Page 24 of Dukes Do It Better
What were the chances that Emma and the journal writer were one and the same? The question wouldn’t go away after thinking it. Olread Cove, where he’d found the book, was a tiny community. He didn’t know where Emma lived, but how many unwed mothers with a young son with a name beginning with A could there be in the village?
Except Emma was a respectable widow. He’d heard the tragic story of how her husband passed away before the birth of their son. Surely, if a man were married to a woman like her, he’d react with joy and gratitude when discovering he’d be a father, not the way described in the journal.
Unless someone was lying.
Or Emma wasn’t the journal author.
But what if the mysterious writer who’d kept his brain engaged this past voyage and the widow who inflamed his desire were the same woman? Such good fortune would be entirely out of place in the life circumstances in which he found himself.
At the front door, Coswell shot Malachi one more worried glance, then dragged Roxbury out into the night.
Right, then.
Abandoning the casual pose, Malachi slipped around the corner and counted doors in the increasingly dim hallway. The latch clicked under his hand, quietly allowing entrance to the dark room. Leaning against the door to close it, he barely registered her saying, “It took you long enough” before his arms were full of warm vanilla-scented woman.
Roxbury, the Royal Navy, and secrets would have to wait.
* * *
“Honestly, did you go woo a wallflower while I waited—”
Mal’s mouth cut off the rest of Emma’s words, and then speech felt superfluous. Who needed words when they created their own language of pressing lips, tongues, sighs, and the eager quest of fingers reacquainting themselves with each other?
Emma’s bones might have turned to jelly entirely if not for the desire roiling through her. Like flames dancing up a chimney on a windy night, the simmering heat Mal inspired in her flared into an entirely different beast the second they touched. The tips of his fingers were rough against her arms and neck. The sandpapery slide against her skin woke up every nerve ending. Sure, she wanted to eat the man up like a decadent dessert, but she also just wanted those hands to touch her. If she could strip on her bed and have him lightly caress her from head to toe with those working hands, Emma would happily stay there until she expired from contentment.
“God, Emma, you’re so soft.” His voice was ragged as his fingers slid from her shoulders, tracing her collarbones, thumbs dipping to the tops of her breasts.
It had been so long. Months since their night together, and right now, her body was telling her exactly how many days, weeks, and months she’d been without a man. Especially this man.
Pulling her head back enough to speak, Emma gasped, “You’re still leaving soon?”
Mal froze. “That hasn’t changed. I’m going back to my ship and you’ll return to the coast. Like last time, this isn’t forever.”
She raised to her tiptoes and then sank back on her heels, enjoying the delicious slide of her body down his hard frame. His erection dug into her belly like an iron pike. Her fingers clutched his biceps, and the wet heat between her thighs demanded satisfaction.
“How long do you think until you leave?” She could enjoy him for a month, then let him go. One blip of time in the grand scheme of things. A short affair.
Mal smoothed his delicious hands over her shoulders, then down her arms. “Probably a few weeks.”
Emma ran a finger down the soft bristles of his beard. “Will you give me those weeks? No more. No less. No one else until you leave, then we go our separate ways.” The bulge of his Adam’s apple fascinated her and she couldn’t resist scraping her teeth over it. The responding purr of pleasure vibrated under her lips.
He bent to place an open-mouthed kiss along the side of her neck and growled. “I found the vanilla.”
Emma giggled. “Is that a yes, Captain?” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she tried not to squeal when he lifted her off her feet and walked them toward the nearest piece of furniture, which turned out to be a desk. Something tipped, then rolled away and fell to the floor when he sat her on the top. It didn’t sound breakable, so any concern disappeared when his mouth moved down her neck, to her shoulder, then to the swells of her breasts above the neckline of her gown.
One of Mal’s hands wrapped around her ankle, then slipped under her skirt until he found the ribbon garter and end of her silk stockings. “I won’t share you. You won’t share me. We walk away satisfied when I return to sea. Those are your terms?”
“Those are my terms. I also expect us to do all we can to prevent pregnancy. I’ll take measures during future meetings, but I don’t have anything with me tonight. I require your agreement. On this matter I won’t budge,” Emma said.
His hand traveled higher up her leg and paused on her thigh. “Agreed. I give you my word as an officer and a gentleman.”
Emma grinned, then lifted her skirt higher to spread her thighs and make room for his body. “Well then, permission to come aboard, Captain.” She caught her breath when he brushed a thumb along the wet slit between her legs.
“Good. Because I have the fiercest craving for apricots.”
She laughed, then lost her breath entirely when he knelt and laid an open-mouthed kiss on her most intimate place. Mal kissed with confidence, no matter where he happened to lay his mouth. The man didn’t ease into anything. He barreled forward, and her body wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of sensation. A shuddering moan finally returned with her gulp of air.
Goodness, he was good at this. Not that she had much to compare him with. Roxbury hadn’t been interested in this position. He far preferred to receive than give, which wouldn’t surprise anyone who actually knew the man. The one time he’d kissed between her legs had ended with Emma changing position to make him stop. The jab, jab, jab of his tongue had been annoying, not arousing.
