Page 18 of The Duchess in His Bed
Because time was of the essence. “Mr. Trewlove—”
“I can ready you for bedding while I teach you to play.” He leaned in, bringing the scent of fine scotch with him. “The thrusting of the stick to hit the ball isn’t that different from other thrusting. Holding off just a bit can create an anticipation that will make what follows all the better. We’ll play one game, keeping the scoring as simple as possible. Eight points. For the remainder of our night together, the loser will fulfill all of the winner’s deepest desires.”
The dare was delivered low, sultry, and filled with promises. He would win, he would command, and she would obey. Glancing over at the table, she imagined him spreading her out over it, how the green baize might prick her back. If he took her there, rather than beingbedded, would she bebilliards tabledor simplybilliarded? “If I win, I can order you to do anything I wish?”
“Anything at all, sweetheart.”
“All right, then, I’m up to the challenge of besting you.”
But his sudden grin told her far too late that he had no intention of losing.
Leaning against the table where she was rather certain he would have her before the night was done, she sipped her brandy and watched as he shrugged out of his jacket, his back to her so she could enjoy the play of muscles across the broad expanse. The man was certainly a fine specimen.
He tossed the coat over the top of a stuffed chair, before facing her and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal dark hair covering forearms that looked as though they’d been carved from granite. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes from the corded muscles that thinned as they flowed into his hands but left no doubt regarding the strength that resided there. She imagined them skimming over her flesh, closing around a breast, and kneading it until it fit perfectly within the curve of his palm, where his roughened skin would tease her nipple. Good Lord, but it had grown rather warm in here. Perhaps she should ask him to open a window, bring in some cool air.
“Come here,” he said softly, not a command, but an enticement that had her body wanting to move toward him as though he’d attached strings to her limbs and she no longer had control over her movements.
Only she did maintain control, albeit in a weakened state. She’d never been so affected by any man. Why him? Because he was practiced at seduction, had mastered it in order to rule his empire and make a success of it. She would resist. A businesslike coupling would serve. “The table is over here.”
Holding up a hand, he crooked a finger, curled and straightened it, over and over. “Come along.”
“You’ve not yet won. You can’t order me about.” Why was she being so stubborn when she desperately wanted to be nearer to him? Because she knew if she gave in once, she’d give in every time he asked something of her.
“Please.”
Blast him for using the entreaty in such a way as to imply he would die if she didn’t make her way to him as quickly as possible. So she did move, but she sauntered, taking her time, wondering if his limbs threatened to tremble in the same manner hers did. Why did he have such an effect on her?
When she was a mere few inches from him, she stopped and angled her head haughtily. “Yes?”
He gave her that grin that seemed to be such a part of him, and she could imagine him giving it to all his marks when he’d enticed them into playing his shell game. Taking the hand not holding the snifter, he began slowly, provocatively peeling off her glove, the tips of his fingers skimming along her flesh as it was revealed. “What are you doing?”
Silly question. She had eyes, hadn’t she? Her skin was fluttering beneath his touch, wasn’t it?
“You’ll want a firm grip on the stick, and the silk will interfere with that. Better to have your skin in direct contact in order to maximize your control, to make the most of the thrust.”
Was he referring to the cue stick or a more personal stick? Although as her gaze dropped to the fall of his trousers, she couldn’t imagine any aspect of him as being so inconsequential as to be labeled a stick. She downed what remained of the brandy, nearly choking because it was too much too quick.
In fascination, she watched as the glove slid over her wrist, past her fingers, his lingering a moment as he turned her hand over and his thumb skimmed along the lines of her palm. He draped her glove over his coat, and it seemed so intimate, the coupling of their clothing.
Taking the snifter from her, he set it on a small table before returning his attention to her remaining gloved hand.
“I could do that.” She sounded as though the brandy had gotten caught in her throat and she was strangling.
“But why should you when it brings me such pleasure? For you, it would simply be a chore. For me, it’s an indulgence, to be able to reveal you bit by bit. No rush, no distraction. Just pure enjoyment.”
His eyes, dark and smoldering, threatened to set her ablaze. She was beginning to think she might have misjudged, might be out of her element with him, might lose control of the situation. How could she effectively rebuff all the passion and fire he was stirring to life within her? How did she avoid the want and need that overtook all good sense? Or would it be worth it to fall just once into the abyss of frenzy?
He lowered his gaze, watching as more and more of her skin came into view, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself from being entranced by his hands. Such capable hands that never faltered. She imagined the quickness it had taken for him to steal the pea away and hide it, then return it to its place as he lifted the cup. A direct contrast to the speed with which he worked now. Every subtle action could be seen, every tiny stroke felt. Nothing was by happenstance, all was deliberate. Her breasts grew heavy, as though they wanted to break free of the confines of her clothing in order to be touched as well.
Slowly, slowly, he slid the silk over her hand, off her fingers, his forefinger returning to provide support for her fingers as his thumb skimmed over the area where her wedding ring had been nestled the night before, had remained from the moment the duke had placed it on her hand at St. George’s. But it wouldn’t have been right to take Aiden Trewlove between her thighs while she wore something that tied her to Lushing. She hadn’t realized it when she’d set out on her quest yesterday, but the club owner had brought that fact home, clearly and succinctly. She wouldn’t cast Lushing from her heart or her memories, but she most certainly could not have him haunting her bed.
Aiden brought her hand up to his lips, placed a gentle kiss where the mark of her ring remained. Her eyes stung, and she very nearly hated him at that moment for being so understanding, for giving her such a kindness when she didn’t deserve it.
Releasing his hold on her, he tossed her glove onto the first. “All right, then, let’s get to the lesson.”
Although she could not help but believe that one had already been given: Aiden Trewlove did not do things in half measures. When he was done with her, she was going to find herself well and truly bedded. The thought both exhilarated and terrified her.
Chapter 6
