Page 26 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction

The sound of her given name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. “I told you. Mr. Lupton insists on these stories. Without them, I lose my income, my independence?—”

“And you couldn’t possibly write about anyone else?” His voice dropped dangerously. “Or is there something about me specifically that inspires such vivid scenarios?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “The ton finds you interesting.”

“And you?” His gaze burned into hers. “Do you find me interesting, my persistent author?”

“The stories aren’t real. They are fiction.” Marina’s throat felt dry.

“Aren’t they?” One hand moved to trace the curve of her jaw. His hand was as light as a feather. “You write about a man who takes what he wants. Someone who knows exactly how to touch a woman to make her surrender.” His thumb brushed her lower lip. “Tell me, has anyone ever touched you like that, Marina? Has anyone ever made you feel what your heroines feel?”

Her breath caught. “That’s not your concern.”

Something shifted in his expression—a flash of understanding.

“I see.” His voice softened to velvet. “Your husband was a fool in more ways than one, wasn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.” His hand slid to her neck and found her racing pulse. “I think you write what you wish to know, not what you know. I think you’ve never been properly kissed, properly touched. Properly claimed.”

Marina’s knees threatened to buckle beneath her. “You’re being absurd.”

“Am I?” He leaned closer until she could feel his breath against her lips. “Perhaps it’s time someone showed you the difference between fiction and reality.”

Before she could respond, his mouth claimed hers.

The kiss was nothing like Marina had imagined—and she had imagined it, over and over, in the week since their last encounter. It was heat and demand and possession. His lips demanded a response she couldn’t deny.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders as the world tilted beneath her, his body pressing her firmly against the bookshelf.

One of his hands tangled in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss, while the other slid to her waist, drawing her closer. A soft sound escaped her throat as his tongue traced her lips, seeking entry.

Marina surrendered, opening to him with a sigh that turned into a trembling moan as his tongue swept into her mouth.

The taste of him—brandy and desire and something uniquelyhim—made her dizzy with want.

The hand at her waist slipped lower, tracing the curve of her hip through the layers of silk and muslin, his fingers pressing with just enough force to make her acutely aware of every inch where their bodies met.

The bookshelf behind her creaked as Leo pressed closer and eliminated what little space remained between them. A leather-bound volume dug into her shoulder blade, but Marina barely noticed the discomfort. Her senses were overwhelmed by him—the heat of his body, the subtle scent of sandalwood and cologne, the way his muscles shifted beneath her hands as she ran them across his shoulders.

His mouth left hers to trail kisses along her jaw, sending shivers cascading through her body. When his teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below her ear, Marina gasped, her head falling back to give him better access. The faint scrape of his beard against her throat was exquisite torment, a delicious friction that sent heat pooling low in her belly.

“Is this what you write about, Marina?” he breathed against her skin, his voice rough with desire. “Is this what your heroines feel when your duke claims them?”

Before she could form a coherent reply, his mouth captured hers again, more demanding than before. Marina’s fingers slid into his hair, the silken strands cool against her heated skin. When he caught her bottom lip between his teeth, a shudder of pure pleasure raced through her, drawing forth another sound she scarcely recognized as her own.

Marina had been kissed before by her husband. Perfunctory, passionless kisses that had left her wondering why novels made such a fuss about the act. But this—this was what the poets wrote about, what her own stories had tried to capture.

This was fire and need and hunger.

His hand moved from her hip to the small of her back, pressing her impossibly closer until she could feel the hard evidence of his desire against her abdomen.

The realization of how much he wanted her sent a thrill of feminine power through Marina, even as it awakened an answering need within her. Her body seemed to know instinctively how to respond, arching into his touch, silently begging for more.

Leo groaned against her mouth, the sound vibrating through her like a physical caress. His fingers tightened in her hair, and for a wild moment, Marina wondered if he might take her right there, pressed against the Ellinsworths’ library shelves.

The scandalous thought only heightened her arousal and made her bold enough to run her tongue along his, mimicking the intimate dance he had performed moments before.

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