Page 29 of The Forbidden Duchess (Rogues from War 1)

“But I do! I am your step-aunt and the dowager duchess.”

What answer could he have for that? Put that way, it seemed perfectly sensible. He didn’t feel sensible though. Not in the least. “I don’t care what you think.” He said instead.

At that, her spine straightened ramrod, her chin lifted higher. “Alright, then. I will accept Lord Cunningham’s eventual proposal, so that you’ll have no excuse to forgo your duties!”

A cannon ball exploded in his guts. He surrounded the desk and posted himself five inches from her. “You will marry no one!” His silky voice low and full of command. “You are mine!”

Her eyes dilated, her breath caught and a telling flush invaded her flawless face. “I am not!”

They stared long at each other, iron wills. “No?” His arm laced her by her slender waist. “This is not what your body tells me every night!” His mouth ravened hers.

She resisted, or tried to. She kept her lips locked, her hand on his broad chest to repel him. He didn’t give up though. Softening his grip, his tongue begged for entrance, licking, caressing, probing. His other hand circled the nape of her neck, keeping her close. He felt her faltering, but she didn’t give in. The fire in his blood intensified. His teeth started nibbling her lush lips, tempting, persuading, entrapping. The flames became unbearable bringing him to a painfully hard erection. At his insistence, she moaned and opened for him. He plundered her with a hunger enhanced by this seduction. Their mouths devoured each other as if the night hadn’t been enough. It’d never be.

Her hands dived in his sleek dark hair, as she leaned all her body on his. He was the one who moaned then. He sat her on the desk, stood between her legs, and leaned closer until his straining erection met her femininity through the bunched dress. Her legs closed at his waist in the same moment he tugged at her neckline, baring her delectable breasts. His mouth caught one as he lay her on the desk.

Both incandesced with uncontrolled desire, they embraced one another voraciously, bodies fervent, impatient. Discussion forgotten. It didn’t matter the broad daylight; it didn’t matter the study door could be opened at any time; it didn’t matter their clandestine liaison. Their desire mattered. Their craving mattered. The relief from that agony mattered. This urgency took them by assault, they found themselves helpless, at passion’s mercy. They never realised how much their hearts and souls went with their bodies. This whole insane thing was not only about desire, it engulfed all they were as well.

His breeches almost burst with his want. When his fingers touched her centre, they found her wet, swollen, ready. Fumbling, he unbuttoned himself and tore her drawers. She pulled him with her legs, making their bodies join in a ravishing slide, full of pleasure and yearning. He had to try to delay his voracity or he’d make a fool of himself. So he took her breast in his mouth. Her body arched and she responded with such frenzy he almost got unmanned. They moved seeking, gasping, clinging. She exploded, squeezing him, sobbing. He moved once or twice, coming sinfully undone, emptying himself until he had nothing left. His head fell on her neck, panting. She held him with all her body, uneven breath.

This could not go on, Selene thought as she clung to Philip and him to her. The least interaction ignited them helplessly. If they quarrelled, they aroused each other. Being in the same room didn’t help either. During the night they held each other so tightly, never to let go. A need that gnawed and renewed itself endlessly. She could not get enough of him, it seemed. She felt like she had been caught in a sea storm and rolled underwater, trying to surface and get some air. She didn’t know how to voice her misgivings though. Inexperienced with men or such…entanglements, she found herself at a loss what to do.

She stirred, making Philip raise to look at her. Still joined, their bodies resisted separating. “I need to recompose.” She blurted. “Anyone could come in.”

He continued looking at her, an enigmatic expression in his remarkable clove eyes. Finally, he planted a kiss on her upturned nose and helped her to the floor. The movement led their bodies to separate, making her feel cold and lost. Strands of loose hair fell on her face and she pulled it back with a tense movement. His stare followed her every move attentive. It fell on her uncovered breasts, lingering. Hastily, she covered them, not without noticing the effect it had on his still exposed manhood. Embarrassed, she looked the other way, feeling hot all over again.

He noticed, naturally. “Maybe we should continue this delicious…afternoon in my bed.”

Didn’t the man have any sense of shame in him? She wondered, as reaction to his suggestion coursed her body.

“It’s broad daylight, Philip. What were we thinking?” She smoothed her skirts.

He chuckled so sensuously, she nearly lost her mind. Again. “We weren’t thinking that much, were we now.”

“That’s the problem.” She made a futile attempt to put her mass of hair in a decent order. “It’s necessary to put some distance between us.”

“Never.” Silky and calm. He knew she wasn’t capable of doing it. Not when he looked at her so brazenly. “We tried, remember? We didn’t get very far.”

She’d have to take all the pins from her hair to do it anew. It tumbled around her shoulders. His gaze took it all. “It’s imperative we make an effort.” She leaned on the desk.

His hand went to her rich brown hair. He rolled it delicately around his hand, bringing it to his nose to smell it. His eyes closed with pleasure. He still hadn’t straightened himself. Now he showed an undeniable…state.

“Would you please recompose yourself?” She closed her eyes tight, so as not to be tempted.

“Perhaps you’d like to help me in the process.” He had a sizzling naughty look in his face.

A wave of heat cut through her womb. Was the blasted man insatiable? “Oh for pity’s sake!” She took hold of her hair.

He leaned on her, his manhood resting on her belly. “I don’t know what it is with you.” His hand cupped her chin. “I can’t seem to have enough.”

She finished rearranging her hair, his heavy hot flesh on her belly enticing her to unbearable levels. “I-I have to go.”

“You won’t help me then.” Cynically, his hand grazed down her neck, causing her skin to prickle.

“Regrettably not.” And left before she acted on her regrets.

A few days later, Jenkins came to Selene bearing a tray with a card on it. Lady Pendleton and Lady Emily. Now this looked like a marriage mart strategy, Selene thought uncharitably. She couldn’t say she placed herself against such things. She exhorted the blasted man not a week ago. She told the butler to take them to the pink drawing room and arrange for tea.

Selene checked her appearance on the hall mirror and headed to the pink room. A certain feeling of awkwardness underlined her way. She didn’t exactly feel guilty about the way she…spent her nights. She didn’t have a husband anymore, no betrothed, or beau for all that mattered. She regarded herself as a free woman in possession of her decisions. Despite the fact that Philip had duties to the dukedom, he had no strings as well. They weren’t doing anything really wrong. She couldn’t bring herself to think that. Society would regard it as such, though. A widow and her deceased husband’s nephew living in what they’d call sin. It wouldn’t count she had been forced to marry; it wouldn’t count that she’d been sacrificed in favour of her brother; it wouldn’t count that her life had gone to waste. Her feelings, her situation, her dilemma would receive no compassion. If ever disclosed, she’d be the weake

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