Elsie's fingers hovered over the screen. She typed and deleted a dozen different messages. Each one sounded either too demanding or too pathetic.
A direct request would be too easy for a man like him to deny. She needed a different approach. A lure.
Finally, she settled on a message, carefully crafted to be both submissive and strategic.
Mr. Blake, good evening. In light of our upcoming... arrangement, I was hoping to understand if you have any particular preferences or requirements for my future wardrobe.
It was a brilliant piece of misdirection. It cloaked her true desire-to go out-in the guise of fulfilling her duty as his future wife.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she pressed send. She tossed the phone onto her bed as if it were on fire.
In his private gym, Duke was pushing through a grueling set of reps, sweat glistening on the hard planes of his muscles.
His personal assistant, Alex Stone, approached cautiously, holding out a phone. "Sir. A message from Miss Sutton."
Duke lowered the weights with a controlled thud. He took the phone. A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he read the text.
She was a clever one. She wanted to go out.
Appreciating her cunning, the way she had framed her request as a question of his desires, he wiped his hands on a towel and typed a short, dismissive reply.
No requirements. Wear whatever you like.
He sent it, shutting down her line of inquiry completely.
Elsie's stomach dropped when she saw his reply. It was a brick wall. A clear denial of her veiled request.
Frustration pricked at her. Fine. If the direct approach didn't work, and the subtle approach failed, she would have to use a different kind of weapon.
Thinking of her voice, with its soft, breathy quality people had always commented on—a natural innocence she had learned to use to her advantage—she made a bold decision: opening a new message, this time tapping the microphone icon, she took a breath, consciously softening her tone, infusing it with a delicate mix of confusion and vulnerability, and began to record.
"But... if I don't know what you like, how can I possibly choose the right fabrics for my gown? Or... were you not planning on coming with me?"
Letting the last few words hang in the air, her voice lifting slightly, a subtle, almost imperceptible hint of a pout, she squeezed her eyes shut and hit send.
Duke had just stepped out of the shower, a towel slung low on his hips, when Alex handed him the phone again.
He frowned when he saw it was a voice message. He connected his wireless earbud and pressed play.
Elsie's voice filled his head.
It was soft, intimate, the sound of silk brushing against skin. The little hitch in her breath, the slight, questioning lilt at the end-it was like a feather being dragged directly across his nervous system.
The carefully administered suppressant that kept his condition in check was instantly overwhelmed.
A raw, primal heat flooded his veins.
His entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched, and he could feel the blood pounding in his ears.
Damn it. He had severely underestimated the effect she would have on him.
Alex saw the change immediately. The sudden tension in his boss's shoulders, the darkening of his eyes, the way his breathing became harsh.
Duke ripped the earbud out and slammed his phone face down on the counter. He closed his eyes, fighting for control, wrestling the beast back into its cage.
Having lost this round, made to lose control by nothing but her voice, he turned to Alex, his own voice a low, rough rasp he barely recognized.
"Tell James to clear my schedule. We're picking up Miss Sutton tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock."
