Duke of Scandal (22 page)

Keeping his cold gaze locked with hers, he slowly backed away. “I'll never bother you again,” he continued, his voice low, expression grave, “as long as
you
never mention any of this to Brigitte or anyone else.” He paused, watching her closely, then added, “Do we have an agreement between us?”

He knew what she had to say, and yet he had no idea that she and Sam were one step ahead of him this time.

“Yes,” she spat in a whisper.

“Good,” he said pleasantly. He brushed his palms down his shirt and the front of his trousers. “I'll leave you then, since it appears it's going to rain.” He turned, and with a wave over his shoulder, he remarked, “
Au revoir
until tonight.”

She had such trouble containing a squeal of triumph until he was well out of view. And then as thick water droplets began to fall upon her cheeks, Olivia fairly waltzed from the arbor.

Until tonight, indeed.

S
am was enraged beyond anything he'd ever felt before. Enraged at her deceit and the great risk she took in meeting Edmund alone in a secluded alcove without his protection, enraged that he hadn't chosen to follow her when he found her excuse to visit a perfume boutique for the third time in as many days entirely suspect, and mostly enraged at himself for feeling the most absurd, irrational jealousy he'd ever experienced.

He'd noticed her immediately as he stared out the window of their suite, his second-floor room facing the garden and its center arbor. He couldn't miss her lavender gown among the greenery, and it had only taken seconds for his confusion to turn to shock when he laid eyes on his brother for the first time in a decade—close to her, baiting her, touching her with his hand. True, she'd batted it away, but the contact, the whispered
words, the notion that they were together again, this time without his knowledge because she'd lied to him, left him shaken and, unbelievably, immensely scared of losing her.

He'd stunned her when he grabbed her arm the minute she returned from her little tryst and walked into the foyer, disregarding her surprise as he practically dragged her back to their suite without uttering a single word. She hadn't bothered to protest, probably because she felt guilty, but more so because she'd have to be asleep not to detect the depth of his anger at her.

It wasn't even eleven in the morning, but the second he saw her with Edmund, he'd made a final, everlasting decision. He was going to take her to bed. Right now.

He latched the door behind him quickly, then moved at once, past her, to close the open windows and lock them as well. The sky had darkened to almost black, the rainfall growing heavier by the minute, which would prove the perfect atmosphere for an afternoon of lovemaking. Inhaling a deep breath to calm the tension within him, he pivoted around to face her.

Fuming mad, her face flushed with indignation, she stood beside the floral sofa, glowering at him with hot defiance, hands on her hips as she struck a pose to intimidate him. He almost laughed.

“What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.

He gazed into her eyes for a second or two, then began unbuttoning his shirt. “I'm going to make love to you.”

She gasped, stepping back until her legs hit the edge of the sofa, her eyes widening to bright circles of complete mortification. “Absolutely not!”

“Oh, yes,” he drawled, beginning a slow saunter in her direction, turning his attention to his cuffs.

To her credit, she didn't scream or try to run, which told him how shocked she was by his pronouncement—or just how badly she needed him, regardless of whether she realized it yet.

She scooted back along the edge of the sofa, away from him. “I—I refuse to give myself to anyone other than my husband.”

A reasonable argument, he decided, but it didn't deter him in the least. “No more games, Olivia,” he said decisively.

She looked him up and down as he approached, her gaze lingering on his exposed chest as she clutched her hands at her breasts in a growing panic she couldn't hide. “You're insane,” she whispered with thick enunciation.

“Yes, I probably am,” he agreed, a smirk on his mouth. “I'm insanely crazy about you.”

She blinked, startled. “I'll scream,” she muttered shakily.

He slowly shook his head. “No, you won't.”

Thinking fast, she asserted, “You told me our first day in Paris that we would never be—”

“I lied,” he enunciated.

He stood directly before her now, her back against the door, her eyes shining pools of consternation, of worry and longing she probably didn't even understand.

“It's time, Livi,” he murmured, his tone gravelly and filled with conviction.

“You—” She licked her lips. “You wouldn't dare force me.”

He didn't know if he should laugh or be insulted. Pressing his thumb lightly on her mouth, he whispered, “I know you don't believe I would. But it doesn't matter because I won't have to.” He rubbed the tip across her lips, back and forth. “You want me just as much.”

She started trembling. “You don't know what I want,” she whispered.

That gnawed at him, tearing at that very minute part of him that made him fear she'd rather still be with Edmund.

In a dark, choked voice, he leaned over to whisper against her lips, “I'm not going to lose you now.”

And then he kissed her, not gently, but with a strong, quick need, disregarding her immediate response because he knew it wouldn't last.

She squirmed against him initially, then tried to push him away with her palms to his chest.

He'd had enough. Without a word, he broke away from the kiss, took one look at the desire she tried to hide in her pinkened cheeks, the depths of her eyes, then leaned over and hoisted her onto his shoulder like a sack of grain.

“What the devil are you doing?” she wailed, shoving her palms into his back and pushing up hard in a fruitless attempt to free herself.

He ignored her meager desire to resist him, veering the two of them swiftly and with little effort toward his bedroom. Closing the door behind him with a shove from his foot, he walked straight to the bed, dumping her in a pile of lace and lavender silk atop the bright purple and green quilted coverlet.

He gazed down to her, watching with some amusement as she blew loosened hair from her mouth and brushed it off her cheek with her fingertips. “This is entirely inappropriate,” she sputtered, though she made no attempt whatsoever to move.

“In what way?” he goaded, suppressing a grin.

She stared at him as if he were daft. “It's
daylight,
you idiot man,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Good.” He pursed his lips to keep from teasing her about her wickedly adorable innocence, kicking off his shoes then grasping his shirt as he pulled it from his shoulders and down his arms. “I want to see every delectable inch of you, so my timing couldn't be better.”

She gasped, her mouth dropping open in absolute shock.

Very slowly, keeping his gaze locked with hers, he placed one knee on the bed, then his palms, gradually starting to inch toward her.

She reacted at once, pushing herself into the layer of thick pillows that rested against the wrought-iron headboard. “Do not come any closer to me, Samson. I'm warning you.”

He said nothing to that, just gave her a sly grin as he straddled her feet, pinning her to the spot with his knees atop her wide skirts.

“Sam, please, you're not being rational,” she said matter-of-factly, attempting to reason with him.

He grasped one foot and pulled at her soft leather shoe until it came free, then he dropped it to the floor and worked on the other. “You know what, Livi? I don't think I've ever been more rational in my entire life.”

She shook her head in small, brisk movements, trying again to push herself farther back into the pillows. “This isn't right,” she argued, though her voice quivered as it began to dawn on her that he couldn't be thwarted.

Discarding her other shoe, he very slowly began to run his palms over the arches of her silk-stockinged feet, to her ankles, caressing in circles, pausing only seconds before he grew bolder and pushed his fingers up and under her gown, his gaze never wavering.

“What—What are you doing?”

“I'm taking your clothes off,” he murmured.

“Oh, no you're not.”

He grinned again. “Now who's not being rational?”

She said nothing to that, just stared at him, mortified.

He caressed her calves with his palms. “Are you wearing a corset?”

“That's none of your business!”

“I'll assume that means no.”

She hadn't made any attempt to flee, hadn't fought him physically at all, but she would undoubtedly try his patience every step of the way. An effort, he mused, that would prove highly rewarding.

Leaning over, he gently kissed her stockinged toes, laying tiny pecks on the tips of each one, then the bottom of each foot.

“You can't do that,” she barked out, trying to pull her legs under her gown, which she couldn't possibly manage because he held them firmly with his palms.

Sam had only been with one other virgin, at the age of seventeen, and she had seduced him. This time—a far more meaningful time—he would have to be the
initiator, a role he would savor minute by minute, demanding every bit of stamina he possessed to make him last until he slid himself inside of her.

“Even your stockings are scented,” he murmured, his lips grazing the balls of her feet.

She just continued to stare at him with wide, dazed eyes. “That's because I keep them in a drawer of lilacscented sachets and—”

“Stop talking, Olivia,” he ordered in a whisper, his palms skimming her shins, his lips brushing her toes. And then he raised himself over her, his knees straddling her hips, and took her mouth with his.

She didn't protest this time. Instead, she didn't move, didn't respond, hoping, he supposed, that he would find her cold and undesirable. Instead, it made him all the more anxious to win her compliance, her heart and mind.

He coaxed her softly into giving in to him, indulging the taste of her lips, the soft scent of spice on her skin, the supple feel of her body beneath his that he just barely touched with his bare chest. He kissed her over and over, tempting her with a promise of things to come, gently giving, never pushing, never insisting she respond, until finally he felt her ease into the bed as she started to relax.

He pulled back enough to view her face, now flushed a dewy pink, her lips red and moist, her eyes shimmering from a gradually expanding desire.

Keeping his gaze joined with hers, he shifted to his side a little and reached up to pull a lacy lavender sleeve from her shoulder.

“Sam…”

It was her last great effort, and he had to give her credit for trying so hard.

“Shh…” He leaned over and placed his lips on the warm, silky skin at her collarbone, sweeping them back and forth. “You're so soft…”

“Please…” she whispered achingly.

And at that moment she gave in to him.

He lifted his head from her shoulder and took her mouth with his once more, kissing her deeply, feeling her open for him and reciprocate at last as she allowed him to taste her sweetness, his tongue invading her moist, hot mouth, probing, flicking across hers and then grasping it to gently suck. He moved his palm slowly across her bared shoulder to her neck, his fingertips caressing in feathery strokes, his thumb grazing her jaw.

His kiss intensified as his need grew, as he felt her respond to him with her own great longing, her breath coming quickly in short gasps. Lightly, he began to move his palm, crossing from her throat to her collarbone to her chest, and then lower still until he slipped it beneath the neckline of her gown, her chemise, and then closed it over one full, concealed breast.

She gasped against him, the slight sound from her mouth only fueling the fire within him, intensifying his determination. He began to knead her flesh beneath the fabric, flicking his thumb across her hardened nipple, then the pads of his fingers in slow, small circles.

She squirmed a little, not out of protest this time, but a need and a yearning for him to do more.

At last he pulled his lips away from hers, lifting himself a little to look down at her face.

Her eyes were closed, her breathing coming in rasps, her cheeks flushed with color. He continued to caress her breast, watching her closely, wallowing in her response.

“Livi…”

Her lashes fluttered as she lifted them, meeting his gaze with one of a growing, raging desire.

He raised his hand to her face and touched her cheek. “I'm going to undress you.”

The slightest hesitation crossed her features, and then she nodded negligibly, closing her eyes again.

He reached up to untie the simple lavender ribbon that pulled her hair neatly from her forehead and temples. It came free with ease, and then he ran his fingers through the silken tresses to loosen them so that her beautiful black hair cascaded around the smoothness of her face and neck.

Hoisting himself up on one elbow, Sam took hold of her shoulder and nudged her gently. “Turn on your side,” he directed with tenderness.

Silently, she complied, rotating her body so her back was to him and he could work through the six buttons that held the bodice of her silken dress together.

He promptly unfastened each one, then pushed his hand inside the fabric, caressing her bare back just above the edge of her cotton chemise with soft, wispy strokes from his fingertips.

She sighed long and low from the pleasure, the gentle tease, encouraging him in his pursuit. Lowering his mouth to her skin, he kissed her up and down, brushing his lips and the tip of his nose back and forth, exhaling warm, moist air that made gooseflesh rise. Then with
perfect calculation, he gradually ran his tongue up her spine from the lowest point until he reached her neck.

She moaned quietly, entranced by the feel, and at last he shoved his hand beneath the top of her gown and pushed it over her shoulder, down the front of her chest, until his palm covered the bare flesh of her breast.

He groaned, his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her, flicking his tongue across her earlobe, leaving soft kisses on her neck and cheek as he began to knead her, to glide his fingertips over her taut nipple, pinching it gently then circling it slowly with his palm.

“Sam…” she murmured in aching sweetness.

“I've never felt anything as soft as you are,” he replied breathlessly in her ear. “Let me love you…”

A soft, throaty moan escaped her, and then she rotated back to face him, her gaze meeting his, searching, their beautiful blue depths pleading with him to fulfill every hope, her greatest desire.

She swallowed harshly, trembling, her expression bathed in an ocean of tender, sensuous emotion as she raised her hand and touched his face, her palm on his cheek, the tip of her thumb brushing against his lips.