No Ordinary Gentleman

It’s true. I am stupid.

It’s not a case of wishful thinking but a case of stupid thinking because, in hindsight, last night has done nothing more than feed the beast—feed the beast within both of us.

Oh, God. I’ll probably need therapy.

Great sex is so dangerous because despite my intentions, despite the fact that I swore to myself as I crept out of his bedroom in the early hours of this morning that I’d be giving Isla notice of my intention to leave, I’ve somehow promised her the opposite.

I couldn’t really do anything else because when I went to see her earlier, she grabbed my hand and insisted I sit down. Then she’d said such wonderful things about me. She told me she appreciated my help more than words could say, that she thought of me as a friend. That she needed me to stay.

Argh!

When I tried (with much bush beating and many euphemisms) to say I couldn’t, her delicate fingers tightened on mine as she’d insisted she’d spoken to her brother. She said she understood that “something of a personal nature” had gone on between us and, at that moment, I prayed to the heavens that she and Alexander weren’t too big on sharing. But I guess the fact that she was still holding my hand told me enough.

Where was I?

Oh. Isla made it sound like she’d read him the riot act about his behaviour at the dinner table and guaranteed it wouldn’t happen again. She apparently told him he put me in a very awkward position.

Ah, positions.

There was nothing awkward about his position last night, especially as it had resulted in the kind of orgasms that curled toes. And probably my hair.

I ache to devour your pussy.

I almost came right there. The man’s aural game is something special.

In his bed, I’d kissed my way down his broad chest. How he’d sighed when I’d swirled my tongue around his flat copper nipples. How he’d growled as I’d grazed with my teeth. I’d taken his hard length into my mouth for the first time since that night back in London, and he’d thrown back his head.

Something inside me blooms darkly as I remember the noises he’d made and how he’d demanded I keep my eyes open. He’d wanted me to watch what I was doing to him, watch him unravel. So, our gazes joined. I’d work him so slowly, long slides and deep pulls, teasing him more than trying to make him come. Surprisingly, he’d kept me at that pace, his fingers tangled in my hair as he’d tortured himself through me.

Almost as though he knew he’d never get to enjoy the experience again.

I’d hummed an encouragement as he’d whispered in a tight voice that he was coming. His thighs shook beneath my fingertips the moment before he’d exploded into my mouth with the kind of masculine groan I think I’ll forever hear in my dreams. The sky had begun to turn violet with the coming morning when he’d pulled me up to his chest. I’d kissed his shoulder and nestled in.

“I’ve dreamed about your mouth,” he’d said, brushing his fingers down my back.

“That sounds . . .” familiar. It definitely sounded familiar.

“Deeply erotic,” he’d said with a satisfied smile. “But even my wildest dreams couldn’t come close to capturing you.”

In a matter of moments, his chest was moving under my ear with deep and steady breaths. But I couldn’t sleep, and no matter what had happened over the course of the previous evening, I knew I couldn’t stay.

That had been made perfectly clear in a number of ways.

My family and the dukedom rule my life.

The toasts to his dearly departed wife.

Sounds like I’m gonna need this job for a little while longer to pay my therapy bill.

Alexander will go back to London tomorrow, and I’ll stay here for a little while. At least until Isla finds someone to fill both of my roles.

Meanwhile, I suppose I should do less hiding. Go rip off that Band-Aid and tell the delicious Duke of Dalforth that what happened last night will never happen again.

I can’t be his side piece, stashed away in his Scottish castle, and I like myself better than to be a sometime booty call.

So I guess it’s time to go and find Alexander and have an adult conversation with the lord of the manor.

Not the fun kind of adult conversation, either.

I have to swallow my pride and take the higher ground. I need to make sure he understands that last night was a one-night-only deal. Anything else would be unprofessional. Not to mention so awkward now that Isla knows what we’ve been up to. Or at least I surmise she knows some of it.

Alexander will leave today, and I’ll carry on working, and by the time he comes back to visit, Isla will have her new hires, and I’ll be long gone. Here’s hoping that all goes to plan because the truth is, I still want the man, and I can’t see that changing. The heart wants what the heart wants. And it seems my heart wants my body and my mind to be bent in all kinds of shapes by Alexander Dalforth, the man I now know as the 13th Duke of Dalforth.