She Kissed Him In Front Of Everyone To Save Him — Not Knowing That She Had Just Saved The Richest Duke
Chapter 18
Theme:
Font Size:
24px
"You," she said simply. "Just you."Alistair closed his eyes, a shudder racking his massive frame. He reached out, his hands finding her waist, pulling her flush against him.When he kissed her, there was no hesitation. It was a complete, devastating surrender. His mouth was hot and demanding, parting her lips with a slow, deliberate pressure. Lydia opened to him, her hands sliding up his chest, feeling the heavy, frantic pounding of his heart beneath the fine linen of his shirt.He walked her backward, breaking the kiss only when her knees hit the edge of the massive four-poster bed. Alistair looked down at her, his eyes entirely black in the firelight. His breathing was heavy, ragged. He reached up, his fingers trembling slightly as they traced the line of her jaw, down the column of her neck, to rest flat against her collarbone."I have spent my entire life building walls, Lydia," he murmured, his thumb brushing over her racing pulse. "I built an empire so high that no one could ever reach me. And then you walked across a ballroom, grabbed me by the coat, and tore it all down in five seconds."Lydia smiled, the expression wobbly, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "I thought you were in trouble.""I was," Alistair said, a fierce, protective light blazing in his eyes. "I was dead. I just didn’t know it until you brought me back to life."He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his lips pressing hot and open against her skin. Lydia gasped, her head falling back, her hands gripping his shoulders to anchor herself as the world tilted on its axis.He lifted her, laying her back against the pillows. The silk of her nightgown was a whisper against her skin compared to the heavy, grounding weight of him as he followed her down.There was no rush. There was only the slow, deliberate dismantling of the final barriers between them. Every touch, every lingering kiss was an undoing. When his skin finally met hers, hot and bare in the firelight, Lydia felt a profound, shattering sense of belonging. He was not a stranger. He was not a transaction. He was the other half of her soul, wrapped in the iron armor of a duke.As the fire burned low, casting long, dancing shadows across the ceiling, Lydia lay tangled in the heavy linens, her head resting on Alistair’s chest. The rhythmic, steady beat of his heart sounded like a drum against her ear. His large hand lazily stroked the length of her spine.She thought of the cold, cramped parlor in Bloomsbury. She thought of the sour lemonade, the wilting lilies, and the terrifying split-second decision she had made in the alcove.She had ruined her life on a Tuesday.And as Alistair pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of her head, pulling her closer into his warmth, Lydia closed her eyes, entirely at peace.It was, without question, the smartest thing she had ever done.