hand reached down to guide his to her breast.
He gritted his teeth, his restraint threadbare. “Camille.” Her name came out like a prayer. He rolled her nipple through the fabric.
“Renard.”
A primal roar of triumph rose from the pit of his existence, lost in passion. He wanted his name on her lips, wanted her to know she was his.
Except she wasn’t.
From that same deep place, he found the will to pull away.
Moonlight broke through the cloud cover, revealing her lust-filled gaze and swollen lips.
The soft look on her face did something odd to his chest. He wasn’t a pious man, but Renard found himself wishing,praying, he’d be forgiven this one moment to deserve this woman.
Past darkness coiled in his chest, choking the warm and bright seed that had sprouted.
He’d let himself forget. For the first night in eight years, he hadn’t seen the haunting faces and felt the burn of his future in the fiery pit. There’d only beenherand that stubborn resolve and unforgiving nature, challenging him to be more,expectinghim to be more.
He set her away from him and watched her soft expression harden. He welcomed her anger and disdain, another gentleman who used an opening to take advantage. It was better that way. He’d never deserve the woman in front of him. No amount of scrubbing would wash away the blood on his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said, knowing she’d misinterpret his words.
For all his speech about not being a hero, he’d deluded himself into believing saving her, giving something of himself, would mean he wasn’t an irredeemable monster. He’d laughed and flirted, all part of his mask—the ‘rogue’ duke—a gentleman who was always charming and not to be taken seriously.
But somewhere over the course of the evening, amidst alley brawling and sparring in verbal matches he’d had no chance of winning, that laughter had rung sincere.
All because of her.
“It wasn’t a mistake,” she said.
He wouldn’t hurt her and deny it. Better she did not know how close she’d come to a real monster.
Her jaw set for a fight. “Don’t tell me it was.”
Even now she surprised him, delighted him, made him want more. He shook his head, knowing he’d never allow himself what he wanted.
“I won’t,” he said. Kissing herhadbeen a mistake, but not one he’d regret. Her kiss would be one bright memory in a sea of ugly shadow.
