The Duke's Covert Mission

Cade became aware of other things, too. The cradle of her hips flaring with generous proportions beneath his. The gentle nip of her waist. The rounded, full, glorious splendor of her unintended display. His own body’s immediate, healthy male response to such unexpected feminine treasures.

And the frightened, doe-eyed wonder of those big blue eyes desperately seeking to make contact with him.

“Who are you?” he whispered on a curiously husky plea.

She stared at him, one arm pinned above her head, one pinned at her side, completely vulnerable to him. Somehow she found the strength to answer.

“Ellie.” She swallowed hard and Cade followed the movement down the length of her throat. “I’m called Ellie.”

“Ellie.” He tested the word on his tongue. The name suited her. Soft. Quietly elegant. Not an exotic, sophisticated concoction like Lucia Carradigne.

Because he wore scandal like a second skin, he let his gaze linger on the peach and porcelain wonder of her breast, and wished its mate had popped free, as well. But because his stint in the Royal Korosolan Army had taught him a few things about honor, he lifted his gaze to hers and tried not to look like the ogre she probably thought him to be.

He’d release her slowly, he decided, still remembering the need to protect himself from her surprise attacks. Very slowly.

He freed her arm and pulled his hand down along her body. Her eyes widened to panicked pools and she snatched at his wrist. Okay, so maybe he’d hovered a bit too long above that tempting mound. But he wouldn’t touch her that way without her permission. Cade had never forced a woman to do anything she didn’t want to.

Even the one he’d kidnapped.

He let her hold him off and looked into her eyes until he saw a glimmer of trust there. Only then did he move again. He reached for the end of the blanket that lay beneath them and pulled it up, covering her exposed breast. He nearly smiled at the gratitude that flooded her eyes. The transformation from fear to thanks washed her pale features in a warm, pretty color, and Cade was suddenly supremely glad that he wasn’t a complete jerk. A man like Jerome Smython would never get to witness such a beautiful, shy smile.

He propped himself up a little further on his elbows and let her use both arms to tuck the blanket in a demure shield around her neck. Her unadorned lips parted in a silent thank-you.

An unfamiliar emotion, somewhere between curiosity and lust, made him want to kiss her. He wondered if she’d freak if he just touched his lips to hers. She’d had the temerity to attack him even though he was stronger, bigger and free to move around. She’d had the guts to damn him to his face and hadn’t surrendered to anything more than her own modesty.

Maybe just one kiss. Something gentle. An apology of sorts for ruining the damn dress. “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he whispered. “But you didn’t leave me much choice.” He moved closer by degrees, watching her lips tremble, her eyes blanch, her lips again as they came together in acceptance, if not invitation. “You’re really something, aren’t you.”

He was close enough to feel her breath mingling with his. She was so sweet. So tempting. So—

“Ellie?”

Cade froze. Recognition kicked in a moment too soon to sample her softness. Absolute, stunned surprise swept the fog of desire clear of his brain.