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293 pages, ebook
First published May 29, 2015
His forehead met the cool surface, the torment of longing and sorrow and regret devouring him until he wanted to tear his entire house to pieces. “Jane,” he whispered, the word almost a prayer. My Jane. My love.

When he closed the door, she looked up. And then she smiled. Dark eyes sparkling, dimples emerging, her face went from plain to riveting in a flash. “Oh, your grace, you have no idea of the treasures you possess.” On the contrary, he could think of at least one.I just loved everything about the dynamics between our shy bookish heroine Jane and a stoic austere Duke who are forced together in a marriage of convenience and watching their walls and preconceived judgements slowly crumble. It. was. delicious. Braden did a fantastic job of building up that tension and sexual awareness slowly between the two. It felt like tea kettle slowly coming to a boil until the top popped off. Seeing the progression between these two from hate to curiosity to wonderment is a sight to behold. Braden did a great job delivering all the little nuances and tics in showing an emotionally closed off cold man fighting his attraction and feelings to the point he breaks and becoming mush for his sunshine wife.

When he broke the silence, his voice was dusky and low. “Your hands are exquisite. Do you know?”
Her breathing quickened, her pulse following suit. “Are they?”
He nodded. “I dream of them often.”
“What do you dream?”
“Your touch upon me.”
“I dream of that, too.”
“And you enjoy spending time with her.”
His eyes riveted to their spot, where she had laid her head on his thigh, stroked his cheek with her soft, white hand. “Yes. She is so beautiful, Henry,” he said absently. “Her laugh has a charming little catch just at the top. It makes you glad you are close enough to hear it. And when she smiles, her cheeks form these tiny dimples. Playful little things.”
.....
“Her voice …” He paused to take a breath, his longing intensified by every word. “It changes like the pattern of light on water. When she is happy, the rasp is slight. When she is vexed with me, it deepens like a pup grumbling about being awakened from a nap.” When she was aroused, it stroked over him like roughened silk, soothing and enflaming at once, but he could not tell Dunston such a thing.

Eventually, she laid her head on his thigh, looking up at his beautiful jaw. Surprisingly, while he absently took her hand in his and kissed it, he kept reading about Gulliver and the presumptuous little Lilliputians. The muscles in his face relaxed, his deep voice growing more nimble over the words.
“Plain implies she is ordinary. Unexceptional. Those words are the opposite of Jane.”
All disappeared. There was only her. Jane. His apple-scented temptress wearing a crimson dress. His book-obsessed, bespectacled, anything-but-plain Jane. The one who made the entire world disappear, who made him forget why he could not have her precisely as he wanted—with nothing between them. Completely, utterly his.
