By all accounts, he ought to be in possession of horns, and deformed teeth, for all the images she had conjured in her mind after learning Ambrose wished to wed him to Holly. He was supposed to be the enemy.
But he seemed carefree and charming to her. And he placed a rather improper kiss on her wrist, drawing a scowl from her husband.
“My brother must have done something right, to wed such a lovely creature as you.” His words were insanely flattering, and Willow found herself grinning up at him.
“That’s enough,” Ambrose snapped. “Stop flirting with my wife.”
Willow suppressed a grin and Lord Jonathan took his leave with a shallow bow. She had wanted to ask him so many things, but had refrained from putting both men on the spot. She aimed to build bridges, not burn them. And they had only been married two days. If she was to succeed in changing Ambrose’s mind about Holly, they had to become better acquainted with one another. And tonight, short interaction though it was, had been a start.
Plus, she had met Lord Jonathan and he was not the ogre she had conjured in her mind’s eye. He was a man she could appeal to, if nothing else.
But even beyond the brothers’ appearances, their hearts were also as different as dawn and dusk. And if there was one thing Willow had learned of her husband tonight, it was that the seed of all his actions came from his heart—whether that action was misguided or not.
Willow turned to her husband. “I think I shall retire as well.”
“Permit me to escort you to your chamber,” he murmured and began leading her to the hallway that would take them to the staircase. “You should have sent word about dinner. Had I known, I’d have joined you.”
“I left a note on your desk, but it seems you were out all day,” Willow murmured with a sidelong glance at him.
“I met Jonathan at the club.”
“Ah.” They reached the top of the landing.
“You do look beautiful tonight,” he said suddenly, peering down at her. His voice had a sinful rasp to it. His eyes . . . they had taken on a new intensity, especially when they lowered and focused on her lips.
“Are you saying that to soften me or do you mean it?” Willow asked, unable to help herself. She didn’t know how much of a game—or a war—this was to her husband. And part of her wanted the words to be real.
He raised his eyes to meet her own, his green gaze steady. “I would never say those words if I did not mean them.”
Oh.
“Am I still barred from your chamber?”
The question was sudden and yet expected given the heat between them. It brought along with it all sorts of provocative feelings. Feelings that demanded to be explored. Willow paid them no mind. She was stronger than her wanton longings.
“Beyond a doubt,” she breathed.
“Not even a sliver of a doubt?”
“Ambrose . . .”
He leaned into her until her back was firmly pressed into the door, an arm reaching out on either side of her face, caging her in.
Her breathing accelerated. The more she tried to shove her thoughts—her wicked, wicked thoughts—in a box and shut the lid tight, the fiercer they grew in their strength.
Then his mouth was slanting across hers, and Willow did not possess the power to push him away. Leisurely, with infinite sensuality, he kissed her, his tongue coaxing her mouth apart. It felt like more than a kiss. It felt like an enticement. Like a whispered secret. Like seduction. And beneath the tenderness of his lips, she felt the urgency. The desire. His. Hers.
Mine.
Panic flooded her at the sentiment. She tore her hands off his chest and fumbled for the doorknob behind her. She broke the kiss.
“Will—”
She turned and escaped into her room, slamming the door shut before Ambrose could finish her name. She fell back against door inside her room, breathing hard.
Well, that certainly hadn’t gone as planned.
