One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)

“Yes. You know, chat.”


“Chat.” From the disdain in his voice, one would think she’d suggested they quilt, or polish silver. For heaven’s sake, what was so revolutionary about the concept?

Perhaps it was just a matter of choosing the right topic. Even Michael, the quietest of the d’Orsay men, could go on about celestial navigation until the stars faded at dawn. “To begin with, why don’t we talk about horses? Why is owning Osiris so important to you?”

“I don’t want to talk.” He relocked the box of tokens and shoved it aside. “I don’t want to chat. About horses, or murder, or anything else. I want to bed my wife and then get some sleep.”

Leaning forward, he prowled across the cushions that separated them until he had her body caged between his broad, muscled arms. With a swift tug, he robbed her of the blanket she clutched. His long fingers roughly encircled her thigh, branding her flesh through the thin chemise. “As your husband, I am entitled to certain rights.”

“Yes.” Her pulse pounded in her throat, and she swallowed hard around it. “And it would certainly tell me something of your character, if you mean to take them by force.”

“The same way I ‘forced’ you to embrace me in Beauvale’s study?”

His grip on her leg went slack, but he didn’t release her. Rather, he began dragging teasing arcs with his thumb, caressing her inner thigh. Her skin burned beneath his touch.

When he spoke, his voice was firm but husky. Deeply arousing. “Do you truly want to know me, Amelia?”

She nodded.

“Then know this.” Lifting his hand from her thigh, he trailed his fingertips over her collarbone, dipping to trace the neckline of her shift. “I’ve been waiting to kiss you all damned day.”

The words alone left her breathless. And then his mouth took hers in a dizzying kiss.

She kissed him back. Imprudently. Wantonly. Foolishly. Passionately.

This was exactly the paradox that had landed her in this situation. She never would have consented to marry him, if not for this kiss. Whenever he spoke, he used that wide, sensuous mouth to dismiss and insult her. But when his lips met hers, he became a different man. Solicitous, considerate. He afforded her respect, never overpowering her with his strength. He encouraged her cooperation with gentle sweeps of his tongue.

And he made it far too easy to imagine there was something besides mere lust behind this kiss.

Don’t think it, she told herself. In his own words, this was a business transaction. Her security for his heir.

But as he deepened the kiss, she sighed. Her hand went up to clasp his neck.

She teased her bare fingertips through his damp, luxuriant curls, and he rewarded her with a guttural moan that echoed and swelled in her most feminine places. Her aching br**sts. The damp cleft between her legs. Her heart.

He could claim them all, far too easily. She knew herself too well to believe otherwise. Already her blood pounded with lust for him, with the bone-jarring force of an army marching out to war. With the slightest encouragement, her affection would no doubt traipse blithely behind, like the village idiot. As the only woman in a family of five brothers, unreasoned devotion to undeserving men came all too naturally to her.

The enormity of the day’s events struck home with sudden force. She’d married a virtual stranger. Given him license to possess her body, but taken no precautions to safeguard her soul. With a twenty-seven-hour betrothal, she simply hadn’t had time to prepare. To draw the boundaries that would protect her in this cold, impersonal bargain they’d struck. Within these borders lies the essential Amelia: You may come this far, and no further.

“Amelia.” He breathed her name against her ear. “I must have you.”

She began to tremble, and a whimper caught in the back of her throat.

The sound gave him a start. He pulled away and stared hard at the slope of her shoulder, where her flesh quivered under his touch. “You are truly frightened.”

“Yes,” she said honestly. “You frighten me.”

“Damn it, I didn’t kill anyone. You’ve no reason to fear me.”

“Oh, I do. I have every reason.” And none of those reasons had a whit to do with Leo’s death. Her fears were originated right here, in the heat between them and the veiled emotion in his eyes. Could she dare put them into words?

I’m afraid of imagining you feel more for me than you do. Afraid of wanting too much, needing you more than you’ll ever have a use for me. I’m terrified that there’s more to you than I suspected, but you’ll never let me see it all. That I’ll give you everything I have, and you won’t even offer a few answers in return. And I need some time—just a little time—to learn how to offer you my body without risking my foolish, fragile heart.