Page 10 of The Duchess in His Bed
“And then?”
“I’m going to kiss you until your knees grow weak.”
Her eyes flared slightly, her lips parted, and his cock reacted as though she’d reached down and slid her fingers along the entire length of it. Christ, what the devil was wrong with him? He enjoyed women but had never lost his head over one, yet something about her called to the baser instincts in him, the Neanderthal who wanted to claim and protect—and yes, strike down any other man who touched her.
He’d been a stranger to jealousy until her, and now that the emotion had introduced itself, he didn’t much like it nor did he understand why it was gadding about. She was correct. He knew her not at all. To feel anything toward her other than mild curiosity was foolish beyond measure.
Other women wore masks in his place. A few had still never removed theirs. But the mystery of them didn’t intrigue him. She did. Immensely. Irrevocably. Intensely. He wanted to know everything about her, inside and out.
No, he did not. He wanted to seduce her, bed her, forget her. As easily as she apparently planned to forget him. And there was the rub, the reason seduction was required—because he wanted her begging for it, recalling him with her final breath no matter how many gents came after him.
She claimed to want to be bedded, and the way she’d said it with no emotion whatsoever, as though it was a given that he’d jump to do her bidding, had at once intrigued and angered him. Aiden Trewlove did not bend to the will of the nobility. Unlike his mother, he would not beusedfor their pleasure. He might provide pleasure, but it was always onhisterms and his terms alone. He knew nothing at all about his mother but had gleaned enough about his sire to know the poor woman probably had little say in the arrangement. The same could not be said of him. He was always in control, always in charge, always had ultimate say.
He might not have had any choice in what they did with him when he was born, but by God, he had absolute control now. No one dictated his actions, save himself.
He wondered if the woman standing before him had once had no choice either, if perhaps it was the reason she was here, because now as a widow she had the power to determine her destiny and her activities. So she sought what she’d never had: passion.
For surely she wanted more than an emotionless coupling.
“My knees are quite steady,” she finally said, and he couldn’t prevent himself from grinning at how long it had taken her to recover from his vow and to come up with a retort.
“I intend to turn them to jam.”
Her pink tongue darted out and licked the lower lip he fully intended to devour shortly.
“You’re quite cocky.”
“It’s the reason you chose me.”
“I will admit to finding you fascinating.”
“Have we met before?” He didn’t think so. He’d have remembered that mouth, the shape of it, the full lower lip that gave the impression of being in a permanent pout, the bow shape of the upper lip, thinner, half the plumpness of the lower. Her mouth would provide a nice cushion for his.
“No, but I’ve seen you from afar, heard tales of your... prowess.”
“I have a policy of kissing but never telling. I’d always assumed ladies, especially those who wandered about above the riffraff, kept their affairs secret.”
“No one has ever spilled any secrets. It’s simply the way your name is always spoken on a sigh that led me to believe you had hidden talents. Then, of course, there is all this. Why provide such decadence if you’re not willing to partake?”
“Perhaps my preference is to simply watch from the shadows.”
“An onlooker?” She shook her head. “No, I see you as an active participant. There’s too much maleness in you.”
And that maleness was directed at her with a smoldering gaze that nearly had her tripping over her feet. She was accustomed to lighthearted banter and flirtation, not looks through half-lowered lids that had every pore in her body steaming, every inch of her skin sweltering, her nipples puckering, and the secretive place between her legs begging for her to crush it up against something, against him. His hand. His thigh. His crotch.
Dear God, where had those thoughts come from?
As though her body had written its needs across her pupils, he shifted his hand until the edge of his palm rested against the lower portion of her back and pressed her slightly, with just enough force, enough determination that she was keenly aware that his body was reacting with needs similar to hers.
Her earlier question was unerringly answered. He was interested in bedding her. Desperately, if the hardness that greeted her was any indication.
Then he eased away, leaving her to wonder if he’d been teasing her or staking a claim. The latter she decided. A man who threatened bodily harm to his employees was not one to reveal his desires unless he was assured that they’d be reciprocated.
The music finally came to a halt, and so did they. This time they didn’t wait about. Instead, he placed her hand snugly in the crook of his elbow and led her from the dance floor, from the room, into a darkened corridor, and swept her along a maze of rooms, hallways, and passages. He was intimately familiar with every inch of them as he needed no light to guide him. Strange how she didn’t hesitate to follow, how her steps were as sure as his. She trusted him. It was an odd sensation to give herself wholly over into a near-stranger’s keeping.
She’d spent a good bit of her life wary of people’s motives but had no cause to be suspicious of his. He might manage a den of vice, but he was honest in what he offered—and he’d been honest with what he was on the verge of delivering. No games from him.
She wished she could claim the same.
