His hand was cupping her breast, and she felt the jut of her nipple against his palm, the sensation almost painful, but exquisitely so, as he used his thumb to rub against her. Her body jolted, her breath caught in her throat, and she made a sound she had never made before.
He bent his head and she felt the warm, wet cavern of his mouth close over her flesh. He played with her with his tongue. The pleasure was so new and exciting, she didn’t at first realize his hand was on her thigh, beneath her skirt. Her heart began to bump more quickly as his fingers caressed her soft flesh, edging higher, closer to the moist heat she felt throbbing at her center.
And then his forefinger stroked down the swollen flesh between her thighs, bringing to life even more dazzling sensations. “I don’t think you should do—” she managed, but he didn’t give her time to finish her protest, closing his mouth on hers, while his finger stroked again.
Her body seemed to have a will of its own, savoring every instant of pleasure, wishing it could go on forever.
But it couldn’t and if she didn’t stop him now then she would be lost.
With a soft gasp she slipped out of his arms and stood, a little unsteadily, in front of him. He seemed just as reluctant to let her go but he accepted her decision. And then he glanced down at her feet.
“You are barefoot!” he said, shocked.
“Of course I am. I didn’t want to waste time finding my shoes,” she said matter-of-factly.
“I’m not having you catch a cold,” he retorted, and promptly swept her up into his arms.
“Put me down,” she protested, struggling.
He held her fast. “Stop it. I’m being purely selfish. Kissing a woman with a cold is the very devil.”
Irritably she said, “I have gone barefoot before, more times than I wish to remember.”
“Well, when you are mine, Miss Belmont, you will always be shod, whatever the circumstances. You will have shoes for every occasion.”
When you are mine.
The words were sweet, despite the fact that she knew they would never happen. She would never be his. Not in the way he imagined. Nevertheless she stopped struggling.
He was carrying her toward the house. “Speaking of something I want to do . . . I have a request to make of you, Eugenie.”
“Oh?” She looked up at him suspiciously. “What is it?”
He seemed to be carefully considering his words. “I wasn’t always a duke. Once I was young like Annabelle and I thought anything was possible. Lately I’ve been reliving those days, remembering how it was to be so caught up in my dreams that they were more real than this world we inhabit.”
“Everyone should have dreams,” she said quietly. “Just because we grow up doesn’t mean we have to abandon them.”
He gave a grunt of laughter. “You’re an idealist, Eugenie.”
“Am I? I’m not claiming that dreams always come true, you know. Just that there is nothing wrong in having them.”
“I see.”
She watched him, trying to read his mind as he seemed to be able to read hers, wondering what it was he was going to ask her. Something to do with his boyhood, his dreams?
“What did you want to ask me?” she prompted him at last.
He hesitated and then shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll tell you next time. You’re tired, Eugenie. You should be in bed.”
His voice had turned suggestive on the last word and she forgot to remind him that there wouldn’t be a next time. Her heart skipped a beat. Her skin was achy and sensitive, and the thought of him touching her again brought out goose bumps. Just for a moment she allowed herself to snuggle closer against him, breathing in his scent, and storing up memories.
When they reached the back door he set her down, steadying her a moment, before lifting her hand to his lips. “Goodnight, Miss Belmont,” he murmured, ever so polite.
But his dark eyes were not polite. They were hungry and intimate, promising her so much. In a moment she’d be kissing him again, caught up in the magic that flared between them, lost to all her good sense.
She began to close the door.
“Will you come to Somerto