Page 254 of Dukes for Dessert

Carole didn’t give a damn about billiards. She wanted Adam.

Just this once.

“If I surrendered…” She gazed up at him and licked her lips. “What would you take?”

“Everything,” he answered without hesitation. “You made the rules.”

She wrapped her arms about his neck. “Then I surrender.”

His mouth met hers and there was no more conversation.

She gave herself over to sensation. His hands were warm and familiar against her curves, his tongue an iron to stoke the fire. These were flames that nothing could extinguish.

What would she do to have more than one night? Could she perhaps become his summer mistress? Would a few torrid weeks every year be enough? Or was one goodbye all she would ever be able to bear?

She shoved the thoughts of a bittersweet future away and concentrated on fully experiencing every moment, while she could still revel in his embrace. She loved the familiar hard planes of his muscles, the warmth of his strong arms, the equally breathless passion in every kiss.

“Winner takes all?” he murmured against the base of her throat.

“Absolutely everything,” she confirmed, her raspy voice laden with desire.

He slid his hands to cup her bottom and lifted her hips to straddle his.

It took a second for her to realize he meant to position her on the edge of the rail.

“Watch the table,” she gasped between kisses.

“If we break it, I’ll buy another one,” he growled as he nuzzled the top of her bosom.

She arched her spine to give him better access. “But the baize—”

“Swinton knows how to iron.”

“John Thurston made this. If it tears, the billiard gods will curse you.”

He lifted his head. “Are there sofa gods?”

“Sofa gods love wrinkles,” she assured him.

“Hallelujah.” He swung her toward the satin-covered cushions. “Let’s go and create some wrinkles.”

Her arms reached for him as she tumbled backward onto the sofa. She could not withstand even a hairsbreadth of space between them. He was too dangerous to let go. Too ephemeral. He made her question things she’d previously accepted as fact. Like not wanting a partner in life. Like not needing love.

Good God, she was in love? Carole’s throat went dry in horror.

Her kisses were so urgent because she could not stand the thought of him marrying someone else. And yet she would not beg him to stay. He couldn’t do so if he wanted to. The dukedom came first. He was as tied to London as she was to Cressmouth. She had her household. He had the House of Lords. What they couldn’t have was each other.

Except for right now. Right here. Tonight.

She kissed him with everything she’d been holding back; every fear, every surreptitious glance, every long night of endless longing, every heartbeat that called his name. She might not have him forever, but she would absolutely have him tonight.

He yanked up the hem of her skirt and slid his hand slowly, deliciously, toward the junction of her thighs. Her inner muscles tightened deliciously in anticipation. She let her legs fall wide to give him greater access. Already her core pulsed with need as if it ached for the stroke of his fingers. He paused inches from where she wanted his touch most.

“Carole.” He lifted his lips from hers to meet her eyes. “What exactly are we doing?”

She wriggled her hips to try and get closer to his hand. “I believe it’s called love-making?”

“Have you done this before?”

---