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His hand around her back was as quick as a descending hawk and he yanked her into him, his lips covering hers.
The words bubbling in her throat fizzled into nothingness against the hardness of his lips, the whole of him consuming her.
His heated breath on her cheek. The slight dark grizzle on his face pinpricks against her skin. His hand moving up her back, his fingers digging into her hair as he tilted her head for better access.
Lost.
She fell into a chasm of instinct that swallowed her whole—all thoughts abandoning her head except for the feel of his lips, his body long against hers, his tongue slipping past her teeth, carnal in how he explored her.
She’d never been kissed like this. Not to this extent. Not this thoroughly. Not with such wanton resolve that the core of her began to vibrate, hum with insistence for things she’d never explored with a man.
Entirely right.
Every speck of her body felt right. Hot. Craving more.
Entirely wrong.
She was his captive. Being held here against her will. A pleasant prison. But a prison nonetheless.
Her head snapped back, her hands wedging between them and she shoved backward with all her might.
She stumbled three steps, catching herself on the desk.
Her gloved hand went to her swollen lips, wiping the taste of him from her mouth. The taste she was thirsty for not but a moment ago.
Wrong.
Wrong and she had to remember that fact.
She shook her head, trying to right her askew equilibrium.
For how much she’d just enjoyed that kiss, it was wrong.
It had to be wrong.
No matter how right it had just felt to her body.
“What—what was that for?” She spit out the words through heavy breaths, refusing to meet his eyes.
“To cease your tirade.” His hand lifted, running along the back of his neck in an uncharacteristic fidget. His crisp gaze pierced her, scrutinizing her.
He was just as shaken as she was.
Her fingers fell from her lips. “You could have closed my mouth in a thousand different ways.”
He shrugged, his hand dropping from his neck, and he tapped his fingers along the edge of the desk. “Then it was you.” A deep breath lifted his chest. “You. You come in here to yell at me about—of all things—how I’m failing my niece.”
“You are failing her.”
He exhaled a long sigh. “It is not my intention.” His left eyebrow cocked. “If I may be so bold in suggesting it, it sounds like you are acutely familiar with how she feels.”
“I…I…” Her lips drew inward for a long moment. She hadn’t intended this to be about her, but he had just succinctly hit the mark. “If you knew my grandfather, you would understand quite well how familiar I am with how Vicky feels at being a pawn.”
“You were raised to make the finest match?”
“If by that you mean the most advantageous match for the Vinehill estate, then aye. I was.”
“Yet that has not happened as of yet?”
