There were so many things I wanted to scream at him. Why did he marry me if he loved someone else? How long did he intend to carry on a clandestine relationship behind my back? Why was I not enough for him? Was I not pretty enough? Delicate enough? Demure enough? Did I not make him happy? What could I have done differently?

I swallowed every unhealthy, self-deprecating thought and focused on recovering my compass, which was hidden inside his snug breeches.

Those needed to come off.

One thing I knew about Priest… The quickest way to get him out of his clothes was to remove my own.

“Why are you here?” I stood and crossed the chamber to the built-in armoire, reaching behind me to loosen the ties on my bodice.

“You know why.” His voice deepened, and his footsteps trailed after me, as expected.

“You want to fuck me.”

“That’s a given, but not nearly the heart of it.”

“What, pray tell, could be the heart of your intentions, if not to wet your cock?”

“It’s really quite simple. I want to take care of you.”

“Oh, please.” I yanked at the ties. “I’ve been doing that well enough on my own since I was fourteen.”

“Here. Allow me.” He rested a warm hand over mine against my spine.

Lowering my arms, I drew in a deep breath and let my plan play out.

A tug here, a gentle pull there, he knew his way around a woman’s garments. But rather than freeing me from mine, he abandoned the task to caress my nape beneath the fallen wisps of my hair.

At that unexpected touch, a quiver hurried through me, and my heart shook, skipping over beats and rushing blood to my face.

My attraction to him terrified me, but if I kept my wits sharp, I could rid myself of this problem, once and for all.

The fingers on my neck made tight circles, pressing deeper into skin, rubbing sore muscles, and massaging out knots at the base of my skull. The strength in his hands was diabolical, the sensuality hypnotic. Only a demon could be so potent.

My mind numbed. My blood thickened, and my body grew heavy with warm languor. Masculine heat blanketed my back, and I breathed through it, maintaining a calm outward composure. Until he plucked a pin from the coiffure of curls on my head.

I closed my eyes in bliss as he slowly removed the remaining pins. The weight of sun-bleached tresses tumbled down, lock by lock, the descent of each spiral controlled by his hands, his indomitable will.

I ached for more affection, more comfort, and sighed as he teased me with it. Hands slid beneath the weight of my hair. Fingertips lingered in the dip between my shoulder blades. Knuckles glided along the curve of my neck. Palms ghosted over my trembling shoulders.

Lord have mercy, he excelled at torturing me.