Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke's Heart
Page 36

Were she not so angry.
Were she not so drawn to him.
“I mean to use them,” she whispered, knowing that she tempted fate and that, with a word of refusal, he could end it all.
The moment stretched into an eternity, until she could no longer meet his unreadable gaze. She lowered her attention to his lips—to their firm, strong lines.
A mistake.
Suddenly, the open window did nothing for the stifling air in the theatre. The memory of his kisses was cloying in the dim hallway . . . the desire for more of them overwhelmed all else.
Her eyes skidded back to his, their amber darkened to a rich oak.
He wants me, too.
The thought sent a shiver of fire through her.
He stepped closer. They were touching now, just barely, the swell of her br**sts brushing his wide chest. Her breath caught.
“You don’t need me for your scandals. You’ve got an earl in the palm of your hand.”
Confusion flared at the words and his nearness. “An earl?”
“I saw you with Allendale, laughing and . . . cozy.” The last came out like gravel.
“Allendale?” She repeated like an imbecile, willing her mind clear. What was he talking about? Understanding dawned. “Oh. Benedick.”
Something not altogether safe flashed in his eyes. “You should not refer to him with such familiarity.”
A thread of excitement weaved its way through her. He looked angry. No . . . he looked livid. He looked jealous.
The look was gone before she could savor it, shuttered behind his careful gaze, but courage surged nonetheless, and she gave him a small, teasing smile. “You mean I should not refer to him by his name?”
“Not by that name.”
“You did not ascribe to such rules when we met . . . Simon.” She said his name on a whisper, and the breath of it curled between them like temptation.
He inhaled sharply. “I should have.”
“But you wanted me to think you something you were not.”
“I think we were both guilty of hiding our true identities.”
Sadness flared, mixed with anger. “I did not hide.”
“No? Then why did I believe you were—”
More. She heard the word. Loathed it.
“You seemed to think me enough then.” She lifted her chin, her lips a hairsbreadth from his.
Desire was coming off him in waves. He might not want to want her—but he did. She could feel it.
He leaned in, and she held her breath, waiting for the feel of those unforgiving lips—wanting them with a desperation to which she would never admit.
The world faded away, and there was nothing but this moment, the two of them in a quiet darkness, his golden gaze on hers, his warmth consuming her. His mouth hovered above hers; she could feel his soft breath on her skin and she wanted to scream with the anticipation . . .
“You are a scandal waiting to happen.”
The words were a kiss of breath, their feel running counter to their message. And then he was gone, stepping back, away from her—leaving her alone and unsatisfied and utterly wanting.
“One I cannot afford,” he added.
“You want me.” She winced at the desperation in the accusation; wished, instantly, that she could take it back.
He was stone. “Of course I want you. I would have to be dead not to want you. You’re bright and beautiful, and you respond to me in a way that makes me want to throw you down and bend you to my will.” He stopped, meeting her wide eyes. “But actions have consequences, Miss Fiori. A fact you would do well to remember before running headlong into your childish games.”
She narrowed her gaze. “I am not a child.”
“No? You haven’t any idea what you’re doing. What if you were to teach me about your precious passion, Juliana? What then? What next?”
The question whipped through her. She had no answer.
“You’ve never in your life considered the future, have you? You’ve never imagined what came next, after whatever you are experiencing in the here and now.” He paused, then cut deeper. “If that does not speak to your childishness, nothing does.”
She hated him then. Hated the way he stripped her bare. The way he knew her failings before she knew them herself.
He continued. “I am removing myself from our wager. I should never have agreed to it in the first place. You are a danger to yourself. And to me. And I haven’t the luxury to teach you the lesson you so richly deserve.”
She knew she should acquiesce. Knew she should release him—release them both—from the stupid, damaging agreement that threatened their reputations, their feelings, their reason.
But he made her so irate, she could not let him win.
“You say removing, I say reneging.” The word was a taunt.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I should tell Ralston everything.”
She raised a brow. “And you think that will help your cause?” They faced off in the dimly lit hallway, and Juliana could feel the fury pouring out of him. Reveled in it—it was so rare to see his emotion. She could not resist poking the lion. “Take heart. I should not need so very long to bring you to your knees.”
His eyes grew instantly dark, and she knew that she had gone too far. She thought for a moment that he might shake her, recognized the barely controlled anger in his corded muscles.
“I have bested far worse threats to my reputation than you, Miss Fiori. Do not think for a moment that you will prevail. Temptation is no match for reputation.” He paused. “You want your ten days? Keep them. Do your best.”
“I intend to.”