Page 47 of Cocky August Rake

She blinked up at him.

Then, very quietly, she asked, “What if this has nothing to do with your position?”

His grip loosened. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that I brought you here because I have thought about the garden for two months.” Her pupils were so dark they nearly edged out the dark brown. “When you looked at me downstairs, I saw desire in your eyes.”

His chest tightened.

“I feel it too,” she said.

Reginald shook his head, though her confession had all but shattered his defenses.

“You live beneath my roof. I’m planning on closing this place forever. How can I know you aren’t just saying what I want to hear, believing you’ll change my mind?”

“I am telling you what I want.”

He searched her face.

She was not innocent. That was not what mattered.

She needed to know that she was free to refuse him.

But she was not refusing.

She was asking.

For one disorienting instant, the room seemed to shift beneath his feet. All his life, Reginald had believed desire meant taking. Possessing.

But this woman—Rose—was standing before him, offering herself freely.

Because she.

Wanted.

Him.

And he could feel the control he’d exerted all his life begin to crumble.

But if he was going to do this… He needed to establish one thing.

“This cannot be as it was in the garden,” he said.

A faint crease appeared between her brows. “What do you mean?”

“That was about me. You made certain of it.”

“I wanted to.”

“Not this time.”

Disappointment flickered across her face. “I don’t understand.”

Reginald swallowed hard.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice was rough. “What pleases you.”

Her breath caught. “That’s not necessary,” she whispered.