Delphine was kissed breathless by him, the force of it like a violent storm. Remembering how unrestrained he could be in bed once he started, a faint fear crept up on her. She pushed at him a few times, struggling to resist.
Her resistance, to a man like Ignatius Leclair, felt no different from a playful scratch. His breath grew heavier as he rasped hoarsely in her ear, "Delphine, don't fight it."
That low, husky voice shot through Delphine like an electric pulse down her spine, leaving her body limp and her head clouded. To her surprise, he still remembered her nickname.
"Delphine" was the name her grandmother had affectionately given her. She was born prematurely, a frail and sickly child, smaller and weaker than others her age. At the time, her grandmother feared she wouldn't survive and gave her the nickname in hopes she'd be blessed with fortune and longevity.
