What a Duke Dares (Sons of Sin 3)

She seized the lapels of his coat and pulled him closer. “Let me do what I want, Harry.”

The innocence in her eyes made her brazen statement more provocative. He tried to fight, but they both knew that his honor hung by the slimmest thread. “I’m trying to protect you,” he grated.

“I know you are.” She stared at him like he was Sir Galahad complete with Holy Grail. An impression that sat oddly with the inferno of desire blinding him to everything but Sophie.

“Then let me keep you safe,” he said on a frantic plea.

“I’m safe with you.” She placed her hand on his shirt, where his heart thundered with love for her.

He shook his head. “No. You’re not.”

She didn’t seem to hear. Instead her hand crushed the fine material as she brought him closer. He kissed her, not holding back for the first time since that close call in Wiltshire. He caught her sweet face between his palms and plundered her mouth, sliding his tongue between her lips in imitation of the act he burned to complete. He finally gave himself permission to touch her the way he’d imagined. He shook with the bliss of it.

Even now, he held back from undressing her. Until she stole the initiative. Unsteadily she shoved her bodice down. He caught her breasts as they tumbled forward. He pressed and stroked and kissed the impudent tips. She tasted like flowery honey and her perfume filled the air like a musky garden.

He was past denying her. This moment had been ordained from the instant he’d caught her crying in the moonlight. He couldn’t fight his desire. Not when her desire was just as ravenous.

The tension leached from him. Frantic nips and licks and kisses steadied to leisurely exploration. He even found the control to unlace her gown without tearing the delicate material.

He wasn’t ashamed of what he did. With love this powerful, there was no sin, however the world viewed what happened.

“Let me undress you, darling,” he whispered between kisses on her satiny neck.

She raised her arms like a small girl. Tenderness flooded his heart. Tenderness that made his hands shake as he pulled her gown over her head and laid it carefully on the chair.

She took less trouble with his coat. It crumpled onto the floor. She was impatient. But like him, her wildness gradually faded and in its place, a glowing calm lit her eyes to sapphire.

Carefully he unfastened her corset. After he’d slipped it off, he pulled her shift over her head.

She stood naked, every inch of pale, perfect skin flushed with gold from the fire he’d lit before her arrival. Her breasts were round and firm, crowned with rose-pink nipples. The firelight created mysterious shadows around her nest of dark blond curls.

He stepped back and drank in the sight. The emotions flooding him were complex, difficult to define. Joy. Desire. Those went without saying. But there was also the heady realization that he claimed this girl. After tonight, they were forever linked.

From the first, he’d pledged himself to her. But tonight when he introduced her to sensual pleasure—dear God, let him be adequate to the task—the promise went deeper than the ocean.

She was his and he was hers.

Somewhere in all the solemn eternities filling his heart lurked gratified satisfaction. That Harry Thorne stood with Sophie Fairbrother. That Harry Thorne had the privilege of touching her.

Her brilliant eyes met his and he knew that she made the same vows. When she slid the pins from her hair, her grace made his heart falter to a besotted stop. The shining mane cascaded around her bare shoulders, playing hide and seek with her breasts.

Harry swallowed to shift the emotion jamming his throat. “You’re so beautiful.”

Her self-confident smile set his soul singing. He caught a glimpse of the striking woman she’d become. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

With a carelessness in marked contrast to his fussing over Sophie, he kicked off his shoes and ripped away shirt and trousers, casting them wherever they fell.

Slowly he moved forward. Outside, London continued on its busy, ruthless, crowded way. Inside this room, a golden bubble of love enclosed him with Sophie.

He buried his hands in her hair and tipped her face up. Her lips parted and her eyes sparked with excitement.

In a daze, Pen let Cam lead her up the elaborate marble staircase. None of this made sense. She’d been so convinced he was furious. Yet he’d just called her magnificent. Not only that, he’d kissed her so sweetly, if she wasn’t careful, she’d persuade herself that he loved her.

When of course he didn’t.

She needed to remember that. Something almost impossible when he stared at her as if she’d brought him the sun for his lantern.

He swung her bedroom door open and drew her inside, pausing on the threshold for another heart-stopping kiss. She responded helplessly. How could she do otherwise? She loved him and somewhere during this topsy-turvy night, he’d lowered his barriers against her. She didn’t dare put a name to his feelings, but this untrammeled passion felt different. Less calculated. Less a triumph of skill over emotion.