"Marissa?"
Derek looked at her. He was bewildered. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping the mattress, his chest heaving slightly. He had expected a kiss. He had expected tenderness. He had not expected this sudden, commanding shift in power.
The woman standing before him was not the stern Duchess who put people in their place. She was not the schemer who crafted plans against her enemies. She was a goddess of the night, naked and glowing in the moonlight, holding a black ribbon like a weapon of war.
Marissa loomed over him. She took a step closer, entering the space between his knees. She looked down at him with heavy, hooded eyes.
"Derek," she said. Her voice was low. It was hypnotic, a soft purr that vibrated in the quiet room. "Take it all off."
Derek swallowed hard. His throat clicked.
He looked at her face. She wasn't joking. There was a fire in her eyes, a challenge that demanded an answer.
He didn't argue. He didn't make a sound.
