In front of her.
Offering a slice of everything she’d craved, a banquet of exquisite maleness wrapped in an elegant evening suit.
He thinks you are an experienced married woman.
Well, what would one more deception hurt?
Sliding forward, she gripped his lapels, crushing the expensive fabric in her grasp. “Yes,” she breathed before dragging his mouth down atop hers.
A dark satisfaction rushed through Duke’s veins as his mouth met hers. He had no chance to relish his victory, however, because she was kissing him, yielding to him, and his brain could only handle so much, apparently. All he could think about was her mouth, her taste…the slide of her lips over his, the soft press of her breasts against his chest. Lust flared in his groin, blood filling his cock in steady pulses to match the beat of his heart.
He cupped her jaw and parted her lips with his tongue, thrusting inside when she gave him access. She was warm and slick, the taste of her more exquisite than any sweet or spirit he’d ever imbibed. She kissed confidently, eagerly, unafraid of showing her desire, and the bold response hardened him further. Would she be this passionate in bed?
Christ, he could hardly wait to find out.
He swept a hand along her neck and shoulder, then down her bodice to cup a breast. Her back arched, pressing her into his palm, and he tightened his fingers in a feeble attempt at offering relief through her clothing. She gasped, breaking off from his mouth as her body moved closer, seeking, and he grew dizzy, drowning in his need for this woman. He had to touch her, right this minute.
With his hands on her waist, he lifted her up onto the small counter, rattling a few crystal glasses, and then quickly stepped between her legs. Had he ever felt so frenzied, so desperate? He wanted all of her, every bit of her, immediately.
She reached for him, her fingers sliding through his hair to pull him to her mouth once more. He kissed her hard, his hand shoving into the bodice of her dress, finding bare skin until he reached the taut bud of her nipple, which he pinched between two fingers. She groaned into his mouth, the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
He kissed her throat, then the underside of her jaw. He nibbled, teased, and tormented the silken skin on his way to the swell of her breasts. There he spent a considerable amount of time worshipping the skin exposed by her dress, all the while wishing she were completely unclothed.
“Let me pleasure you here,” he whispered and shifted her skirts. “Then we’ll find a bed, so I may see each exquisite inch of you.”
She helped him by moving the layers of silk and cotton out of the way. When he found the part in her drawers, the heat there nearly caused his eyes to roll back in his head. Her folds were slick and he traced each with a fingertip, learning her, then dipped to her entrance, where even more moisture had gathered. He brought his finger to his mouth, the heady taste of her exploding on his tongue, and a jolt went straight through him. Jesus, she was perfect.
“Duke.”
The sound of his name in her breathy plea caused his cock to twitch. He opened his eyes to find her watching him, her blue irises gone dark with hunger. No hesitation, no shyness; just lust and longing. Why had he ever thought this a bad idea?
He dropped to his knees and opened her thighs to make room for him. With his hands under her buttocks, he brought her forward until she rested at the edge of the counter, the perfect meal for his starving mouth. When he draped her legs over his shoulders, she braced herself on the counter, a question in her gaze.
“I need to taste you,” he said, parting her folds with his thumbs. The scent of her arousal filled his head, and he swiped his tongue through the glistening moisture coating her flesh. She jerked and he steadied her. Her clitoris, swollen and ripe, begged for attention, and he began with gentle circles using the tip of his tongue. When her hips tilted for more, he increased the pressure and incorporated his lips, teeth, and the flat of his tongue to drive her wild.
“Oh, good heavens,” she mumbled, one hand threading through his hair.
He slid a finger inside her, filling her, the velvet walls gripping him as he continued to work the tiny button atop her folds. After a few moments, she was rocking onto his hand with abandon, thighs shaking, and he knew she was close. He added another finger, stretching her, and she began moaning deep in her throat.
He sucked hard to push her over the edge. With a harsh cry, she came against his mouth, body trembling, her internal muscles milking his fingers. He loved the way she reacted to him, so honest and brave. A woman who knew what she wanted and did not apologize for it. He ignored the need pounding along his shaft and instead concentrated on riding her through her orgasm.
When she stopped shaking, he eased up, kissing and licking her gently, unable to pull himself away just yet. His cock was so hard, desperate for friction, but he continued to pump his hand, her channel even slicker after her climax. “I could do this all night,” he murmured. When she grew sensitive he gave one final flick of his tongue and stood.
He kissed her deeply, letting her taste her own arousal. She met him eagerly, her breath still coming in short pants. Small fingers began to work at his trouser fastenings—and he lifted his head. “Wait. We need not go further now. There are many nights ahead of—”
“No, now,” she said and parted the fabric.
He did not understand the rush. This was madness—not that he could deny his raging desire to sink inside her. Her climax had fueled his fervor, but he did not wish for this to end so soon. “Rose—”
She put her hand over the heavy length of his cloth-covered cock, her touch tentative, almost shy, and he gasped. Oh, fuck. Any complaint he’d been about to utter completely disappeared. His body broke out in a sweat, his skin burning. He tore off his dinner jacket and tossed the fine wool to the ground. Next, he loosened his bow tie and opened his collar, the gold collar stud dropping somewhere on the floor.
The edges of her mouth curled. She was clearly pleased at his reaction. “Shall I stop?”
“Dear God, please don’t. Press hard.”
She turned out to be an apt pupil. The rough drag of her palm on his erection over his clothing caused his breath to stutter. He put a hand on the cabinet above to steady himself, struggling for control as he tried not to devolve into an animal by ripping her clothes off and shoving inside her. “Rose,” he ground out from behind clenched teeth as she worked him. “I am so close.”
She parted his undergarment and her fingers wrapped around his naked shaft. God, yes. He moved his hand between her legs once more, needing to hear her whimpers, needing her right there with him.
Then she brought the head of his cock to where his fingers teased. “Please, Duke.”
He froze. “Are you sure?” They were in a pantry, for God’s sake, where any member of her staff could discover them. Her husband might not mind, but society tolerated affairs only if they were discreet.
“Yes.” She nodded, her hair tumbling out of its pins. “Tonight. It has to be tonight.”
He barely heard anything after the word yes, the idea of sliding into her sheath nearly enough to drive him insane. Lining up at her entrance, he pressed the crown inside. His eyelids slammed shut, sensation overwhelming him. Christ, she was tight. Hot. Exquisite.
It was absolute heaven.
“Please, more.” Her arms wrapped around his neck and brought him down to her mouth. He kissed her, their lips clashing in desperation.
Canting his hips, he pressed in until he was fully seated. Her grip was snug, pure bliss surrounding him, and he could feel the threads of his control unraveling. One long thrust had them both moaning, her nails digging into his shoulders, and he started to move in earnest, drinking in her sighs and gasps. He held on to her hips, positioning her where she seemed to prefer, and let instinct take over. Within minutes, an electric charge built up at the base of his spine, in his balls, the imminent release he could not stop.
He used his thumb on her swollen nub, pressing and ci
rcling, until her legs tensed. “Hurry, Rose.” He clenched his teeth. “You feel too perfect. I cannot last.”
She threw her head back, mouth open in a wordless scream as her body spasmed around him. Duke let go then, pounding hard, his hips churning. The white-hot release swept up from his toes and his muscles trembled with the power of it. He jerked out of her channel just as spend erupted from the head of his cock, his hand flying over the shaft to prolong the pleasure. His knees buckled and smacked into the wooden cabinet.
Jesus, was he about to faint?
When his brain stopped spinning, he braced himself and attempted to catch his breath. “My God, I cannot focus my eyes. You’ve blinded me, woman.”
A small palm caressed his jaw. “I suspect you will recover quickly.”
Was that a hopeful note in her voice? He’d love nothing more than to continue this all night. He kissed her slowly, sweetly. “Come home with me where we may do this properly.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, tonight.”
After a long excruciating beat, she nodded. “All right, I will.”
Grinning in unholy anticipation, he stepped back to clean up. When they were marginally put to rights, he shoved on his coat and clasped her hand. “You won’t regret this, Rose.”
Her enthusiasm dimmed for a brief second before she masked it. He wondered over her expression as he reached for the latch. When he pulled, however, the door did not budge. He tried again, yanking harder. Only, he received the same result. “Does this door stick?”
“Let me see.” She slid around him and used two hands to wrench at the door. She shook and pulled, her arms straining. “Oh, no. Come on, open! You stupid door.” She kicked at the heavy oak with her foot. “How could this have happened?”
“Wait, are you saying…?”
Her eyes were wide with panic. “I am saying we are locked in.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rose watched as the news sank into his brain. “Huh,” was all he said, dragging a large hand across his jaw.
Somehow she’d expected a bigger reaction. Perhaps he did not realize the gravity of the situation.
And why would he? He believes the staff in the house will rescue us at some point.
Cold dread settled in her chest, replacing any warm and tender feelings left from their encounter a few moments ago. Who knew how long they could be trapped in here together?
Morning. Henry is coming in the morning. At least they would not die in this room.
“I cannot see how there is cause for alarm,” Duke said calmly. “Someone will come looking for you or visit the kitchens eventually. We merely need to continue a steady stream of noise whenever we suspect someone’s about.”
He made it sound so easy. No doubt he believed it, too. Everything was easy for Duke Havermeyer, even her. A few kisses and caresses and she’d shamelessly lunged for his trouser buttons.
Stop. You are growing hysterical. She put a hand to her stomach and tried to take a few deep breaths. This night was turning out nothing like she had expected. Moreover, he was nothing like she’d expected.
He pleasured you with his mouth. He…made love to you. You are no longer a maiden.
And he wanted to do it all over again at his home.
Part of her was thrilled at the idea; the other part wanted to run away and forget this all happened. Of course, she had to escape this room first.
“Rose? Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she lied, closing her eyes and struggling for composure. “Positively perfect. I would merely like for this door to open.”
His expression said he did not believe her. “How about if I try to kick it down?”
“Please.” He was huge, well over six feet. How could one flimsy door withstand the man’s brute strength?
He removed his evening coat once more, this time handing it to her. Raising one foot, he kicked at the wood nearest the handle, grunting with the effort. The wood rattled, but held. Dash it all.
They exchanged a brief look and then he tried again—only to get the same result. The door wouldn’t budge.
Oh, God. What would Henry and the other footmen think when they found her and Duke in the morning? How would Mr. Henry Walker explain dressing in the Lowes’ livery to Duke? She bent over, her lungs failing to pull in enough air.
“Here.” Duke clasped her hand and helped her sit on the floor, then lowered himself down. “We will wait here together. It won’t be so bad, I promise.”
She arranged her skirts and tried not to dwell on the minuscule size of the space.
“Are you uncomfortable in small places?”
No use dodging the question. He would figure it out at some point anyway. “Yes, I am.” She’d been locked in a closet once as a small girl—a prank by another child—and she remembered that fear so clearly. Now she even left her bedchamber door open at night when she slept.
“Ah. That explains it. Do elevators bother you as well?”
“No, they move, so it’s not quite the same. Also, I’ve never been stuck in one.”
“Fair enough. What may I do to help?”
“Other than get us out of here or generate more air, nothing.”
“Rose, this room is not sealed shut. There are gaps around the door.” He pointed with a long finger. “And I see a hole down there by the floor, probably where a mouse—”
She sucked air through her teeth. “Please refrain from discussing the vermin lurking nearby until we are safely rescued.”
He chuckled, his shoulders brushing against hers. “I never thought the capable Mrs. Walker would be such a frightened little rabbit.”
She elbowed him—hard. “Poking fun at me is hardly the best way to keep me calm.”
He held up his big hands, the ones that had touched her intimately mere moments ago. The memory caused her skin to grow hot. As if he sensed the direction of her thoughts, he drawled, “So what shall we do to pass the time?”
“Not that,” she snapped. They needed sedate activities, not explosive ones. She asked the first question that popped into her mind. “Tell me how you got that scar above your eyebrow.”
“This?” He ran a finger over the jagged mark, then let out a sigh. “It is not an exciting story. I constantly escaped my tutors as a boy. Hated being indoors and forced to sit through lessons. One day I slipped out to take a swim and got caught in a riptide. Hit my head on a rock and nearly drowned. It bled for a long time.”
“How awful. Why was not it stitched?”
A joyless sound escaped his mouth. “My father locked me in my room for four days after. Refused to let the physician attend me.”
Locked in his room? “My God. How old were you?”
“Thirteen.” He lifted a shoulder. “I was subsequently shipped off to boarding school. My father didn’t speak to me again for over a year.”
Her stomach clenched in outrage over this treatment. What sort of monsters had raised this man? “And your mother?”
“She died while I was away at school that first term. He didn’t allow me to come home for her funeral.” He grimaced. “I’ve never told anyone that before. I apologize—”
“What a horrid man, your father. I’ll never look at his portrait hanging in the Gazette offices in the same manner, that is for certain. It should be taken down and burned.”
He appeared surprised by her vehemence, momentarily silent as he frowned. “It would be wrong of me to complain. I had more advantages than most.”
But you had no love, no support. No wonder all the man did was work. He’d been raised and conditioned to do so. “Not all advantages are material.”
“That sounds like the wisdom of my favorite advice columnist.”
“Because it is. And, incidentally, if you’d written to me, I would have told you to run away and join the circus.”
He laughed, the deep sound filling the small space. “As what? A thirteen-year-old escape artist?”
“Bigger careers have been started w
ith less.” They sat in companionable silence until she asked, “Is that why you never celebrate Christmas?”
“I suppose so.” He crossed his long legs at the ankles. “I certainly have no memories of holidays by the fire, roasting chestnuts and stringing popped corn for the tree. My father always worked. Then, once my mother died, I remained at school for the holidays with the few other boys who didn’t wish to go home. We played cards and tried to sneak out to the local dance halls.”
“No presents? No carols? No mulled cider?” All those things made up Christmas as far as she was concerned—along with good friends. She had never been lonely growing up.
“No, no, and no. I take it your Christmases were quite different than mine?”
“Much different. We had dinners with friends, sang songs, played charades… My mother and I enjoyed every minute of our time together. Even now, she prepares my favorite dishes and plays the piano as we all sing carols.”
“We all?”
“Our friends are more like extended family.” The staff in the two houses where her mother had worked over the last fifteen years remained close. “There was never a dull moment.”
“I take it your father is not alive.”
“No. I have no memory of him.” Her mother never spoke of her father. Rose had raised the subject over the years but her mother always had the same answer: “Focus on what you have, not on what you are lacking.”
“So do you believe in mistletoe?”
Her head swiveled toward him. “That bad luck will befall anyone who refuses a kiss under it?”
The side of his mouth hitched in the most adorably playful manner, the one that caused her stomach to flutter. He slipped a hand into his pocket and produced a sprig of mistletoe.
“Where did you find that?”
“I snuck a piece from the arrangement on your mantel. Wasn’t sure if I might need it.”
“Turns out you did just fine on your own.”
He lifted the plant above her head. “Even still, a man can never have too many weapons at his disposal—especially when a woman turns him into a desperate, slavering beast.”
How the Dukes Stole Christmas Page 35