Page 43 of The Dueling Duchess

Chapter 9

Cecile! What are you doing?

The voice in her head was so loud that Cecile actually jolted.

“Mmm,” the man beneath her murmured, bending just enough to let the trunk fall to the floor with a dull thud before sliding his hands around her waist.

Stop what you are doing this instant! You know what will happen if you continue this madness!

She did know, but she didn’t care.

Instead, she pressed her torso against his and deepened the kiss. His mouth was hot and tasted slightly of brandy. Big hands gripped her bottom and pulled her against his hips, where an even bigger erection proclaimed his body’s highly excited state.

Cecile groaned at the feel of him, shamelessly grinding against him. Why not? She’d already taken one reckless step, why not take another? And another. What was the point of pretending she didn’t want him?

He stroked up her body slowly, caressing and exploring, until his fingers slid around her jaw, holding her head in a masterful way that caused her body to turn to water. Lord, but she’d dreamed about kissing his full, shapely lips; reality was far, far better than her dreams.

He knew what he was about, his hot tongue confident without being obnoxious, stroking into her in a way that lured her deeper.

Cecile was beginning to get light-headed, but was reluctant to come up for air, when Guy pulled back with a groan.

“I would ask why you’ve changed your mind now—after rejecting me for weeks—but I find that I don’t care what your reasons are. I want you, Cecile,” he murmured against her temple, his words yanking her from her erotic daze.

“I have waited this long because that is how long my good sense held out,” she retorted. “But now, apparently, it has fled.”

He grinned. “Cause for celebration.”

“I have one rule—only one.”

“Anything,” he muttered, his hands spanning her waist and gently squeezing, his thumbs sliding down the front of her body, caressing up and down over the sensitive bones of her pelvis.

“It is over once we set foot on English soil again. Do you agree?”

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, trailing kisses down her temple and stopping near her earlobe, which he nibbled.

Cecile shoved him back so that his treacherous mouth was nowhere near her while they established their rules. “Repeat what I just said,” she ordered.

His mouth curled up on one side, the smile so wicked her knees threatened to buckle. “It’s over the minute we set foot in England.”

His easy agreement left her momentarily nonplussed.

He caressed her jaw with his elegant fingers, his eyes smoldering and his normally pleasant expression nowhere to be seen. Instead, he looked like a predator who’d finally cornered his prey. “I want to take you right here,” he muttered, his dark eyes flickering around the inside of the caravan, which was small and cramped and messy. “But if you desire a bit more ceremony for our first time, you should speak up. Now.”

Cecile—who was more than ready to climb on top of him right there and then—didn’t know whether to be pleased or insulted that he was in control of his passions enough to wait until they were in a more appropriate environment.

She opened her mouth to tell him to forget the whole thing, but he didn’t give her the chance.

“Strike that,” he muttered. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to wait.” He pointed to the narrow built-in bench off to one side. “Get on the bed.”

* * *

Cecile gave Guy one of her haughty, feline looks—the one that sent his blood boiling—and, for a moment, he thought she’d tell him to go to the devil. But then, amazingly . . . she obeyed his order.

And she took her time about it, too, turning her movements into a performance, stretching her long body out on the narrow bed and then propping her head on her hand and smoldering up at him from beneath her thick, black lashes. “Strip.”

Guy’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”