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‘Let me help.’ Her seductive hips undulated as she came towards him, yet she was clearly oblivious of their deadly effect because she invaded his personal space to study the source of the problem, sending an alluring waft of soap and Sophie up his nostrils as she tackled the knot. ‘It’s just a cravat, Rafe. Nothing that requires this much dudgeon.’
When her fingertips brushed the exposed skin above his collar, he almost groaned aloud, so he channelled the sage words of his favourite colonel instead to help him withstand the torture.
Stay calm...
Remain in control at all costs.
It didn’t help, so he gritted his teeth, trying to pretend they were the fingers of the hag Mrs Outhwaite or the ancient Mrs Fitzherbert instead. That didn’t work either so he gritted his teeth as hard as he could until the blasted knot finally came free.
‘There...all done now.’ Like a wife, she smoothed his lapels, and he made the fatal mistake of gazing into her gorgeous big brown eyes. That was when something odd happened in his chest. Something odd and unsettling and wholly unexpected.
Because he wished, just for a split second, she actually was his wife—and that scared the living daylights out of him.
