Page 27 of The Duke of My Desire

“No. Not all.”

“It seems risky to me.”

She shrugged. “Life is filled with risk, is it not?”

Gregory gave no reply, but his expression was subdued, and she suspected he did not entirely agree with her philosophy or her choices. But what did he know about being a woman? He was a man, a duke, with the freedom and power to do as he pleased. He would never know what it was like to be a person without rights, without power. Without a voice.

“I’m sorry if you disapprove of my choices, Your Grace, but I am a widow, and a woman with needs, and for that I will make no apology.”

His eyes met hers. “Nor should you.”

“I—oh.” She hadn’t expected him to agree with her so readily and her surprise showed.

“I don’t disapprove of you, Justina. I disapprove of Lovelace and any man like him. I understand why he would want to keep you—you’re a desirable woman, after all—but I hate that he thinks he can keep you, simply because he wants to.”

“Oh,” she said again. She swallowed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You...you think I’m desirable?”

His cheeks reddened, but his gaze was forthright as he answered her with a simple, “Yes.”

She had been complimented by men before, of course, with flowery words and even an occasional poem, but Gregory’s simple answer and the adorable blush were more seductive than any of the compliments from her past.

Slowly she rose to her feet and placed her plate on her chair. She stepped toward him, pausing at his side and then, wanting, needing to touch the blush that had become so dear to her, leaned down and pressed her lips to his cheek.

His eyes met hers, dark and simmering, and Justina brushed her thumb across his cheek where her lips had just been.

“Gregory?” she asked softly.

“Yes, Justina?” His voice was husky, and she felt it all the way to the tips of her toes.

“May I kiss you?”

CHAPTER 8

May I kiss you?

Christ, what a question.

Gregory swallowed, his heart thudding in his ears as her words crashed through his brain like waves on a rocky shore.

Could she kiss him? God, yes, anytime, anywhere she pleased.

Her lips hovered over his as she awaited his answer, and he stared at them, so soft and pink, so tempting it made his ballocks ache.

“I would like that very much,” he said, grateful the words were only slightly breathless, and not a nervous croak or a desperate plea, despite both his nerves and his desperation.

Justina didn’t seem to notice—or care, if she did.

Her eyes were steady on his and undeniably warm as she slowly leaned down, closing the distance, lingering over it until he thought he might squirm in his seat.

And then her lips touched his, soft and warm and delicious and gone far too soon.

A groan of protest rumbled from his throat, unbidden, slipping out like a hungry mewl for more, more, more, more.

“Another?” she asked, reading his mind or, probably, his groans.

“Another,” he confirmed, raising a hand to cup the back of her head and gently drawing her lips to his. He kissed her harder this time, burrowing his fingers in her hair, inhaling her scent, tasting her lower lip with his tongue.

He broke away a moment later, his breathing uneven, his senses alive. “You taste like...”