One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(68)

Dark stubble covered his jaw and throat. She extended an open hand, flexing her fingers backward as she lowered her palm toward his face, until the sharp bristles just pricked her sensitive skin.

When he’d turned over, he’d flopped one arm across his belly. The tight ripple of his biceps, the thick cords of sinew on his forearm … so many lines drew her gaze downward. With a feather-light touch, she traced a prominent vein on his wrist. He stirred, mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, then lay still again.

A narrow escape, but she couldn’t resist tempting fate once more. His body was so intriguing, so different, so male. Shameless, she drew a single fingertip downward, tracing his hard length through the sheets.

“Wha—”

His hand latched over her wrist. He bolted upright with a start, flipping her back and pinning her to the mattress. Confusion and alarm warred in his eyes as he blinked down at her.

“It’s me,” she gasped, breathless and dizzy from the sudden inversion. “Only me. Amelia.”

Oh, please, she prayed. Please let him still want me.

Recognition softened his face. “Amelia.”

The way he breathed her name, with such an intoxicating blend of reverence and lust, she wondered why she would ever wish him to call her anything else. No endearment could be uttered with greater tenderness, or to more potent effect. His voice reached places deep inside her, plucked a string connecting her heart to her womb.

“Yes,” she whispered, sweeping back the hair that had fallen over his eyes. “Your wife.”

They stared into one another’s eyes, both breathing hard. Her ni**les drew tight beneath her shift, and anticipation coursed through her veins. Releasing his grip on her wrist, he rolled his weight between her legs, spreading her thighs wide. In gentle hands, he cradled her face as his hips pressed home against hers. Pleasure streaked through her, even as she winced.

“Hell,” he muttered, pulling back. “You’re tender. It’s too soon.”

She was wondering how best to convince him otherwise—words or deeds?—when a low rumbling sound demanded her attention. At first she thought it her stomach, or his. They’d both gone to bed hungry in more ways than one. But it grew progressively louder, until it became clear that the noise originated from without their chamber. From without the house, perhaps.

He noted her distraction. “A carriage in the drive,” he explained. “Most likely a delivery I’m expecting.”

“Something to do with the horses, I suppose?”

In reply, he merely tweaked her ear and rolled to a sitting position. Well, she guessed she was lucky to have held his attention this long.

“Do you really have to go meet it?” she asked, running a fingertip down his bare back.

“No. I don’t really have to. But I think I should.”

Before she could protest, he rose from the bed. Nude, he walked across the room and disappeared into his dressing area. Well. Now she was completely at a loss for words.

“Amelia?” he called from the other room.

She nodded stupidly, then realized he couldn’t hear her. “Yes, what?”

“Leave. Go into your suite and shut the door.”

Dismayed, she sat up in bed.

His head and shoulders poked through the doorframe. “Go. Or I’ll come ravage you like a barbarian again, and I’d rather hoped to accomplish the act with a bit more finesse the next time.”

He disappeared again, leaving her wearing a broad grin. She didn’t find the prospect of being ravaged nearly so unpleasant as he seemed to think—but on the promise of finesse, she could be persuaded to take a long, hot bath.

She rose from bed and crossed to the doorway he’d just exited through. Remaining on the bedchamber side, she leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb and said coyly, “I’ll go … under one condition.”

“Oh, and what’s that?” His voice deepened, as if muffled by fabric. Perhaps he was pulling on his shirt.

“I want riding lessons.”

He was silent for a long moment. The words had surprised even her. She hated horses. Or feared them, more accurately. But after last night, she just couldn’t abide the thought of being locked out of this part of his life forever. She wanted to understand him, which seemed to mean she would need to understand horses, too.

Suddenly his head and shoulders poked through the doorway again. He had indeed donned a fresh shirt, but his hair was wilder than ever and he still smelled of … of them. He was close enough to kiss, but Amelia just barely restrained herself. The expression on his face was far too amusing to disturb.

“Did you say riding lessons?” he said darkly, cocking an eyebrow. His gaze slid down her body.

Amelia blushed as she gathered the other, more carnal interpretation of her words. “On a horse!” she protested, even as her ni**les peaked.

He clutched the doorjamb so hard she thought his fingers might leave dents. “Woman, your chances for finesse are dwindling by the second. Go away. Now.”

And so she went with a smile. And a sway in her step, because she knew he was watching her leave.

She went into her suite, shut the door, rang for the maid, and ordered her bath. Then she flopped contentedly on the bed, easing under the blankets to wait for the water to be drawn and heated. Her brain hummed with nervous energy. She found herself wishing she could steal back into Spencer’s chambers and borrow one of his books to distract her mind. Or maybe just to feel close to him.