Page 72 of This Marquess of Mine

Olivia shook her head, her smile wistful as she turned for the door. “Not this one.”

“You don’t know that. If you would only wait—”

“Wait for what?” She whirled on him, arms outstretched, her brows forming a frustrated line. “For someone better to come along? For the man of my dreams to swoop in and carry me off to a perfect, blissful future?” She scoffed. “Life doesn’t work like that, Griffin. Things don’t always turn out as we hope they will. The duke might not be my ideal match, but he is a good man, and he will treat me well. It will be enough.” Because it had to be.

“No, it won’t,” he said, the words a low growl. “It will never be enough, not for a woman like you. A woman of passion and wit and fire.” His eyes held hers, smoky gray and crackling with feeling. “He will suffocate your flame, Olivia. You deserve a man who will feed it.”

Her breath caught as he reached a hand out, his fingers cupping her cheek, stroking her lips, setting her blood afire.

“You deserve a man who sees you,” he whispered. “A man who sees how incredible you are, who wants to be with you, and will make damned sure you know how much he wants you.” His hands found her hips and his fingers bit into her flesh, wringing a gasp from her throat. “And not just your body, petal, but your mind, too. You deserve a man who needs you by his side, in his life. In his bed.”

Olivia’s skin burned beneath the heat in his gaze and in his words, and her heart thundered in her chest, even as her mind cautioned her to resist. She wanted this man, wanted him so much she ached with it, but she knew she could not have him.

“I—I should go,” she whispered, stepping back, away from his mind-muddling touch. “Good night, Griffin.”

“Olivia—”

“Meow.”

Olivia stilled, surprised, as her gaze flicked to the large armchair by the fire where Artemis sat stretching her limbs. The kitten tromped in a little circle before plopping back onto the mound of blankets and going back to sleep.

“I didn’t even know she was there,” Olivia said, a reluctant smile turning her lips.

“It’s her favorite chair,” Griffin said. “She likes to sleep by the fire.”

She looked at him, brows raised. “Is she often here with you while you work?”

“She likes it here,” Griffin said. “And I like to keep an eye on her. Make certain she stays out of trouble.”

He crossed his arms over his chest as if embarrassed and Olivia’s heart melted. Oh, how she adored this man.

She would marry Paxton, start a family, and be content in her life as a duchess and mother. Eventually she would forget Griffin and these foolish desires, these impossible hopes, and life without him would be enough. Because it would have to be.

She could not have him, but perhaps she could claim a small bit of him. Perhaps she could leave here with a memento of sorts, a moment to treasure; to remember him by.

But only if she was brave enough to ask for it.

“Griffin?”

His gaze met hers. “Yes?”

“Will you…” She swallowed, battling for courage, her pulse kicking up a frantic beat. “Will you make love to me?”

His lips parted and she could see the surprise in his eyes.

“Please.” She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “Please, Griffin. I want you to make love to me.”

“Christ, Olivia, I—” His throat worked as he raked a hand through his hair. “I—you should wait for your wedding night.”

Disappointed pricked, and her gaze fell to her fidgeting hands. It wasn’t exactly the response she’d hoped for, but it wasn’t a refusal, either.

Don’t give up yet.

She forced her chin up, found him watching her, his face in shadow, his gaze indecipherable but not indifferent. She pressed on.

“I was fifteen the first time a boy kissed me,” she said softly, her lips curving at the memory of that clumsy meeting of mouths. “He was a farmer’s son, very handsome, and I fancied myself in love with him. For a while, at least.”

Griffin did not speak, though his gaze never strayed from hers. A good sign? It was impossible to tell.