Page 12 of Contracted as His Cinderella Bride

Her thundering heart began to slow. He did not look happy. In fact, he looked stunned. Had she done something wrong?

‘Yes...’ she said. ‘I’m... I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop it. Was I supposed to?’

His lips quirked and then, to her astonishment, he dropped his head back and laughed.

She tugged on her arms, tried to wrestle herself free of his hold, humiliation engulfing her.

He was still fully dressed. With her bra hanging from one arm and her nipples raw and swollen where he’d played with them she’d never felt more exposed.

‘I should go,’ she murmured.

But he didn’t release her, as the rough chuckles died. His thumbs pressed into the rampaging pulse at her wrists.

‘No way. We’re not finished yet. Even if you jumped the gun.’

‘I said I was sorry about...’ She tried to protest, but he silenced her, the swift kiss both demanding and possessive.

‘There was no need to apologise,’ he said, his gaze compelling—the humour replaced with something much more potent. ‘Do you have any idea how adorable you are?’

The gruff words were quietly spoken, but so achingly sincere her heart punched her ribs.

Cupping her cheek, he swept his gaze over her, the approval she saw making her heartbeat thunder in her ears.

What was happening? Because this felt too intimate, too emotional. More than sex.

‘Please, I...’ she began.

‘Shh...’ He stroked his hand down to her collarbone, the ripple of sensation making her shiver. ‘I wish to take you to bed, Alison. How do you feel about that?’

‘I... I want you too.’ Very much.

‘Bien.’

He sent her a devilish grin, full of wickedness and intent. Letting her arms drop, he dragged the bra away, leaving her standing before him in only the baggy sweatpants.

‘Très, très belle,’ he murmured again, his voice thick with arousal. ‘My gym pants have never looked so good.’

She crossed her arms over her breasts, brutally aware of how naked she was, compared to him.

But then he scooped her into his arms.

She grasped his neck as he marched her into the spare bedroom. The room was luxuriously furnished with a large tester bed complemented by an array of antique pieces. He closed the door to the study, so the only light in the room came from the bathroom and the bay window that looked out onto the house’s grounds. The low lighting had a little of her anxiety retreating as he laid her on the bed.

Her pulse sped up again though as he unbuttoned his shirt, then stripped it off.

Moonlight flickered over the tanned skin, putting the bunched muscles of his torso into stark relief. He was magnificent. Tall, muscular, lean and powerful. The dark hair that defined flat brown nipples and arrowed down into his trousers through his abs had her lungs seizing. Her throat dried as he released the hook on his suit trousers and kicked off his shoes.

The rigid erection sprang up as he lowered his boxers.

Her gaze met his, her breathing so shallow now it was a miracle she didn’t faint as he climbed onto the bed.

‘Lose the pants, ma belle,’ he said.

She wriggled out of the sweatpants and flung them away. He climbed on top of her. His skin felt hot and firm as he pressed her into the mattress and a rough palm coasted up her bare thigh. A hoarse cry escaped her throat.

Their skin touched everywhere. His fingertips electrified her nerve endings as they found the sensitive seam of skin at the top of her thigh, then located the slick heat at her core.

‘So wet for me, ma belle.’ She could hear the hunger in his voice. ‘Tell me what you like.’

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