Caro and Mark have run the gamut from dear friends to bitter enemies over the years. Now, in the close quarters of a sailing ship, sparks fly as old feelings return to the surface and new ones begin to simmer inside. Caro and Mark are headed for America, for the new duke, and for something that might be the love of a lifetime. But only if they don’t destroy each other first.
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He pushed against her until she was against the wall, the handrail rammed against the tops of her thighs. He was pressed upon her from top to bottom, big and strong, making her feel petite and feminine in comparison. They moved and swayed with the motion of the boat, but they did it together, their lips fused.
“Mark,” she whispered between frantic kisses. She let go of the handrail, unworried about stumbling now that she was pinned against the wall, and cupped his cheek in her hand. His afternoon beard scraped against her palm, and she groaned. She was touching him. Kissing him.
Finally.
This was nearly overwhelming. It was what she finally recognized as years of pent-up desire. She’d wanted him, even as a very young woman and not at all understanding what that meant. She’d always thought she’d marry Nate, but Mark had been the one she thought of when she touched herself at night.
He pulled back, breathing heavily and turning away from where her hand cupped his face. When he turned back to her, his eyes were narrow and his voice was a near growl. “How does it feel to be kissed by someone who knows how for a change, Caro?”
With that arrogant assumption, her frustration bubbled up faster than she could stop it. “What are you doing?” she snapped.
He shook his head, jaw once again terribly tight. Just then there was yet another click, and Owen Evans’s door opened. Mark didn’t move, then after a long moment in which she could feel Owen’s eyes on them, he stepped back.
Slowly, he turned to face Owen, his hands balled into fists. Goodness, Mark was so volatile—she’d never seen him like this. She put a hand on his arm, trying to calm him down with her touch.
Owen looked Mark over, his eyes taking in everything from his expression down to his fisted hands. His brows rose, and he looked at Caro. She tried to meet his gaze head-on, to not flinch, and to keep her expression blank. She thought she succeeded mostly, but she was sure she was flushed, her lips shiny from the kiss.
Just then, the Liberty crested a particularly large wave, and they all leaned back, trying to keep their balance. Owen grabbed the handrail on the opposite wall. “Good afternoon, Lady Whytestone, Lord Mark,” he said mildly. But he kept his eyes on Caro, and they condemned her for a liar. Because, from his point of view, she’d clearly just proven herself as that kind of woman.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Evans,” she murmured. Such politesse was ridiculous, she thought. As if they hadn’t just said that to each other not five minutes ago. As if Mark didn’t know it was all a farce. With a brisk nod, Owen took his leave, turning the corner at the companionway, probably headed back to the salon to escape the tiny cabin he shared with his ailing twin.
As soon as Owen disappeared, Mark pushed her back against the wall, caging her with his arms.
“Caro,” he gritted out. “You’re driving me mad.”
Clearly, she thought tartly. He was behaving like a madman, first acting as if he were her friend, then disgusted by her, then kissing her as if he wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman.
“And you’re so damn beautiful,” he continued on a groan. “I cannot stop thinking about you.”
She understood now. “And you hate yourself for that. For thinking of me.”
“Yes!” It was a near shout.
Her lips twisted in anger.
He pushed his fingers into his hair, then gripped a clump of it, his eyes dark and intense as they raked over her. “You belong to someone else, damn it.”
“I belong to no one,” she countered.
His eyes were angry slits. “You belong to Nate.”
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Acknowledgments
The biggest thanks go to Sabrina Darby for conceiving and shepherding this project! Working with such talented authors on this has been an immense pleasure. Sabrina and Kate also deserve thanks for the helpful comments on the story.
Emma Barry continues to be the world’s greatest critique partner and my biggest cheerleader. My work is always improved by her advice. Thanks also to the team at Victory Editing for making sure that the story shined.
Finally, thank you to the other authors in the Year Without a Duke series—Kate Pearce, Suzanna Medeiros, Jennifer Haymore, and Sabrina Darby—their talent and general awesomeness made this entire endeavor such a joy.
About the Author
Genevieve Turner writes historical romance fresh from the Golden State. In a previous life, she was a scientist studying the genetics of behavior, but now she’s a stay at home mom studying the intersection of nature and nurture in her own kids. (So far, nature is winning!) She lives in beautiful Southern California, where she manages her family and homestead in an indolent manner.
You can find her on the web at www.genturner.com, follow her on Twitter or on Facebook, or hear all her latest news in her newsletter.
Also by Genevieve Turner
Las Morenas
Summer Chaparral
Autumn Sage
The Sheriff Takes a Bride
High Country Spring
The Farmer Takes a Wife
Las Morenas: The Complete Series
Seduced in September Page 10