The Duke Takes a Bride (Entitled Book 2)

by Suzette de Borja

  Imogen felt the burger congeal in her stomach. “Oh, no! God, no,” she denied emphatically. “I’m just a family friend.” She must have been too emphatic because she saw the speculative way he suddenly regarded her.

  Her mobile rang. It was Maggie, wanting to find out how her brother was. Imogen had sent her an SMS about Julian getting the flu. She reassured her that he was doing fine and that a doctor was looking in on him everyday. Maggie was due to come home in a few days. Imogen felt glad that she would get to see her best friend soon.

  Lukas bid her goodbye and promised to come back the next day but before he left, he pulled something out of his recycled, rubber tire bag. “I thought you might want to read it. I saw it on the newsstand on my way here.”

  It was a tabloid magazine. On the front page, on the bottom right hand corner, was a photo of her and Julian taken at the Sta. Monica beach. The wind was blowing Julian’s golden mane and he looked elegant and casual, a male in his prime. It had been taken while they were engaged in conversation, and thankfully her back was to the camera.

  The caption read: Delicious Duke Spends Day with Mystery Woman at the Beach. It was filled with speculation as to her identity, ending with the delightful observation that the “mystery woman” was contrary to the usual long-limbed, long-tressed, actresses/models the duke squired when he was in town. If anything was guaranteed to make her regret her fast food binge, it was being compared to Julian’s sexy women when she wasn’t even his. Just a few days of recovery and she was already filling out her clothes, back to being her dumpy self.

  She looked in on her patient, and satisfied that he was sleeping soundly, went to her own room and crashed for the night.

  Chapter 11

  Imogen made her way to the kitchen to fix breakfast. Julian’s fever broke yesterday so she was able catch up on her sleep. Lukas, however, warned him to stay at home for two more days to make sure he didn’t relapse. This was received unfavorably by the patient, who grumbled and sulked like a little boy.

  “I’m hungry.” A blond, tousled head shot up suddenly from behind the open refrigerator door.

  Imogen let out a little shriek of fright. A good night’s rest made her mind a bit sluggish, so she hadn’t noticed he was already in the kitchen. She clutched her chest, her heart still racing. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  He slammed the refrigerator door closed. Imogen’s heart, which was slowly returning to its normal beat, kicked up once more.

  Julian was bare-chested, again, but thank goodness was wearing linen drawstring pants slung very low on his hips. Imogen cursed his propensity for removing his shirt at every opportunity. She remembered seeing photos of him when he was younger, on a motorbike, shirtless, in Seirenada. The press should have dubbed him the Exhibitionist Duke instead.

  “I feel fine.” He did look better. His green eyes were clearer, his hair damp from the shower, plus he had shaved. Imogen was going to miss that scruff.

  “That was a quick recovery.”

  “As my stepmother would tell you, much to her continuing disappointment, I have the constitution of an ox.” He turned away from her, strode to a hanging shelf at the corner of the kitchen, and started rummaging through the boxes. Imogen was mesmerized by the way his back and arm muscles bunched and flexed. She wrenched her gaze away from the thing of beauty that was his tight ass as he whirled around, brandishing a box of cornflakes.

  “We’ve depleted Mrs. Nero’s supply of frozen food, I’m afraid.” She hoped to God she wasn’t blushing. “We can order downstairs.”

  “It will take too long. I’m starving.”

  “I can make you a sandwich. I didn’t have time to run to the grocery so we don’t have much in stock in the pantry.”

  Imogen approached the ref. “Just sit there,” she motioned, shooing him to the kitchen island so she could access the cold ham, uncrossing her arms and forgetting that she had been using them to shield her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her cotton shirt was thin and worn out. She saw Julian’s eyes flick to them before he sauntered away and sat behind the table as she instructed. She opened the refrigerator hurriedly and used the door as a shield from his heavy-lidded gaze. Unfortunately, the lettuce was in the crisper at the bottom and she had to bend over, providing Julian a front row view of her butt.

  Julian groaned mentally. First her tits and now her arse.

  In the pink of health, Imogen Adams-Chudley looked liked the innocent girl next door, except her full, pert breasts and tight little butt was not inspiring innocent thoughts in Julian. He had to get himself under control. He couldn’t just pounce on her...

  Imogen was perfect to be his wife. She was kind-hearted, compassionate, and caring. Their families had known each other for years. And most importantly, she appreciated the history of Trennery Court.

  She was attracted to him. Julian knew it beyond a doubt. They had chemistry and things in common, like their passion for art and history. He wouldn’t delude her with talk of love but of a good, solid partnership. His instincts told him she would be a good mother to their children.

  But she was skittish around him. And rightly so. With the way he had acted that night years ago, he couldn’t blame her. He would show her respect and not seduce her into saying yes. He owed her that.

  He had been derailed by his flu but now he was back on track. Hell. He just told her he had the constitution of an ox. What if she decided he was well enough to be left on his own?

  “Mrs. Nero’s still sick?” he fished casually.

  “Yes, poor thing,” she answered, her back to him as she slapped the things needed for his sandwich on the kitchen counter. “I call her every day to see how she’s doing.”

  “So she won’t be back for a couple of days?”

  She did a quarter turn, licked her fingers covered in yellow goo, and spoke over her shoulder. “I think the flu hit her rather hard. She doesn’t have a fever anymore, but she still feels very weak.”

  Mustard. That’s what she had been licking. “I’ll need a temporary housekeeper then.” He flung the hook and hoped the bait would bite. “Just to tidy things up around here, see to my laundry, my food…”

  He saw her shoulders stiffen for a few seconds before she resumed assembling his sandwich. “I can stay here for awhile until Mrs. Nero’s back.”

  Julian kept his tone neutral. “Are you sure? Won’t your aunt be expecting you? I’ve delayed you long enough.”

  She turned around and walked to the island counter, depositing his sandwich. Julian tried very hard to keep his gaze above her neck.

  “It’s just a few days. She won’t mind.” She walked back to the refrigerator, got a bottle of orange juice, went back to the island counter, and poured him a glass. “And besides, it’s the least I can do after what you did for me…”

  “I don’t want you to feel obliged to stay longer than necessary.” Liar.

  “It’s not any obligation at all.” She slid onto the stool across him and poured herself a glass of juice. “Besides, it would be good to see Maggie again before I leave for Kansas.”

  He almost choked on his sandwich. “Maggie’s coming home?”

  He didn’t want Maggie to be around when he proposed the arrangement to Imogen. Maggie was a wild card. He didn’t know how she would react to his plan, but one thing was definite, Maggie would have an opinion and she wouldn’t be quiet about it. Now he had no choice but to work fast.

  “I talked to her yesterday. She said she wasn’t sure what day exactly she would be able to fly out. She mentioned some red tape about transporting some artifacts to Beijing.”

  “I’ll give her a call after I’m done here.” He would ferret out his sister’s itinerary. “Aren’t you going to have some?” He waved the half-eaten sandwich floppily in her direction.

  She shook her head, then stood again. “Just some toast and tea for me this morning.” She grabbed the cereal box off the island counter. She had to make several jumps to slot it in place on the
hanging shelf.

  “You need to eat. I don’t want you suffering a relapse from taking care of me.”

  “I ate an enormous burger and chips last night and the calories went directly to my hips.”

  With a statement like that, Julian couldn’t be expected to look anywhere else. Her softly rounded hips were delineated by worn cotton shorts and they showed off her smooth, short, pale legs. His tastes ran to women with endless legs and well-endowed chests, but there was something about Imogen’s petite curviness that was a turn-on. He could easily swoop her up in one motion, have her on the kitchen counter, her legs splayed wide in no time-

  “Those calories have a good sense of direction,” he murmured, shaking off that image.

  Her face was in profile as she placed a slice of bread in the toaster, but Julian witnessed the flush of pink that bloomed from her neck then up to her cheeks.

  “I was wondering if I could make a grocery run to re-stock the pantry.” She avoided his gaze.

  “Jenkins can drive us.”

  “No,” she protested, a tad too sharp. “You need to rest. I can handle it.”

  Julian wanted her tense and very much aware of him, but he decided to be magnanimous and give her just a bit of time to regroup. With Maggie’s imminent return, all bets were off.

  * * *

  Imogen was calling on all of what was left of her sense of self-preservation. She hoped it was enough to sustain her for a few more days until she could be out of Julian’s life for good. She pushed the loaded grocery cart with dogged determination. If only it was just as easy to push her feelings for him out of the way.

  She had convinced herself that what she felt for Julian was just infatuation, a hangover from her younger years spent in Trennery Court. But the truth of the matter was she was as much in love with him then as she was with him now. She didn’t need to analyze it or beat it to death. For her, it had always been Julian.

  And it filled her with despair.

  She had never fully recovered from that single, most wonderful and terrible night of her life. It filled her with regret. What if she had stayed? If they had that talk after? Would it have eased the hurt she had felt by his reaction to her virginity? What if, and this gave her a lot of sleepless nights, he confessed that he was really in love with Princess Lexie and she had just provided him a bit of distraction?

  What had they been thinking? Or rather why had they stopped thinking that night? Virgin plus one night hookup equaled complicated mess. Add sister’s best friend to the mix plus his engagement, and it was a recipe for disaster.

  And it had been a beautiful disaster.

  For that one night, Julian had wanted her. He didn’t look at her with the kind and distant expression he always bestowed on her as Maggie’s friend. That night he looked at her with desire. It was heady. It went to her head and to her heart.

  Imogen shook her head to clear it. Her heart, now that needed more than a little shaking. It needed to be beaten into submission.

  She had been standing in front of the milk carton shelves for probably a lot longer than was needed to decide which brand to buy. The merchandiser was giving her furtive side glances. She grabbed whatever was eye level and dumped it in the cart.

  Now that his engagement had been broken, it hadn’t really changed anything except put Imogen in grave danger. Thinking that Julian was still attracted to her, flirting with her – it was all wishful thinking on her part. He was a healthy, red-blooded male in his prime. She was female and thrust into his company for long periods of time, ergo there would be some tension between two people forced to live in proximity to each other.

  Porky, four-eyed nobody.

  The words echoed, slapping some sense into her. Julian could have his pick of the most beautiful and sophisticated women in the world. Why would he settle for somebody like her?

  The sooner she was out of his house, the sooner she could begin her life anew.

  Chapter 12

  Julian had slept the day away. When he woke up, he remembered that he had forgotten to call Maggie. There was a text from her: Talked to Genie. Glad you’re better. Will be in L.A. soon.

  He bolted out of bed. He didn’t bother with a shirt. He had to talk to Imogen ASAP. Maggie had the habit of turning up when least expected. He found her in her bedroom, sketching.

  “Hi,” he said, halting by the doorway, all at once stumped with what he wanted to say now that he was in front of her.

  “Hi,” she said, looking up from her sketchbook. She replaced the cap of her pen and gave him a rather pensive smile. She had her hair tied in a single braid.

  The braid prompted a flashback of a young Imogen, crying desperately, trying to get back the sketchbook from his brother. The consequences of that unfortunate day had worsened the uneasy relationship that he and Gray had.

  “Were you able to get everything we needed?”

  She nodded. “I placed the change in your study. You gave me more than was necessary.”

  He leaned against the door post. “I just wanted to make sure you got everything we needed.”

  “I did.”

  “Something smells good.”

  “I’m making pot roast. I discovered you had a slow cooker.” She smiled hesitantly, and Julian felt a strange, tightening sensation in his chest. “I lifted the recipe off the Internet so you’re to be the guinea pig.”

  “Feel free to experiment on me anytime.”

  Her shoulders became taut and she averted her gaze. “It will be ready in thirty minutes.”

  It was a subtle signal of dismissal, but Julian was on a mission and he wasn’t retreating. He advanced into the room and hovered by the foot of the bed. “What are you drawing?”

  She shrugged. “Just doodling for an idea I have.”

  “Can I see it?” He rounded the corner and sat beside her on the bed.

  She handed him the sketchpad. It was open to a page filled with rough, unfinished strokes of a fish with big, protruding eyes and a huge belly.

  “It’s Clark.” She had captured the essence of the goldfish perfectly. “It’s very good.”

  “I was hoping to write a story and illustrate it myself. I’ve always wanted to do it−” she broke off, embarrassed, and took the sketchbook back.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “It’s just a silly story.”

  Julian quirked an eyebrow. “All the more reason I want to hear it, then. I like silly stories.” He noted that Imogen edged a few inches away from him when she took back the sketchbook.

  “Oh, okay,” she said grudgingly, and Julian bit back a smile. “It’s about a Black Moor goldfish who was insecure because he wasn’t gold or orange or pearly like the others.” She ran her fingers down the spine of the notebook, back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm, and Julian felt like it was his spine she was stroking.

  “The other goldfish kept teasing him and he was very unhappy. One day, little patches of gold started appearing on his scales. Strangely, some of the goldfish in the tank started dying, too. The goldfish owner was alerted that something was wrong because of the change in the Black Moor’s dark, velvety scales. This led him to investigate. He found out that the acidity of the water had changed. The owner treated the water. Once he did, the fish stopped dying but the Black Moor turned back to black. He lost his patches of gold, but he was okay with that. Because he was different, he was able to save the other goldfish.”

  She took a peek at him, as if she was making sure she hadn’t lost him. She turned away immediately; he hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she had started her story.

  “He realized it was not his outer scales that was important but who he was inside. In his heart he remained golden, and that was what really mattered.”

  She looked again at him askance, and she startled visibly when she found he was closer than she had expected. Her eyes were at a level with his lips. “Told you it was silly.” She sounded a bit out of breath.

  Julian placed a finger under her ch
in and tipped it up. “It’s beautiful.” You’re beautiful. The vulnerability and yearning in her eyes made him ache. Ask her now, you dolt. But her lips were pink and he wanted to check if they felt just as soft as he remembered. Desire slammed into him full force. Fuck, but he was going to make things really complicated.

  Again.

  With Imogen, he found it hard to care if things got messy. In fact, he was craving it. He yearned for the delicious, dangerous loss of control he once felt with her. “I’m going to kiss you, Genie.”

  Her pupils widened.

  Julian thought he heard her mutter “just this once” under her breath. She inhaled deeply as if bracing herself and said, “Okay.” Then she closed her eyes and waited.

  Julian meant to go slow, but the second his lips touched her full, soft ones, he was lost. She smelled of soap and nothing else. He coaxed her mouth open with small licks on her lips and he drove into her with restrained hunger, his hands cupping her head to bring her closer, deeper. Just a raw mating of tongues, teeth, and lips. Dimly it registered on him that Imogen wasn’t touching him. He blindly reached for her hands, not breaking off the kiss, yanked them towards him, and placed them around his waist. Her weight teetered them off-balance and they fell back on to the bed ungracefully.

  Imogen yelped into his mouth. Julian broke off the kiss. She wriggled, arching her back to remove the sketchbook, its spring binding digging into her skin. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  The action brought the tips of her breasts directly against his bare chest. An arrow of lust shot to his groin. “I’m not.”

  Her eyes were languid brown pools.

  “I’m going to kiss your breasts, Genie.”

  She shuddered. “Okay.”

  Julian raised her thin, ratty shirt up to her neck, frowned, pulled it down again, and grasped the edges with both hands then tore it right in the middle.

  “That was my favorite shirt.” She didn’t look mad, though, merely bemused.