Page 33 of Any Duke in a Storm

Clearly he hadn’t wasted the opportunity, because he hadn’t returned to the cabin the night before. She bit her lip hard and turned away, wiping any expression fromher face despite her sour stomach. She wasn’t a jealous person who was usually ruled by her humors, but she was quite inexplicably infuriated for no good reason at all. The hair and the shirt and the bare feet had her imagination roiling with images of him en déshabillé, locked in an impassioned embrace with the dark-haired beauty from the bonfire.

It was…beyond provoking.

Besides, if Saint was known and so beloved by the women in Smugglers Cove, and in tight with men like Dubois, he was one of them. A smuggler. Acriminal. A man she might have to arrest if push came to shove, no matter her illogical feelings where he was concerned. The villain with the heart of gold was a myth. Villains werevillains,and she needed to get that through her thick, confused skull. She was not being bitter; she was being practical. Saint wasn’t some modern-day Robin Hood.

“You were gone,” he said. “I looked inside the cabin.”

“We woke early for a walk,” she shot back. “Wanted to stretch our legs and take the air.”

“It’s not safe, Lisbeth.”

She glared at him, her expression frigid. “I can take care of myself, or do I need to remind you who I am? Should I fall to my knees and thank all the stars in the night sky for you checking up on me this morning when you couldn’t have cared less all night? So very charitable andgoodof you, Monsieur le Duc.”

His mouth slackened, and the venomous sarcasm in her own voice took her by surprise.

Narina goggled between them, and then shook her head while backing away, hands waving in the air. “Oh good goddamn! There’s a big fucking crab!”

Before Lisbeth could respond or discipline for the oath, the girl had already skipped a few feet away and crouched down to investigate what Lisbeth was certain was an imaginary crustacean. A part of her was relieved, however, that Narina had moved away. Her own histrionic reaction was unnerving enough without an audience.

Saint took a cautious step closer. “Lisbeth—”

“I don’t care,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing to do with me where you spend your nights.”

“I slept in a hammock,” he said. “Alone.”

Feigning indifference, she shrugged. “Good for you.”

“If you don’t believe me, ask anyone,” he said. “And besides, why does it even matter where I spent the night? You seemed to be quite taken with Dubois. One could not wedge a sliver of bark between the two of you.”

She glared at him in outrage, but he was oblivious to her ratcheting temper. A muscle flexed in his lean, stubbled cheek. “We were talking,” she growled.

“Call it whatever you want, but based on what I saw, what was stoppingyoufrom getting restless during the night and doing some wandering of your own? Visiting Dubois’s bed to further whatever your personal agenda is? The men were exchanging bets to see if you would abandon me for him.”

The fury drained from her as she stared at him in surprise. Had she been so obvious in her methods to gleaninformation? It didn’t rankle that the sailors would think she was promiscuous—she’d been called much worse by lesser men intimidated by an assertive woman in her line of work—but it did bother her thatSaintwould assume she was so fickle. “It wasn’t like that, and besides, he’s a wanted criminal.”

His shoulder jerked upward. “We’re all criminals here. And who do you think you are? The secret judgment police? Your list of crimes are worse than half of the men on this island, so don’t go casting stones,Bess.”

She flinched at the snarled name as he blew out a breath, staring out at the horizon and the sunlight spreading its golden rays over the sea. With a grunt as though he was furious with himself, Saint moved to stand beside her and she had to crane her neck to look up at him. A breeze teased its way through his long hair, his sharp profile stark and unreadable. “My interest is purely…business, Saint,” she said quietly.

His throat worked at the slight hesitation, though he did not look at her. “Do you want him?”

“Dubois?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

A harsh noise breaking from him, silvery-brown eyes crashed into hers. “Do you want to fuck him?”

“God, no!” she burst out before heat spun through her at the audacious question and its underlying possessive intent. Saint was an amiable, charming man, but the sudden dominance in his tone made her core clench. That was unusual. She was never submissive when it came to sexual encounters. Remaining in control made it easier toset the narrative, though control over her emotions was the last thing she felt at the moment. She felt…rudderless. Yanked into a roaring current of lust and need. Desperate to let go and let someone else take control.

Forhimto take control.

Her mind cleared enough from the fog of desire for her to spare Narina a glance. The girl had moved further down the beach, paying no attention to them. When Lisbeth turned back, her breathing stalled. Saint was so close, she could see the brilliant tawny starbursts around his irises, trace the whorls of dark hair spattering his jaw, and feel his warm breath gusting against her forehead.

“Saint.”

“I… You… Dieu, you drive me to…” His lush lips parted again as if he had something more to say, but then he closed the remaining inches between their bodies, an arm sliding around her back. The sudden contact stole the air from her lungs as her core throbbed violently with lust. Her nipples went painfully tight. The last time she’d experienced arousal this sharply had been…

Hell, she couldn’t recall when she’d last felt this way. This needy. This unhinged. This fuckingstarved.

A hairsbreadth away from her mouth, he paused and she nearly kicked him. “Stop me now, Viking, because I’m going to kiss you.”

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