Page 55 of Seductive Reprise
“I left for Beirut. The land of the Canaanites.” He smiled wryly, and paused to lift her hand to his mouth, where he placed a long, sensual kiss against her palm.
“Was it very lovely?” she said weakly, feeling an absolute unworldly fool. London, this massive and churning city, came up short when held up against the whole rest of the world.
“After a fashion,” he murmured, drawing closer to her, his fingers sliding up her arm. “At the time I only had a mind for business. Its pleasures were wasted on me, I fear.”
“What pleasures?”
“The usual.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Not even—” Rose glanced down at her empty coupe and decided she didn’t want to know whether or not he’d taken lovers. Not right in this moment. So she abruptly changed the subject. “You haven’t even a sip. Do you not like it?”
Joseph followed her gaze. “I don’t care to just yet.” He plucked the glass from her fingers, and went to place it alongside his.
“Yet?”
He strode back toward her with that fierce, steady gaze, one hand lazily working the buttons of his shirt to reveal a thatch of dark hair. She’d barely had a chance to draw a breath when he caught her, one hand firm on her back, the other grasping her chin. “I’ve waited for this night for over a decade. I shall maintain a clear head.”
He spoke with such promise, such fervor that it made her want to collapse against him.
And then he kissed her, hard and desperate, unyielding.Godhis mouth, how she’d always loved his mouth.
Desire flowed through her, weighing down her limbs and lightening her head. She could not speak, could not think. She was only slightly aware of her hands upon his chest, searching for his remaining buttons, fumbling to undo them. Finally she broke the kiss and gasped against his cheek. “Joseph.”
He responded with a low moan and pulled her closer, his fingers digging into her waist as he guided her toward the bed, pushing her down upon it. How could she have been without this, without the taste of him for so long? She should’ve known the moment he walked into Marcus Hartley’s sitting room that she’d never be able to get away, nor would she ever be able to forgive herself if she didn’t take what he offered. Just now she’d do anything for him. She would denounce every last speck of her silly integrity. She’d throw out any notion of a small, decent life painting draperies in obscurity and live as an earl’s coddledbastard who idled all day—if only she could have Joseph on her as she did.
He knelt atop her, hastily shedding his shirt, his keen stare on her. She slid one hand beneath the scandalously low neckline of her ridiculous dress, enjoying his reaction as much as the gentle graze of her fingers.
He threw his shirt across the room, nostrils flaring as they considered one another. Clad only in his woolen under-vest, his athleticism was apparent, with his wide, solid shoulders, strong arms, and flat stomach. That bit of hair on his chest, delicious in how unexpected it was.
“I want you to call me by my name,” he said, harsh and firm, as if he wouldn’t tolerate a refusal.
Her hand stilled, her fingers idling atop her hardened nipple. What did he mean? She hadn’t referred to him as Mr. Palgrave in weeks.
“But I—”
“My true name. The name I was christened with.” She must have looked as confused as she felt, for he lowered himself to her, burrowing his face into her neck. “Please,” he breathed. He kissed the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and she bucked against him without thinking. Taking that as agreement, he pulled back slightly and looked at her with earnest, wide-open eyes, appearing more youthful than ever before. “My name is Yusef. Yusef Ghali.”
Yusef.A warmth unlike any other bloomed inside her. With a small smile, she reached out to place her hand on his chest.
“Alright,” she said, her voice low. “Yusef.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Fuck,” he growled.
She was in his bed now. Soon she’d be his. He’d wanted this for years, bloodyyears. And yet he couldn’t shake this anger, this humiliation at being used. Burdened with the thought of Silas Gall and his stupid, featureless, too-wide head, Yusef pulled himself from her long enough to peel his vest off.
“Oh my,” she purred, a coy smirk on her large, wet lips. She knew exactly what she was about as she sat up to further run her hand along his chest and down his stomach, her eyes heavy as they drank their fill of him. “Certainly not a boy anymore,” she breathed, saying his name like a caress: “Yusef.”
He caught her hand roughly. “I shall never tire of hearing that on your lips.” And he meant it. He intended to hear it many more times that evening. And every evening thereafter.
But still. The indignation at what happened at the gallery would not leave him, his practiced sense of superiority bruised by such treatment. Without explanation, he grasped her by the shoulders and turned her about, feeling for the fastenings of her gown. When he found them, he rushed through the job, notcaring if he wrecked the blasted thing, glad of his strength so he might tear it.
Rose laughed—a bold, sultry sound that fueled both his ardor and his anger. “I take it you don’t care for my new dress, either?”
She wriggled out of the bodice, and Yusef suppressed a moan at the sight of her pale, freckled shoulders. He placed a kiss upon one as his conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm him. This was all he’d ever wanted, to have her here, with him. The one person he’d loved. The one person on the entire blasted planet who knew him. He crooked a finger, caressing the elegant line of her neck as she hurriedly unlaced her corset.
And yet.
