Duarte's Child
‘Lies…?’ Intimidated in a very physical way by the manner in which he had her cornered, Emily was nonetheless conscious of a sudden maddening and truly insane need for him to touch her in exactly the way she had told him minutes earlier that she could not bear to be touched.
‘Desire is not a one-way street. I know when I am wanted by a woman,’ Duarte spelt out in the same dark dangerous undertone that was playing merry hell with her awakened senses.
‘Really? Absolutely always?’ Emily framed doggedly but no longer quite sure of what she was saying and why. Other reactions were taking over at mind-bending speed: the steady acceleration of her heartbeat, an alarming shortness of breath, a sensation of exhilaration and awareness so intense it was like standing on a razor edge.
Duarte laced his hand into a whole hank of fiery red-gold strands to hold her fast and then he brought his hot hard mouth crashing down on hers. Fire in the hold, she thought crazily, every inch of her jolted by the surge of wild excitement charging her. He dropped his hands and inched up the skirt of her dress, long sure fingers gliding up over her slender thighs with a knowing eroticism that only added fuel to her response.
She was shaking, clinging to him. She did not know how or when her hands had crept up to grip his wide shoulders but only by holding on to him was she staying upright. With a sudden hungry groan, Duarte cupped his hands to her hips and lifted her against him, pushing her back against the wall, letting her feel the full force of his arousal. Any grip Emily had on reality vanished at that point.
She heard herself moan under his marauding mouth like an animal. With every invasive stab of his tongue he mimicked a infinitely more primal possession and stoked her desire to more electrifying heights.
‘Duarte… Please,’ she gasped.
‘Please what?’ Duarte probed huskily, pushing her thighs further apart, letting his expert fingers linger within inches of the throbbing core of her shivering body.
‘You’re torturing me!’
Duarte let her slide down the wall on to her own feet again and one of her shoes had fallen off, making her blink in confusion at the lopsided effect of her own stance.
‘If I was a real bastard, I’d make you beg,’ Duarte spelt out in a roughened undertone, spectacular golden eyes scorching over her as she struggled somewhat belatedly to haul her dress back down from her waist. ‘But I’m far too excited to deny myself that long!’
‘What are you doing?’ Emily squeaked as he swept her up into his arms with more haste than ceremony.
‘Emily…’ Duarte groaned as he strode out of the drawing room and down the corridor towards the bedrooms. ‘What do you think I’m doing?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘BUT we were talking about getting a divorce!’ Emily protested, sufficiently reanimated by the change of surroundings to say what she should have said five minutes sooner.
‘Correction, you were talking on that subject. When you can put up some convincing resistance to my advances, I’ll consider talking about it,’ Duarte proffered with a wolfish and very male downward glance of challenge.
‘I am not getting into bed with you again… It would be wrong!’ Emily argued frantically as she shouldered open the door in a luxurious bedroom.
‘Wrong at this juncture would be playing the tease and why should you want to?’ Duarte enquired, lowering her to the carpet, bending down to pluck off the remaining shoe she wore so that she could stand normally and then spinning her round to unzip her dress.
As he spun her back like a doll and gave the sleeves of the garment a helpful tug to assist it on its downward journey, Emily stood as though transfixed. ‘Duarte…I’m being serious—’
‘So am I,’ he swore, watching the dress slide down with satisfaction and shrugging out of his beautifully tailored jacket to let it fall on the carpet as well. ‘I want you. Here. Now. Fast…’
‘But you haven’t even told me yet what you brought me to tell me…’ her voice faltered and trailed away altogether as she thought of that ‘here…now…fast’ bit he had threatened and a truly unforgivable dart of liquid heat forced her to lock her knees together.
‘I’ve done all the talking I want to do for one day. I’ve apologised. I’ve owned up to gross insensitivity. You were as receptive as a rock-face but you didn’t complain about anything I can’t fix,’ Duarte asserted on a very single-minded tack as he shed his tie and wrenched at his shirt with pronounced impatience.
‘All right, I was lying when I said I didn’t want you to touch me,’ Emily owned up in desperation. ‘But please keep your shirt on. If you take it off, I’m lost.’