The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) by Sophie Jordan

“Very well.” Nodding, she moved to her desk and picked up the chair. Walking it across the chamber, she secured it beneath the latch. “There now. Satisfied?”

His lips curled. “That would not stop a toddler.”

“Well, fortunate for me there is not a toddler in the house.”

His lips twitched. “Only your cousin’s randy husband.”

“I think I’m safe from him tonight. And tomorrow, in fact.” She gave a small wincing smile. “Thanks to you.” Very well. That was a semblance of gratitude.

“You stood up for yourself quite admirably,” he said.

Silence stretched between them. That crackling energy was back.

“I know I should not have barged in here. I hope I did not . . .” His voice faded. Clearing his throat, he finished, “I wanted to see you.”

She motioned to the window. “Apparently.”

“We were interrupted the other day—”

“We’d said everything that needed to be said.” She shook her head. “I said everything I had to say.” She wrapped her arms tighter around the pillow she still clutched, hugging it herself.

“You said a year from now you won’t cross my thoughts, and I need you to know that’s not true.”

“You can’t know that,” she whispered.

“I can. I do. You’re under my skin. A fire in my blood. I’ve never felt this . . . never wanted a woman the way I want you.” He stepped forward, slowly closing the distance between them. “I’ll never forget you.”

She inhaled. Exhaled. She’d been fooled by seductive words before, but none like this. None she felt as tangibly as this.

Trust did not come easily for her, but she understood what he was offering. It was temptation. More of what happened at the pond. No promises beyond. That’s it, and she’d take it.

Against her better judgment, her hand stretched out to rest on his chest, palm down against the cool fabric of his shirt, his skin warm through the linen, his heartbeat fast beneath her fingers. She smiled shakily. Her heart was beating just as fast. Faster even.

His hand followed, his bigger one covering hers. She sighed, reveling in the sensation. All that warm skin and strength over hers. Suddenly he bent down and swept her up in his arms. She swallowed back a small yelp.

It was a short walk to her bed, both terrifying and thrilling. She trembled in his arms and closed her eyes in a long, fortifying blink.

He lowered her down on the bed and proceeded to strip off his shirt, grabbing it from behind his neck and pulling it over his head in one smooth move, revealing the muscled perfection of his chest. She watched, still hugging her pillow as though it were protective armor.

The candlelight danced over his body, and her gaze followed it, licking over every inch of his smooth skin, every hollow and curving muscle.

Her palms tingled, imagining the texture, the sensation of him. Her fingers flexed in the softness of the pillow. Her breath fell harshly, eyes burning for lack of blinking. She shook her head once, hard and swift. It did no good. She couldn’t manage to gawk less.

Accept this. Take what he’s offering—take what you want.

The dark whisper didn’t have to work very hard to convince her.

He bent and removed both boots, not tossing them, but setting them carefully beside the bed as though not to make a sound. Straightening, he fastened those slate-gray eyes on her.

His hands moved to his trousers and then stopped, lingering for a long moment. Her gaze locked with his. He arched a dark eyebrow in question. This was it. He was giving her a choice.

She nodded.

He removed the last of his attire, shamelessly and unabashedly exposing himself—gloriously, beautifully naked. More beautiful than any statue she’d giggled and gawked at alongside Winnie at the museum in Town . . . and certainly more abundantly proportioned. Heat swamped her face as that specific part of his anatomy grew before her eyes.

She tossed her pillow aside and propped up on her elbows, trying to peer around him to see more, to see all of him.

“You want to see me?” Still arching that dark eyebrow of his at her, he turned, rotating slowly. Her stomach dipped and twisted at the sight of his derriere. Tight and round, with an indent along the side of each curved and flexing buttock. Who knew the sight could be so arousing? It was . . . mouthwatering. Saliva rushed over her tongue.

She held out her hand, extending it to him.

He may have barged into her bedchamber, but she was inviting him into her bed.

Stepping forward, he lowered one knee onto the bed. His hand seized the hem of her nightgown.

Her hands shot to the little buttons at her throat, feverishly liberating them of their constraints. When she’d freed enough of them, he tugged the nightgown the rest of the way, dragging it up and over her head and tossing it to the floor.

He looked her over, staring at her face. It seemed just as important to him as the rest of her. He stroked her skin, sliding the rough pads of his fingers along the curve of her cheek. His entire hand spanned half her face and it made her feel almost delicate—a wholly new sensation. She had never been considered a small female, after all, but she felt like he could wreck her in the best, most glorious sense.

His hand continued its exploration, moving down her throat, tracing her collarbone. As each moment of prolonged contact passed, her breathing grew raspy and shallower. Her blood pounded, hot and heavy in her veins.