One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)

With possessive leisure, his eyes roamed every curve of her body. Perspiration beaded in the valley between her br**sts. The room was thick with leftover afternoon heat, and even if it weren’t—his bold appraisal was heating her from the inside out. No man had ever looked at her this way. Oh, she’d been ogled by Mr. Poste, and by a fair number of other men since. When framed by the right neckline, her bosom never failed to draw men’s notice. Unfortunately, none of her other attributes held their attention beyond that brief, greedy glance.

The duke’s gaze was different, though. Not leering, but appreciative. Speculative. There was more than idle admiration going on behind those eyes. There was thoughtful planning and intelligent strategy. His eyes drew sweeping arcs over the thin gauze of her shift, as though he were mapping out each possible approach.

What a novel sensation, to be the object of strategy. What would it be like, to be pursued by this man with just a fraction of the determination and resources he devoted to pursuing that wretched stallion? Heat swirled through her at the idea, and she felt herself melting between her legs.

“God.” He tightened his grip on her waist and hauled her forward, bunching her skirts higher between them and bringing her pelvis in sudden, startling contact with his.

A little gasp escaped her. Obviously men did not melt between the legs. No, they grew hugely, demandingly hard. In response, her own body softened further.

“Your stays,” he choked out. “Unlace them.”

Breathless, she shook her head. “Only the bodice. That was the wager.”

Groaning, he released her hips. She closed her eyes, suddenly afraid. Not afraid she’d angered him, but afraid this interlude would end.

A touch, whisper-soft, grazed her hand where it dangled at her side. Soon the sensation echoed on the other hand—not only matched, but multiplied. He swept light caresses over the backs of her hands, her sensitive palms, and up the delicate skin of her wrists. Amelia wanted to moan. His touch was so sweet, so unbearably sweet.

Slowly, gently, with excruciating care, his fingers climbed her arms, lingering in the tender hollows of her elbows and skimming over the rounded flesh of her upper arms. He caressed the exposed planes of her upper back, and she shivered with pleasure as his fingertips traveled up her spine and traced the sweeping curve of her collarbone. He dipped a single finger into the tender valley of her cle**age, then just as quickly drew it out.

She wished she’d obeyed him and unlaced her stays, so labored was her breathing now. She was faint with longing. Her eyelids trembled, even though she kept them tightly closed.

She felt him shifting, closing the gap between them. His breath warmed the curve of her neck. And then his lips pressed against her pulse.

Her eyes flew open. If he was kissing her neck, he couldn’t meet her gaze … and in that case, she wanted to see everything. As he lightly nibbled the underside of her jaw, she studied the peeling wallpaper with ridiculous concentration. This is real, she told herself. The Duke of Morland is tasting my neck as though it were the most luscious, succulent fruit this side of Eden’s gates, and this is all real. There is the wallpaper to prove it.

Grasping her by the shoulders, he gave her a necklace of kisses—kisses that grew increasingly hungry and fierce. By the time he reached the other side of her neck, he grazed her flesh with his teeth.

And then he really did bite her. Gently, but still she cried out in surprise.

“Hush,” he soothed, licking at her ear. “I’ve been wanting to do that ever since that damnable waltz.” Before she could even conceive of a reply, he added, “This, too.”

His hands slid around to claim her br**sts. Greedily, possessively. He kneaded and shaped them, his fingers molding around the soft cups of her stays. Then, resting his forehead to her shoulder and releasing a lustful sigh, he burrowed his long fingers under the edge of her chemise, curved them under the swells of her br**sts, and lifted. Her br**sts sprang free with a nearly audible pop.

“God, yes.” He reclined, holding them up for his examination. Her ni**les contracted to tight peaks. Amelia felt like closing her eyes again, but she just couldn’t.

His finger covered the small freckle on the inner curve of her left breast. “Just the one,” he said softly. He trailed the same finger down, drawing a wide circle around the circumference of her areola. “And tawny, like spice.”

This is real. The Duke of Morland is eyeing my naked bosom with raw, unmitigated lust, and there are his dark, unwavering eyes to prove it.

If she required any further evidence of his desire, it pulsed hotly against her feminine core. Bright pleasure sparked through her. Then his thumb brushed her hardened nipple, and she thought she would explode.

Pushing her br**sts together, he leaned forward and buried his face in them, nuzzling either side in turn and swiping teasing licks over her breastbone. Then he pulled back and drew her left nipple into his mouth.