by Marian Tee
Nothing special about her and yet this girl had kept his cock aching for nights, and it was the kind of ache that not even being in the company of more beautiful women could assuage. They had all worked hard to tempt him, using ingenuous tricks and dirty words, but they all left him cold.
Rathe had hoped the time away would prove that his desire for Mary Ashton was a novelty, but instead the time spent apart from Saffi’s friend had proved the opposite. She was an obsession – the kind that could ruin him.
He should leave now, leave this bloody minute before it was too late and he wouldn’t be able to control the dangerous urge inside him to possess her. Why was he so damnably attracted to this girl, Rathe wondered moodily. As he tried to grapple with the reality of his near-bulging erection, not one of his thoughts showed on Rathe’s face, which was almost classical in its hard-jawed beauty. His aloof exterior had led many people to think he was cold and ruthless, someone who looked gorgeous on the outside but had nothing to offer on the inside.
While half of Europe’s media called him England’s #1 Heartthrob, the other half referred to him as a cold fish, the true modern-day reincarnation of the Iron Duke – and they did not mean it as a compliment.
Did Mary know that about him? Did she think the same and was that why she had run like hell after their first kiss?
It shouldn’t matter. She should not matter. And right now, the only thing that should matter was telling her whatever needed to be said so he could get the fuck out of her life and they could forget each other after this.
Rathe opened his mouth to speak the same moment he caught Mary sneaking a look at him. Realizing she had been seen, Mary instantly looked away and began whistling a Carpenters song out of tune.
A bloody Carpenters song.
And its title was…
We’ve Only Just Begun.
Her whistling stopped midway, as if she had just realized at the same time what that song meant.
Rathe heard himself saying, “You do know that the news about me being a serial killer could be making its rounds now?”
Mary gulped, completely forgetting her embarrassment as his words penetrated her mind. Was he threatening to have her jailed? What would happen to her piranha if she was behind bars? She said lamely, “I really didn’t say you were that kind of serial…kil…kis…guy.” She pursed her lips in desperation because she had this terrible urge to whistle again. It was something she had used to do whenever Bartholomew locked her in the darkness of the attic, a device her innocent child’s mind had come up with to keep herself from panicking.
Rathe struggled to keep his tone impassive. “I’m sure you didn’t, but I may have to speak with my legal team about it.”
She choked. “I t-truly didn’t mean to---”
He said smoothly, “I might believe you if only you don’t seem too afraid to look at me right now.”
Mary immediately lifted her gaze to him. “I am looking at you.”
Rathe’s lips tightened in an effort to control his amusement. Her eyeballs were rolling around like crazy, never focusing more than a fraction of a second at one place. So, yes, she was looking at him – but never just long enough for her to really see him.
For a supposedly intelligent being, Mary Ashton could sure be childish.
“Mary?” he said in a very gentle tone.
“Yes?” Roll, roll, roll.
“I’ll give you one last chance.”
“One last chance for…what?” Roll, roll, roll.
“To look at me.” He didn’t wait for her to lie again. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to prove to both of us that I’m not a serial killer---”
“But you’re really not a---”
“---but a serial kisser instead.”
Her eyes shot up to him.
Rathe smiled in satisfaction, and with that one smile, Mary’s worst fears were immediately realized.
Oh, draaaaaaaat.
Camille was right.
He was the most beautiful man on earth.
She had honestly thought it was her mind exaggerating reality, but if anything her memories had failed to replicate just how hot he was.
He towered over her, his powerful presence lending him a godly aura that made her feel ridiculously weak – the kind of weak that her stepfather would most assuredly beat her for if he ever found out how Mary was feeling now.
His pinstriped suit, combined with the platinum Rolex gleaming on his wrist, only added to his air of sophistication – something that seemed to be an innate part of him. There was something about Rathe Wellesley that no matter what he wore – no matter if he did not have a stitch of clothing on him – he would still be the epitome of elegance.
Was he going to be just as elegant even while making love?
An involuntary gasp escaped her, the direction of her thoughts stunning Mary even as her gaze returned to his face, drawn to it. There was a magnetic pull coming from him that no woman could resist.
Being around Staffan and Saffi had exposed Mary to a lot of good-looking guys, but they had never caused her to think anything so carnal. But this…this man. Just a few words, and Mary had let him kiss her. And now, he was looking at her in a way that made Mary want to fan herself and drink gallons of iced-cold anything. It was just so…hot. Like, so, so, so hot he made Mary forget ninety percent of her vocabulary and forced her to resort to teenage crush lingo.
So. Hot. Like. Wow.
A smirk played on his lips. Those beautiful sexy lips.
“You’re staring at me,” he purred.
That. Voice. Gah.
She mumbled, “You told me to look at you.”
Her words were unexpected, and her accusing tone made Rathe laugh out loud – something he rarely did. “You remind me of how adorably crazy Staffan’s wife can be,” he told her.
“Oh, no,” Mary said right away even as she still couldn’t help gazing at him in utter fascination. Ohmygawd. So. Hot.
Rathe raised a brow. “Oh, no…what?”
“She’s crazier than I could ever be,” Mary explained.
He considered her words seriously, thought about how she called him a “serial kisser” in public, and remembered how she promised to look at him while turning her eyes into spinning flying saucers.
Sternly repressing the un-aristocratic grin that wanted to curve on his lips, Rathe said politely, “No comment.”
Fighting off the grin became even more of a challenge when she protested almost indignantly, “I’m very ordinary.”
“No, you’re not, and you should be glad you are not.”
Mary was startled. “Why?”
“Because if you were ordinary, I wouldn’t have spent the last few days imagining I was enjoying you in my bed.”
Bwerhidfbfmaqqzdjmne.
This time, she had lost the ability to be coherent, Rathe Wellesley’s words instantly making her as eloquent as a newborn baby. All she could think was, no wonder.
After meeting him the first time, Mary hadn’t been able to help researching him online and now that she experienced the pleasure of his presence another time, she knew that most things the media said about him was true.
He was too gorgeous to be human. He was too sophisticated for any person to be comfortable in his presence the first time. But one thing she didn’t believe was that Rathe Wellesley did not feel anything.
Oh, he felt.
The smoldering heat in his eyes, the sexually commanding aura he emanated, the devastatingly wicked way his lips curved ever so slightly at the things she said---
How could they all say that he did not feel when he did feel and, more than that, he made her feel so peculiarly weak around him?
Mary was staring at him.
And it was in a way that made Rathe say warningly, “You must stop that.” If she kept looking at him like that, he might give her what she was asking unconsciously with her gaze.
Rathe’s words made Mary blink. Was he serious? Didn’t he know how fascinati
ng he was? If she was made to choose between her piranha and him, she would truly be torn.
Noticing the way her gaze flitted to something behind him, Rathe looked over his shoulder and that was when he realized exactly what was swimming in her fish tank. “You have a piranha in your room?”
Mary nodded in a casual way, as if she was confirming that today’s weather was fine and cloudy.
He shook his head faintly. “A piranha?” This time, he couldn’t help it. He laughed out loud. It was the safer thing to do because his more pressing urge was to reclaim her lips and find out if it tasted as sweet and hot as he remembered. He suppressed a groan. Just one memory – and now his brain was flooded with the whole lot, of how Mary’s sigh was sweet and sexy as she leaned into his kiss, of how she felt so perfect in his arms when he had pushed her to the wall, of how beautifully she surrendered---
Rathe fought for control over his cock. This was not fucking good. While a part of him found Mary Ashton irresistible, the other part of him was coolly demanding what he was doing with a woman – no, a bloody teenager – who thought piranhas made great pets and described him as a serial kisser after one damn kiss.
Rathe looked back at Mary. She was worriedly biting her lip as she looked at him with wary suspicion in her eyes. It was as if she was expecting him to report her to PETA for the unlawful capture of piranhas – and she was ready to elope with her bloody fish if he did.
When he started to speak, he saw her stiffen nervously, and Rathe said almost irritably, “Relax. I’m not going to eat you or your fish.”
I don’t believe you, her eyes answered him.
He suppressed another groan. Why was it that the more she seemed suspicious of him, the more he found her attractive? It was so bloody perverse he felt like he was going crazy.
His phone buzzed inside his pocket, and it served like a knock on his head, knocking some sense back into Rathe. What the fuck was he doing here, contemplating something that shouldn’t be contemplated with someone who wasn’t even bloody old enough to be called a woman?
Mary shifted on the bed, drawing his attention back to her and Rathe saw her silent grimace of pain when she accidentally moved her injured ankle. He asked abruptly, “Is there someone I can call to check up on you?” He hated that he had to ask, hated that he cared enough to do so.
She desperately wanted to lie, but she just couldn’t make herself do so. She said reluctantly, “Not really.”
“Then you’ll be alone here for the entire weekend?”
She nodded slowly. “But I’m not really alone. I’ll be with my fish---”
“---that’s likely to bite your finger if you try to feed it,” he countered dryly.
Mary said defensively, “I’m training it to be a vegetarian.”
Rathe choked.
She insisted, “It can be done.”
Seeing the stubborn look on her face, he knew it would be pointless reasoning with her. Before he could speak, Rathe’s phone buzzed again and he knew it was likely his secretary, panicking because he was supposed to be in a charity event – ten minutes ago.
Rathe walked towards the door.
Was he leaving? Just like that? Mary bit her lip, telling herself she was not bothered by it. This was how her life was supposed to be – uncomplicated.
Rathe paused as he reached the doorway.
She held her breath.
Rathe opened the door, and as he did Camille almost crashed into him. It was obvious on her face that she had her ear pressed to the door for quite a long while.
Camille quickly straightened herself, saying breezily, “I was just checking on my friend.”
Of course she was. But all Rathe did was smile politely and say, “I’m glad that she has someone looking after her. I feel responsible for what happened.” There was a dull roar inside his mind, making him feel damn guilty, like he was abandoning Mary.
But he wasn’t, Rathe told himself fiercely. This had to stop now.
Without looking at Mary, he took out a card from his wallet and handed it to the other girl. “Please call me if there’s anything you feel I may be able to help with.”
Camille said brightly, “Of course.” She looked down at the card, her eyes widening when she realized she was speaking to a duke. Dukes were a subject she recently became acquainted with, ever since Kate Middleton became a duchess.
When she looked up at Rathe, her eyes were wide with awe.
He pretended not to notice it. “Thank you very much, Miss---”
She supplied eagerly, “Camille Wilson.”
“Miss Wilson,” he ended with a brief smile and took her hand, placing the gentlest kiss on her knuckle and causing Mary to all but swoon.
From the bed, he heard the tiniest gasp tumble past Mary’s lips.
Rathe Wellesley wasn’t just a smooth talker. He was a…was a smooth mover, too – the very kind of playboy her stepfather liked to warn her about. He was definitely everything she should avoid if she wanted her life to proceed smoothly, but for some reason all she could think of right now was how much she hoped he wouldn’t find himself attracted to Camille like all the men she knew. She did not understand why she hoped so. She just…did.
“Please call me Camille.” Camille was fluttering her lashes like crazy.
Rathe made himself look politely charmed. “Thank you, Camille.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid I must go now as I’ve an engagement to attend. Good evening, ladies.” And then he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him, leaving a void so startling in its yawning emptiness that for a moment Mary ceased to breathe.
He was gone.
Camille let out a loud sigh. “What a hottie.”
The words had Mary blinking herself back to reality. Seeing that her friend was waiting for an answer, she shrugged, hoping it would make her appear indifferent.
Her friend clucked her tongue. “You can’t fool me with that one.”
“I’m not trying to fool you.”
Camille exclaimed, “Oh my God, and you’re jealous, too!”
Mary mentally whistled another song.
Camille rushed to her friend’s bed to give Mary a quick hug. “You are so cute when you’re jealous!”
“I’m. Not. Jealous.”
Camille only laughed. “Whatever you say, Mary. But I promise, I’m not the kind of conscienceless slut everyone says I am. It’s hands off your Dukeness from here.”
She tried to stop herself from smiling but failed. “It’s His Grace, Cam.”
“Okay, I promise that I won’t be flirting with His Grace---”
“He’s not my anything--”
“Well there’s something between you two and I can prove it to you.”
Mary was startled. “How?”
“He’s the first non-nerd I know that didn’t cause you to stammer.” Camille gave her a smug look. “So think about that, smarty pants, and tell me I’m not right.”
The truth of her friend’s words hit her, and as Camille left for her second date of the day, Mary did think about it, and she tried to convince herself that the other girl was not right. So she didn’t stammer in Rathe’s presence. It only meant…it only meant---
No.
She did not like Rathe Wellesley.
And if Camille thought she had proof, well…Mary could come up with her own proof, too!
Carefully scooting off of her bed and wincing every time she accidentally jarred her injured ankle, she hobbled towards her study table and collapsed on the seat with a loud, relieved sigh. The bed had only been less than six feet away, but it already felt like she had run a mile.
Reaching for her laptop, she switched it open and with a few clicks, she found the website she was after. Mary studied the schedule of events before her carefully.
Tomorrow…
Yes, tomorrow. She could do it. All she had to do was buy a ticket, get herself a pair of crutches, and she would be safely on her way. Tomorrow, she’d have proof to show to Camille that sh
e and the duke were never to be, not when she already had a guy she liked.
****
Several thousands of miles away, Bartholomew threw away his half-empty shot glass across the room. As it hit the wall and exploded into pieces, he imagined it was what would happen to the faceless man making a move on his stepdaughter once Bartholomew found out who he was.
Sinners, the both of them!
He had secretly installed a spy cam in Mary’s dorm room, making sure he watched and listened to its playbacks every day so he could masturbate during the rare times she undressed herself in her bedroom. He really shouldn’t have let her go off to college in the first place, Bartholomew thought furiously as he paced his hotel suite restlessly. But then, what could he have done? She had won the damn scholarship and forcing Mary to refuse it would have made the busybodies in their town talk.
He had to act soon. If he did not, he had a feeling his stepdaughter would give away her virginity to an unworthy man and sin against God by having sex before marriage.
He had to save her from herself, Bartholomew decided. And if it meant taking her virginity himself, well – she should be thankful for that. He would do the sinning for her, out of his great love for her.
Snatching the receiver, he quickly made a call to book the next available flight back to Florida. It was time to give his dear stepdaughter a surprise visit.
Chapter Three
“A poetry reading,” Rathe repeated disdainfully the next day, feeling like a bloody idiot as he stood in front of the locked and supposedly empty dorm room of Mary Ashton. He had even brought her flowers, Rathe thought in disgust. He couldn’t remember the last time he bought flowers for someone – maybe for Alyssa during Mother’s Day a few years back?
Seeing the irritated expression on Rathe Wellesley’s face, Camille let out a silent sigh of good-natured envy. Oh yeah, the duke was totally into her friend. And just like her friend, the duke seemed to deliberately pretend that it wasn’t the case. What an adorably idiotic pair these two made!
“Would you happen to know where this…event is taking place?”