Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  Sarah, of course, knew she was present. Sarah had even given up her bedroom to Miranda, after she'd thrown her arms around her in the foyer, given her a big hug, and dragged her up the wide staircase.

  "I'm so glad you came back. Now the ball can be fun again. Where's Sharmie? Oh, that's too bad she didn't come with you. But it's good, too, because I only have one room to give up and the house is bursting at the seams with company."

  "I can't take your room," Miranda had protested. "There's a hotel in the village."

  Sarah laughed. "That hotel is more booked than this house. Don't worry. Ren will put me up at his home." She'd giggled as she closed the door to her room. "Or should I say his ruin?"

  "Is he an impoverished duke?" Miranda rolled her suitcase to a stop on the silk Oriental rug.

  "He says poverty is a good thing. Keeps women from chasing him hither and yon."

  "I would imagine he still gets attention. He's a good-looking guy."

  "Yeah." For a moment, Sarah's eyes softened. "You could die for his smile."

  Miranda was surprised into an exclamation. "Are you interested in him?"

  "Nah." Sarah flopped down on her bed like a rag doll. "Never mind him. Let's talk about tonight."

  Now, 'tonight' had arrived, and Miranda was nervous but, in this crowd, she thought it would be fairly easy to avoid the duke. Not so, the irrepressible Sarah who was even now dragging the Duke of Renfryn over.

  "You can call him Ren," she said as Miranda shook hands with the duke. "He's my best friend, after all."

  A shadow passed over Renfryn's face and Miranda wondered what that meant. Did he not like to be called Ren?

  "It's good to see you again," she said formally, deciding to avoid the subject of his name altogether.

  He smiled, blinding her for a moment. "I understand that you and Sarah are working together on some fashion ideas."

  "Sarah's talented. Have you seen her work?"

  Renfryn glanced at Sarah. "All my life. Fashion is not a subject I know anything about, but I have complete faith in Sarah."

  "Thanks, love." Sarah reached up to buss him on the cheek. She turned to Miranda. "Isn't he great? You couldn't ask for a more loyal friend."

  But Miranda had seen the same shadow pass over the man's face again when Sarah kissed him. She had the sudden thought that the duke might not be as thrilled about being placed in the 'friend' category as Sarah was.

  Sarah tucked her hand inside the duke's arm. "Just think, Ren, if I become a fashion mogul, I could make a fortune and save you from a dreadful marriage."

  "Oh, you're engaged," Miranda asked politely. There went her theory that he might have a crush on Sarah.

  "Not at all," he said calmly. He bent a look of reproof on Sarah. "I'm sure Miranda does not want to hear you chatter on about my matrimonial prospects, or lack thereof."

  Sarah giggled. "Isn't he cute when he talks like that?"

  The duke turned away to greet a passing friend, probably to avoid Sarah's teasing, Miranda thought.

  "You two look good together," she said in a stage whisper to her friend. "Are you sure you're not interested?"

  "No way." Sarah plucked a caviar-topped cracker from a passing waiter and popped it in her mouth. "Yum." She licked her lips. "Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Handsome needs to marry a fortune and I haven't got a fortune. It's perfect."

  "Perfect?" Miranda would never understand these Brits.

  "We've been friends all our lives and we always will be because we have no expectations of each other." She beamed at Ren as he returned his attention to them. "We could never make a match."

  "Dance with me," Ren ordered. And Sarah whirled away in the arms of her imperfect, seriously handsome, non-match. "Ren," she was saying. "Can I stay at your house tonight? Please say I can. You know you want to—"

  Miranda smiled. If that wasn't just like Sarah, to not even have asked in advance. She had no doubt of the outcome.

  Jack's was the second face Miranda recognized. With Tessa hanging on his arm, he almost strolled past before doing a double-take.

  "Miranda?" He murmured a word in Tessa's ear, and they stopped. "Where'd you disappear to?"

  She could see he was curious, but not devastated. "Why, Jack, you know we had to work on Sharmie's wedding." She tried to play it light. If she were honest, she'd have to admit she hadn't given Jack a thought since leaving the castle. She could hardly complain that he wasn't pining after her.

  "You could have warned us that you were leaving," he grumbled. "We haven't had a civil word out of Devonwood since you left."

  "That has nothing to do with me, Jack." She held out her hand to Tessa. "It's nice to see you again. Are you enjoying the party?"

  "Of course. I love what you and Sarah have accomplished. Tons of people have been signing the bid forms at the silent auction." Tessa smiled warmly, even as her hand remained possessively on Jack's arm. "You must meet with me in London this week."

  "It would be such a thrill and an honor to be on your show, Tessa." Best not to mention the fact that she'd be back in New York on Monday. They'd have to finesse that problem later. Sarah could represent her during the meetings. She herself would have to figure out a way to come back for the actual show.

  "Don't be a stranger," Jack said, and they moved on, leaving Miranda alone again.

  Which was just fine. She hadn't come here to party, but to work. Now that she'd gotten the invitation she needed from Tessa, she could relax and—

  And what?

  Trying to shake off the depression stealing through her, she made her way back to the row of French doors leading out to the garden. She could be more anonymous out there. Safer. Before she knew it, it would be a reasonable hour to retire to bed and, in the morning, she could flee once more.

  The garden was romantically illuminated with small fairy lights among the trees. Etched porcelain luminaries lined the paths. Miranda made her way instinctively to the darkest part of the garden, wandering through an unlit section where a few couples had retreated to have some privacy.

  Stumbling on a kissing couple wasn't going to cheer her up. She continued on, heading for a brightly lit section of the garden, only to realize by the sounds of merriment that she had inadvertently approached the pool area. She stopped in the secretive embrace of an evergreen border, not ready to put on a brave face and join the party again.

  Music, shrieking and laughter provided a counterpoint to her own memories of a quieter, darker night. A night when her foolish attempt at a partial seduction had backfired on her. As if a seduction could ever be partial. She wanted to laugh at herself, but the memory was too poignant. Still, even though the duke had called her bluff and outplayed her, she wouldn't trade that night for anything.

  "Enjoying your memories?" A dark voice murmured in her ear.

  Chapter 30

  Miranda couldn't prevent a start of surprise. Even though she knew at once who was snuggling up against her, she hadn't expected him out here. She didn't turn to him.

  "I'm here for work, Devonwood, not memories." She didn't look up at him, didn't need to identify exactly who spoke in that seductive voice, who leaned over her in such a falsely protective stance, whose breath warmed her ear. She took a step back.

  "Miranda." He touched her arm. "I didn't expect to see you at the ball. Why are you avoiding me?"

  She wanted to say the whole world didn't revolve around him, but of course, it did. How could he think otherwise? In the same way that his scent surrounded her now, pulling her to him as surely as if it were a net. If she didn't free herself immediately, she might do something foolish.

  "You sent me away," she said calmly enough, though her heart beat like a hummingbird's. "I would hardly think you wanted to see me."

  "I sent you away for your own good."

  She stamped her foot, a sudden fury flashing through her. "Don't you dare blame your cowardice on me!"

  "Cowardice?" A frown creased his brow. "What are you talking about?"


  "You used me, Devonwood, and then disposed of me without even giving me the courtesy of the truth." Her voice was too loud.

  He paused, as if trying to remember. "I may not have been diplomatic, but I don't recall saying anything untrue."

  "It's more what you didn't say." She shook his hand off her arm. She needed to be out of his reach even if she had to turn, hike up her scarlet gown, and make a run for it.

  "I'm still not following you." He took a step toward her, keeping her within range of his hands, his lips, all the parts of his body she should not be thinking about. Another step.

  "Devonwood!" Frustration made her voice shrill. She could not win this cat and mouse game. Not when she was the mouse, and he the cat as powerful as a lion. As much as she didn't want to talk about his fiancé, she had to force the issue to be rid of him. "I know you're an engaged man. How could you sleep with me under those circumstances?"

  "What?" He stopped dead, staring at her. Then he cursed under his breath as a drunken reveler stumbled up to them.

  "We can't talk here." Devon dragged her back into the shadows. He pushed open a nearby door and Miranda recognized the spa by the warm honey glow that suffused the dimly lit room.

  She stiffened, her feet halting as if she'd stepped in quicksand.

  "No," she said. "I can't go in there." The memories would overwhelm her. The faint scent of sandalwood mixed with pool chlorine thrust her instantly back to the sensation of Devonwood pressing apart her thighs, bending his head…No, she couldn't allow herself to remember anything except the way he'd coldly abandoned her when he was done.

  As if she hadn't spoken, Devon yanked her inside and slammed the door. Her hands and her shoulder blades pressed back against the door as she looked up at him.

  "What are you talking about?" he said. "Where did you hear this talk of an engagement?"

  He hadn't denied it. The single fact pounded through her brain. She hadn't realized, until that moment, that she'd carried a secret kernel of hope that Charlotte's announcement had been untrue.

  "Does it matter where I heard it, Devon? If I didn't know about it, would you screw me again?" She stretched an accusing hand to the massage table. "Is that why you dragged me in here? To try your luck once more?"

  "You think I would do that? You think so little of me?" He was half-shouting but she wasn't afraid. Instead, she was exhilarated, almost happy to see that she'd shaken him a bit from his usual calm composure. Clearly, he didn't like his sins being flung in his face.

  "All these questions, your grace!" She flung the last words at him as if the phrase were one of contempt. "I notice you haven't denied anything!"

  "You're crazy," he shouted, swooping her up and depositing her on the padded surface of the massage table. "You make me crazy."

  Was he actually shouting at her? The cool and unflappable Duke of Devonwood?

  While she was busy congratulating herself on having pierced his armor, he bent his head and kissed her, his mouth rough and demanding. He opened her lips and scraped her tongue with his teeth.

  Her body jerked to instant arousal. Her smug pride in having disconcerted him disappeared as fast as her inhibitions. Almost, she would have done anything to let him continue. To let him use those hard hands everywhere on her body, to let him push the very hardest part of him where she was softening in welcome.

  Almost.

  His kisses were so tantalizing, always encouraging her to want more. Tempting her to press harder against him, to seek deeper penetration wherever possible. But she had to remember there was no caring behind them. His kisses were a superficial pleasure, not the kind of long-lasting promise she wanted from a man.

  She reached deep for the courage she needed to overcome this spiraling bliss that threatened to overwhelm her good sense. Her nipples buzzed under his roaming hands. Her brain swam with delight as his tongue dueled with hers. Even her toes curled tightly on the tips of her sandals. Her legs relaxed, opening further, and he groaned. The sound jolted through her.

  "No!" She yanked herself back. Had he forgotten what they were talking about? There was no way she was intentionally having sex with an engaged man. Even if her body was softening and yearning and her mind was urging her to grab him and make her his.

  Maybe she was crazy.

  He thrust one leg between her knees and stepped closer. With one finger under her chin, he tilted up her face again. "Kiss me," he said.

  Her lips parted to say 'No', but before the word was pushed out, he'd pressed his lips against hers. Softly this time. So tenderly that she was knocked off-balance. No tongue. But it wasn't an innocent kiss. Not when his hand moved to her breast, and began molding it, claiming possession in a completely sexual manner.

  His tongue finally licked her lips. She opened and he ventured in, but still with tremendous tenderness, as if her mouth were a delicate treat and he wanted to savor every drop of sweetness. At the same time, his hands were overtly sexual on her breasts, telling her with every sweep that he wanted her.

  Although his mouth seemed to be saying how much he cherished her, his hands spoke of darker, more primitive impulses. Every touch on her nipples was designed to arouse her, to tease her until her back arched, and he grunted in satisfaction.

  He only left her breasts to pull up her skirt, push her legs further apart with his knee, and press his lower body to hers.

  Someone moaned. Was that her? She'd been trying to say 'No', but it sounded more like a moan of pleasure pulsing from her, urging him on to greater liberties.

  He bent his head to her breast and pulled her nipple into his mouth. She couldn't breathe as pleasure and need pulsed within her, clamoring for more. Someone continued to moan, the throaty sound threading through the glowing darkness.

  "Yes," he said, his dark voice adding another layer of sensuality, so maybe he'd heard a faint trace of the "no' she meant to say.

  His mouth moved to trail warm, biting kisses down her neck, and then he latched onto her breast again. Her mind began to cloud over. She couldn't breathe. She needed to do something, anything, before she was completely sucked under into the whirlpool of bliss he'd so expertly set in motion.

  "Devon," she moaned. "I'll hate myself afterward." A small part of her brain was ashamed to appeal to his better nature, but the same fading note of self-protection knew it was the only thing that would end this madness.

  He had to stop what they were doing. She didn't have the strength.

  Abruptly, he raised his head. She could see the wildness in his eyes. "Damn you," he said. His hands stilled on her breasts as he stared at her. "And damn me for having a damn conscience."

  "Conscience!" She fell back to lean away from him, using her arms so she could prop herself up and look at his face. "An engaged man in this position—" She gestured to their bodies which were still locked together where the vee of her legs met his groin. Why hadn't they separated? Why were her breasts popped out of her dress, making her look like a porn star?

  "An engaged man," she repeated, "can talk about a conscience while trying to have sex with another woman?"

  "Damnit. Are we back to that again?" He stepped back and she was reminded of the coolness with which he'd left her the last time they'd been together on this particular table. The man had a lot of discipline. He could turn around and walk out right now. She knew he was capable of it.

  But his gaze was glommed onto her breasts and she realized she had to get them out of his sight.

  She grabbed one and stuffed it back inside her scarlet silk gown.

  "Shall I help you?" Devon reached out.

  "No! I'm trying to have a serious conversation here." She finally got both breasts tucked back inside the dress.

  Devon watched, and she could swear the light of laughter had extinguished the anger in his eyes. "You're wearing the sexiest dress in creation," he said, "you're handling your own boobs, and you think I can keep my mind on your conversation?"

  "I am trying to remove the temptation!"
r />   His phone began chiming. He ignored it.

  "Your mere presence is more temptation than I can withstand." His gaze alone heated her like it was a burning match. "We need to talk."

  Again, the phone chimed. And again.

  "Damnit." He straightened up and grabbed it from the inside pocket of his tux jacket. "What is it?"

  "Devon!" Charlotte's shrill tones reached Miranda, even though the speaker wasn't on. "Where are you? People are waiting for you to speak. The silent auction ended at 10 and it's past 10:30 now. You have responsibilities!"

  He listened to her tirade in silence, his eyes hot and apologetic in equal parts at the same time as they watched Miranda. "I'll be right there," he said into the phone and thumbed it off.

  "Damnit. I completely forgot about the ball." He thrust a hand through his hair, that she'd totally mussed up. He adjusted the pants of his tux. She'd messed them up a bit, too. But it was all lust. And cheating.

  He glanced at Miranda as he pocketed the phone. "Sorry," he muttered. "I got so distracted by—"

  "I know," she interrupted. "My boobs. You can blame Sarah. She made this dress." Sex was a powerful urge between them. She almost couldn't blame him when she herself could barely say no.

  "No," he said slowly. "The dress is fine. The breasts are excellent. But—"

  Miranda braced herself. He was leaving. Nothing she could say or do would keep him here when duty called. How had she managed to get herself in this position again—a mere distraction to a busy, engaged duke? She swung her legs over the edge of the massage table and stood up, trying to regain some dignity.

  "It's the look in your eyes," he continued, "that I can't resist." He leaned down once more and kissed her, slowly, not noticing that she didn't respond. When he lifted his head, he was breathing hard.

  "We're not finished here," he said.

  Chapter 31

  At dawn, Miranda faced the fact that she'd been a fool once again. Devon had said he'd talk to her again. What had made her think it would be last night? He was undoubtedly curled around some lucky woman right now, cajoling her into an early morning spot of nookie. If he even needed to cajole her. He could even be with his fiancé. Nicole's face popped into her head, and she banished it quickly.