Page 105 of His Tempting Duchess

Then the easel tipped over altogether, toppling off the platform, and the canvas fell face-up to the floor. Streaks of color from the spilled tin of paint skidded across the surface of the canvas, obscuring Cassian’s artistic efforts.

“Cassian?”

“I will stop if you wish,” he breathed, his fingertips ghosting over the nape of her neck. “This need not go further. The choice is yours, Emily.”

Emily closed her eyes, desire and anxiety warring inside her.

I want this more than I have wanted anything, I think.

She opened her eyes, meeting his carefully.

“I want this,” she declared, as confidently as she could. “I want you.”

Hunger and relief crossed Cassian’s face, his eyes darkening, his smile widening. He said nothing, only leaned down and kissed her again, hard and passionate.

Abruptly, he pulled back, spinning her around by the shoulders so that she had her back to him.

“You should take your hair down,” he said, picking at the rest of the laces at the back of her dress. “I adore the way you look with your hair down.”

Emily lifted a nervous hand to her hair, pulling out the few pins that secured it. Cassian deftly undid the laces at the back of her gown, loosening it until she could step out of it altogether, and he kicked the crumpled fabric away.

She turned slowly to face him, her skin breaking out in goosebumps in the cold room, covered by her petticoats and shift. And her corset, of course. The last hairpins came out, and the weight of her tangled hair dropped onto her shoulders, warm and soft.

Cassian’s heated gaze slid down her body, ravenous.

“Now, you take something off,” Emily heard herself say, lifting her chin.

Cassian met her eyes, grinning, and hastily tore off his shirt, carelessly tossing it away. Now that he was bare-chested, she could see where globs of paint had soaked through the fabric and colored his skin, streaks of azure blue and canary yellow and vibrant red dappling his skin.

Her petticoats came off next—horrid, bulky things that they were—and Emily lifted shaking fingers to the laces of her corset.

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “I thought ladies wear corsets that fasten at the back. Only maids and women of ill repute wearfront-lacing corsets.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know you are teasing me, but I would like to point out just how much more practical afront-lacingcorset can be.”

The corset came undone easily, the laces loosening, and she heaved a sigh of relief as it fell away.

However, this left her standing in nothing more than her shift and stockings, the thin material showing every curve of her body. In the cool room, her nipples hardened and peaked, rubbing against the fabric.

Cassian’s eyes dropped to her bosom, and his chest heaved.

He kissed her, again and again, on the mouth, the cheek, the forehead. He kissed her closed eyelids, and then the soft skin of her neck, where a tender spot reminded her of his teeth ever so gently biting the flesh there.

Abruptly, Cassian dropped to his knees, his hands on her waist. His palms slid upwards, teasing the underside of her breasts. The surge of pleasure almost took Emily by surprise, forcing her to suck in a breath and steady herself against his broad shoulders.

Chuckling, he dropped his hands and slid them under her shift without warning. The material lifted as he did so, and the cool air on her skin made her shiver deliciously. His fingers found the juncture between her thighs, moving in a now-familiar but no less thrilling way. He watched her for a moment, her cheeks flushing and her breath coming hard.

Emily’s fingers wound into his hair. “Cassian,” she gasped, feeling as though she was asking for something that she did not entirely understand.

He tugged at the hem of her shift, and in a burst of bravery, she hauled it up over her head, leaving herself standing entirely naked with one of his hands on her hip and the other hidden between her thighs.

That took him by surprise, she could tell, for his eyebrows shot up and his jaw slackened, his gaze turning lustful. Then, he grinned, his eyes hot and intense, all wolf and all man at once.

Suddenly, the world spun around her. Emily found herself swept effortlessly off her feet and lowered gently, but not too gently, onto her back.

The familiar rough-but-soft surface on which she’d been painting all her life shifted under her back, and she realized hazily that she was lying on the canvas. There was something cold and slippery underneath her.

The spilled paint.

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