Page 22 of A Flurry for a Duke

“I don’t know, actually. What did she say about me? Did you tell her you refused my proposal?”

“More or less…she knows.”

“And?”

She got the strange feeling that he was going to persist until she told him at least some of what Astrid said. “She said you’ll never ask for help, but that it’s what you need.” At his silence, she continued. “She said…um…that you need me.” Hope tried to laugh off the heaviness of what she had just said.

Isaac grew serious. The silence expanded, engulfing them.

Then he stood and exited the room.

Well, that’s that. Friends to a point. Perhaps that was too much truth between friends.

But within minutes, Isaac returned wielding a razor.

To mimic Isaac’s phrase, Hope asked, “What the devil?”

“You’re going to shave me.”

“What? Me? Now?”

“Yes, now. It’s the perfect time.”

“Please explain.”

“I’m not growing a beard. For so many reasons, but the most important reason is that I don’t want to forget what happened in my room. And I certainly don’t want you to forget it. I want you to see my face. I want us to remember. So this is me asking you for help. In a small way, I know. I could do this myself, but I don’t want to. I get it now.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not him. I can let someone in. But I don’t want just someone. I want you. It’s always been you. So I’m asking you now. I want you to help me. I just want you.”

“You want me?”

He looked into her eyes with that penetrating gaze that read her soul. “Yes.”

Hope pressed a finger into his chest. “Sit down.”

“What?”

“Sit. Down.” She reached for the razor in his hand as he plunked himself down into the chair by the mirror.

It was one of the most audacious things she had ever done (beside tying him to a bedpost), but she lathered soap on his face and then straddled his thighs.

Slowly, she swept the razor over his cheeks. Along his jaw. Up his throat. It took concentration to steady her hand amidst the heavy pulsing of her core.

She could feel the hard ridge of his arousal against her slit. The fabric only added to the friction when she moved over him.

As she glided the razor down his cheek and rinsed it, he grabbed her hand. “Enough.”

“I’m almost finished, Isaac. Patience.”

He grunted as he released the grip he had on her wrist.

Two more strokes. Just as she was about to rest the razor on the table, he scooped her into his arms and stood up.

“Isaac, where are you taking me?” she asked playfully, as if she didn’t know his intentions.

“Don’t think for a second that our friendship can withstand that kind of heat, my love.”

My love?The words echoed in her head. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? What do you mean by sitting on me like that? I’m only a man, Hope. A man foolish enough to think that friendship, honor, and love are enough to make a marriage work. Am I wrong?”

---