Misadventures with a Duke by Angel Payne

Author:Angel Payne [Payne, Angel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781642633276
Publisher: Waterhouse Press

Chapter Eleven

Raegan

He’s looking at me like that again.

The way he didn’t rip his gaze from me back at Allie and Max’s. Those incredible minutes right after he emerged from the wardrobe. The hour of carnality that turned into one of the best and worst things that’s ever happened to me.

Except this time, it’s different. There’s something missing.

But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

The moment Bastien presses in, transparent about his intention to kiss me, the recognition gongs through my mind.

This time, there’s no sadness in his attention. Not a shred of desperation in his tender passion. He doesn’t kiss me like I’ll disappear when our lips graze and tingle. He doesn’t pull away to impale me with raw stress from his worried goldens. His attention is still reverent but not in that memorial service kind of way. He’s taking his time with all his caresses because he wants to this time, not because he’s afraid he’ll shatter me.

This time, he’s looking at me because I’m me…not Magique.

Which should have me rejoicing, right? It’s good to be the real person in his head. The correct person receiving his soft caresses.

But for some reason, I’m trembling. And this time, it’s not a great development.

I’m scared. In the big league fire-and-brimstone way.

Which is so freaking ridiculous. Because that first encounter over in Midtown…it was my own game of show-don’t-tell too. A medley of all my defensive mantras. Show skin, not what’s within. Give him the screaming O but not the lonely tears. And I’d done just that—which meant the discovery about Magique was a not-so-small blessing in disguise. The pressure was off, and I was damn grateful. I still am. I mean, I think.

Aren’t I?

I don’t really have to be the Allie to his Max. Because clearly, I’ve got some work to do in the knowing a guy’s needs department. Having to figure that out with a twenty-eight-day limit due to an old gypsy curse that will end his life without the magic of true love’s kiss is pressure I don’t need right now. It’s been shitty enough to figure out what Sylver Savoy is going to wear to the Emmys.

This way, everything is blessedly simpler. We just have to get Bastien back to the time travel machine for his journey back to Magique’s arms. No mess. No confusion. And thank God, no awful aches in my heart.

Or so I thought.

Until right now.

This time, there’s way more meaning in this man’s exquisite kiss. More intent in the longer mashes of his lips, the heated sweeps of his tongue. The kind of more that makes me moan, beyond conflicted, as he opens me wider and delves to my tonsils with his ardent assault. And as he groans in return, pushing his beastly roughness through my system, it’s the kind of more that has me not even caring.

I whimper again. Louder. Longer. I bury my hands in his gloriously thick hair, twisting at the thick beauty of it. He keeps up our primitive conversation, growling in return.

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