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“Then why mention it?” she asked eyeing him curiously. He seemed out of sorts.
“Because your suitor, Sir Owens, seems to think it does. Owen thinks that Skip is cloaking his past and present activities in such a way as to hinder Ned’s chances of clearing himself.”
“First, Sir Owen is not my suitor! He is mistaken in his belief about Skippy—as I am certain you know.” Mandy’s hands were on her hips as she glared at him. It was so important that he understand she was not interested in Sir Owen. Why? Why should she care?
“Not your suitor? That didn’t seem to be the case when he had you in his arms…” the duke snapped.
“Had me…in his arms?” she was livid.
“Like this,” said the duke who then took her forcefully into his embrace.
Mandy made no push to resist. She didn’t want to. She knew she was behaving like a tart, but she wanted this and had hoped for this moment with him with all her heart. Why now would she resist?
The look he gave her was full with hunger. His blue eyes seemed to devour her just before he brushed her lips with his own, gently kissing her, before that kiss became more insistent and she parted her lips to receive more.
His touch exploded a river of fire in her veins. She burned for him. His touch aroused her in a way she had never thought possible. It was as though she had been waiting for him all her adult life. There was no one like to him.
There was no feeling like the one he drew from her. He broke from the kiss but not to stop. He was gently touching his lips to her ears, to her neck, nibbling as she arched to his ministrations. What was happening to her? This was something she might regret in the morning? No…no regrets. She might forever yearn for him when he no longer wanted her, but for now…now he did want her and she wanted him.
“Why did you sit alone with him?” he asked hoarsely.
“I…he saw me…I had to make certain he wouldn’t give me away…”
“So you kissed him to make him keep your secret?” he demanded as he looked into her eyes.
“No, he tried to kiss me…I stopped him,” she answered roughly and put a hand to push at his chest.
“Don’t push me away, Mandy…don’t…” he said and his lips were on hers again, melting away all her anger.
When he came up from that kiss and nibbled at her bottom lip, he whispered, “You have bewitched me,” he groaned and then whispered her name again as his fingers undid the remaining buttons of her shirt. His hand slid inside and cupped her breast and fingered her nipple as his mouth closed on hers. She was lost to that kiss. It was all consuming. When he broke from it to lower his head and lick her nipple with his tongue she gasped with the sensation he had aroused in her.
She felt a tightness in her stomach and clenched her thighs, but his hand had moved to her rump and pulled her into him.
She felt the hardness of his manhood against her body and arched instinctively. She felt a ravenous hunger, a hunger for everything he was.
Everything about this felt right, felt meant. His
body against hers was glorious wonder. Primal hunger rushed through her as her hands roamed his arms, bare now for somehow his shirt and waistcoat were gone. She stood back to look at him, but he was already taking her back into his arms, covering her lips with his own.
Her brother’s shirt lay on the ground with his, and he was bending his head to her bare breasts again, cupping them in his hands as his tongue licked at her nipples making them taut, making her yearn for something she couldn’t name. And then he was suckling there and she felt something building up between her thighs. Never before had she felt this way. She didn’t know a man could make a woman feel so good.
He had off her boots and breeches.
She stood naked before him and the look on his face banished all shyness and replaced it with pride. He made her proud to be a woman for his expression told her she was the most exquisite woman alive.
And then he whispered, “Ravishing, my love…I am your servant.”
He lowered her to the ground and was on his knees bending over her as he rained kisses down her neck, to her breasts, lower still to her belly, where he nibbled.
His hand cupped the cleft between her thighs and exerted pressure as he shook that area with deft movements and told her she was perfection.
His boots were gone, as were his breeches and she stared at the hardness of his shaft and the way it danced in anticipation above her.
He saw her looking at him and took her hand to softly say, “Touch this, touch me, precious beauty…”
And she did. She ran her hand up and down its length and then looked at his face with wonder as she whispered his name, “Brock…I am not sure what I am doing.”
“And yet, you thrill me more than any other woman ever has, my sweet, my little gamine,” he answered groaning as he took his hard throbbing shaft from her and set himself between her thighs.
