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I only kissed her hand.

I shouldn’t be this turned on.

I’m not thirteen anymore.

I’m not some kid being lectured in my father’s throne room about desire and discipline. I’ve had women. Plenty of women. Beautiful women. Experienced women. Women who knew the rules and enjoyed the game.

My father told me to sow my wild oats when the time came, and I did. Thoroughly.

I know how to want a woman.

I know how to have a woman.

I know how to leave before wanting becomes something more.

But Ella…

I close my eyes.

Ella feels different.

She’s soft eyed and sharp tongued. Unsuitable. She has no alliance to offer, no family name worth marrying into, no position that could strengthen mine. If anything, she’s exactly what Father warned me about.

A distraction.

Like Delaney is for Samson. A weakness.

But God…I want her.

I close my eyes and the image comes to life.

Ella stripped of that black uniform. Hair loose. Skin warm. Nothing between us but breath and want and those pale glass beads around her wrist.

My pulse kicks hard.

I see my hands on her waist. My mouth at her throat. Her body opening for mine.

“Enough,” I mutter.

I open my eyes.

I’m aroused. Painfully aroused.

But I’m not Samson.

I’m not. Samson reacts. Samson feels first, strikes second, regrets later.

Samson is brawn. Brutality. A fist closing around whatever hurts him.

I am not that.

I’m the man who thinks three moves ahead while everyone else is still deciding whether to move at all. I know how to be merciless. My father made certain of it.

I never let myself open the wrong door.

11

ELLA