Page 12 of Promised to the Heir

“I don’t mix work and…” She doesn’t finish.

I step closer, slow enough to let her choose distance if she wants it. “And?”

Her breath comes out unsteady. “And whatever this is.”

“It’s dinner,” I say softly. “And the start of something we both already feel.”

The corner of her mouth curves, defiant. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

“I am sure of you.”

For a heartbeat she stands perfectly still. Then her eyes drop to my mouth. The world shrinks to that single point of focus, our shared breath and the faint scent of wine on her lips.

I lift my hand, fingers brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. She doesn’t step away. The pulse at her throat flutters against my fingertips.

“Tell me no,” I murmur.

She doesn’t.

Her chin tilts up just slightly, and that’s all the invitation I need.

The first press of her mouth is a collision of memory and want. I’m transported back to yesterday’s kiss. The urgency has changed; this isn’t fire breaking out, it’s the steady burn that follows, the one that consumes everything it touches.

She tastes faintly sweet, like the wine, like something softer beneath the armor. Her lips move under mine with hesitation that dissolves the moment I tilt her chin higher. She meets me halfway, and she makes a sound that is caught between a sigh and surrender. It slides through me like a live wire.

I kiss her until the world disappears. The parking lot light, the pulse of the power lines, the low rumble of a truck somewhere down the road, all of it fades until there’s only her. The silk of her hair against my fingers. The warmth of her breath against my lips. The slow, trembling way her mouth opens for me when I taste her again.

She leans in, close enough that her breasts press up against my chest, and I feel the heat of her through every layer between us. I shift my hips slightly, trying to hide what’s already impossible to disguise. A groan rumbles out of me, low and raw, before I can stop it. The sound startles her — or maybe it startles us both — but she doesn’t move away. Her hand finds my shoulders, her nails digging in with a bite of pain, as if she needs proof that I’m flesh and not just want.

When I pull back, her pupils are wide, her lips are damp and swollen, and her breath is uneven.

“That,” I state, “wasn’t about work.”

She swallows hard. “No. It wasn’t.”

CHAPTER 7

Clara

My pulse is a drumbeat I can’t quiet. Jeremy’s chest is solid against mine, heat radiating through the thin layers of fabric between us. Every breath he takes pushes against me, slow and steady, and my body answers before I can think. The world tilts, narrowing to the place where we touch.

His scent of clean skin, a hint of soap, something darker that belongs only to him fills the air. I want to lean closer, to find out if he tastes the way he smells. My fingers twitch at my sides, useless, until they brush the front of his shirt. The cotton is warm, smooth, stretched tight over muscle.

He doesn’t move. He just looks at me, and the space between us hums like a live wire. My breath catches. The pulse in my throat jumps.

I’ve spent years holding men at arm’s length, safe behind schedules and meetings and perfectly measured words. None of that helps now. His nearness shreds logic. It makes me ache in places I’ve only ever imagined.

My body betrays me first. It starts as a tremor in my knees and the smallest sway toward him. He notices. Of course he does. His gaze drops to my mouth, and heat floods me so fast it’s almost painful.

For the first time, I let myself wonder. What would it feel like if he stopped holding back? If I did? What would it mean to be touched by someone who looks at me as if he already knows how to unravel me?

The thought alone is enough to make my breath hitch, my skin tighten, my whole body hum with wanting.

Before I can collect my thoughts, he moves in one smooth motion, arms closing around me as if I weigh nothing at all. The world tilts. Air leaves my lungs in a startled gasp. My hands grasp at his shoulders, then stay there because it feels right.

He’s warm everywhere. Solid. I can hear his heartbeat against my ear.

The gravel crunches beneath his boots. His scent and body heat makes my pulse race. I should tell him to put me down. I should. But the words stay trapped inside.