The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(78)

In repose and shirtless, Michael reclined holding a book, his other arm stretched across an ivory bolster. The muscular contours and valleys of his body emphasized his strength, reminding her once again that he was a virile, masculine creature who could break her without much effort.

As she struggled with her thoughts, another crossroad lay before her. Whether she chose the right path and offered to release him from his marriage proposal or selfishly clung to the life he promised was a deadly battle, one her mind and heart fought with vigor. To free Michael from his promise could very well result in her heart not surviving the night, but it was the right decision. Slowly, her labored breath grew less frantic while her heartbeat skipped in fits and starts, urging her to join him.

He smiled briefly, the one he used when he was about to tease her. The sight so familiar and comforting it reminded her of home and the sun on a summer day. When she caught his gaze, his eyes glimmered with a sensual magnetism that compelled her forward, but riveted to the spot, she lacked the ability to move toward him.

“Sweetheart, what is it?” His brows drew together in a line.

“I can’t”—she struggled for the right phrase, for the correct words, for anything—“marry unless you understand all the ramifications of what I discovered today in Chelmsford—”

“You can.” Michael threw aside the velvet spread and rose from the opposite side of the bed. He turned toward the wall with his backside facing her, leaving March with a clear view of his naked body. The muscles in his back rippled with his movements. Unable to tear her gaze away, she studied every line of his form as her heart hammered against her ribs. Wide shoulders narrowed into strong hips. His perfectly formed buttocks tensed as he reached for his banyan.

The air around her grew heavy and locked her into place. There was no need for the forced captivity. She could watch him all day. With wide eyes, she consumed him with her gaze. Michael was perfect.

She shook her head to clear the spell that held her enthralled. With a turn, she faced the ebony door and rested her forehead against it. The smooth wood comforted the fever that had swept through her. She wore only the dressing gown the duchess had given her. When she’d finished her bath, she’d searched for her nightgown, but it was missing. The maid must have snatched it up along with the rest of the laundry. Servants acting as lady’s maids were still a foreign concept to her. Now because she’d carelessly left her nightgown next to the clothes she’d worn today, she was practically as naked as he was.

“I apologize for interrupting you.” As if it were perfectly normal she’d be addressing the door, she continued, “It can wait until morning.”

Mortified, she wanted to melt into the woodwork. She’d ogled him as if he were a sweet treat especially prepared for her. Eyes closed, she fumbled to find the door handle.

Suddenly, warm fingers laced with hers. Like a phantom, he’d reached her side without making a sound.

“You can interrupt me anytime.” His warm breath tickled her ear, while he pressed his hot body against hers. “Anywhere.”

Caught between the cool wood and Michael, she should escape.

Thank goodness “shoulds” carried less weight than “wants.”

As if demanding her to stay, his scent of evergreen mixed with pure male, covered her—no, marked her. She inhaled deeply.

He nudged her ear with his nose. “If you’re planning on breaking our betrothal after only two hours, I’ll kiss you senseless until you renege,” he whispered.

With their fingers still clasped, he wrapped their arms around her waist and pulled her tight against him. She was helpless when a slow throb pulsed in her belly. With no hesitation, she leaned her head against his shoulder. In a rare feat, he made her feel small and feminine.

Cherished.

“What shall I do to convince you that our marriage is a wise decision?” he murmured. He turned her to face him and their eyes met. Never breaking their gaze, he leaned close, rested his elbow against the door, and framed her with his body.

He tenderly touched his lips against hers. He demanded nothing. When she tried to deepen the kiss, he pulled away slightly.

“I want this marriage. Let me try to persuade you that I’m the perfect man for you,” he hummed.

She could only nod in response.

“I’m very effective with my arguments.” He kissed her again and gathered her in his arms. Chest to chest and leg to leg, their bodies fit together perfectly. His untied banyan had fallen open, and his hot chest burned through her dressing gown. Her breasts grew heavy and her nipples tightened into peaks as he finally, and thankfully, deepened the kiss.

She wrapped her arms around him, and a slight sigh escaped her when his hands caressed a path down her back, the touch mesmerizingly slow. Somehow, her dressing gown had come untied. She gasped at the shock of his smooth skin against hers. In response, he growled. His tongue tangled with hers in an erotic dance, one he was teaching her.

One hand grazed her breast in the barest of teasing touches. She moaned in protest, and he chuckled. He traced the taunt nipple with one finger, then stepped away. Holding her hand in front of him, Michael allowed his gaze to sweep down the length of her body.

After an eternity, his gaze caressed her. Finally, he lifted his eyes to hers. His dilated pupils were huge, but it was the sight of his erection that caused her breath to hitch. Its hard length mesmerized her. A drop of his essence leaked, and in the candlelight, it glistened.