They had not spoken while they danced. It had almost seemed a shame, given the work she’d put into her carefully accented Spanish—
But there was too much heat. Dancing with him was like plugging herself in to some kind of generator. She felt the roar of it. The hum. And the longer they danced, the more she burned. Brighter and brighter, until she was certain she must have blinded the whole of the party.
Teo had never looked away.
When the music had stopped, he’d drawn her into one of the side hallways, down past yet another raft of astonishing paintings she recalled from a decade ago, then around the corner. That was where he’d pinned her to a wall and gotten his hands on her.
In her.
And she had come apart once already when he pulled her behind him into a room she wasn’t sure she could find again if her life depended on it. That was how shaken she was. How deliriously, spectacularly torn apart.
It was there that he’d fallen back onto one of the sofas, then pulled her down onto his lap. And God help her, but for all her brave talk of exorcisms and getting on with her life, she still dreamed about it.
About the way his hands had cupped her cheeks, then pulled her mouth to his. About the glorious invasion, his tongue and hers, and never once the urge to balk. Never once that sense that she was kissing someone through a thick glass, incapable of feeling anything.
On the contrary, she’d felt too much.
It had all gone too fast. And taken forever, at the same time. He’d pushed her dress and her panties out of his way, handled his own trousers and the condom he’d produced from a pocket, and then had settled her on top of him.
And they’d stared at each other, caught in that electric intensity, as she’d taken the length of him inside her.
Inch by inch, slowly and carefully as if it was a seduction rather than a necessity for her, until they were flush against each other, his gaze was like the night, and she was stretched wide and deep to accommodate him.
She’d been too hot and too red, then, almost limp with the madness of it. That it was finally happening. That he was inside her. That she’d managed to handle him without him stopping, frowning and accusing her of being the virgin she was.
Amelia might even have taken a moment to congratulate herself for pulling it off.
But then he’d wrapped his hands around her hips, and taught her about rhythm. Pace. Depth and desire, and how very little she knew about...anything. Everything.
Teo had covered her mouth when she shattered. Then dipped his head to the crook of her neck when he followed.
She remembered all of that, in vivid detail. So vivid she was sure she could feel it still. As if it had just happened. Moments ago, according to her body, which shivered into awareness. She felt the flesh between her legs ready itself for him, molten and soft.
Amelia had been so focused on her pregnancy. More accurately, on the stomach flu she couldn’t seem to kick for all those weeks. Then the dawning realization she’d done her best to deny for as long as possible—coupled with a lot of desperate math.
And then, finally, the bitter truth she really hadn’t wanted to face.
She had somehow forgotten...this. Him.
Teo.
And the reality of the effect he had on her.
If she was honest, it was the same effect he’d had on her when she was a teenager. The difference was, back then, she hadn’t known what to call it. And more, he certainly hadn’t shared her awareness of it the way he clearly did now.
“Do you need a refresher course?” he asked, and it was a taunt. The expression on his beautiful face was sheer arrogance, then. And yet in no way detracted from his appeal.
Nothing could.
This was where a wise woman would back off. Say something pithy, perhaps. Cutting, certainly. What she certainly should not do was imagine that she could control this thing when she had already proven that she couldn’t.
One of Teo’s dark, smooth, outrageously haughty brows rose.
He doesn’t think you’re going to do this, she snapped at herself.
And it was bad enough that he was openly contemptuous of her mother. It was insulting that he considered himself so far above her that he could openly disparage her. Amelia thought she really might break into pieces, right here on his fancy ducal rug, if she backed down from this challenge.
She swung her leg wide, then slid herself onto his lap.
And it was a mistake. Obviously.
But it was so hot. He was so hard and muscled, lean everywhere, and he caught her around the back, hauling her close to him.
And it was just like September all over again. Their bodies came together like a key in a lock, and she was sure that she heard the dead bolt turn.
But whether it was opening or closing, she couldn’t have said.
And she couldn’t say she cared, either, because Teo was surrounding her then. He was so much bigger than her, and bigger than he should have been in his rich man’s clothes that usually disguised far less impressive forms. His arms were dense with lean muscle and rock hard to the touch, and she had to fight to keep herself from shivering in a way she knew would be much too revealing.
Then again, did it matter? Because there was that gaze of his, dark and demanding, and she was certain that he could see her as clearly as if he’d turned her inside out. Again. Right here with the moody January day kicking around outside.
Amelia reminded herself that she might not be descended from almost twenty generations of near royalty like he was, but what she did have was a direct connection to one of the most desirable women who had ever lived. At least, if the roster of her ex-lovers was to be believed.
She made herself smile and hoped it was sultry instead of scared. “Remember me now?”
Teo took his time, as if he was searching her face for...something. Whatever it was, she didn’t think he found it when that sensual mouth of his stayed grim.
“I do indeed.” His dark gaze sharpened. “Perhaps you can explain to me why it is you felt the need to crash a party to which you were not invited, conceal your identity and go so far as to have sex with me when you must have known that had you introduced yourself by your actual name, I would have refused you.”
Her throat felt dry, suddenly. And no matter how cool his voice was, or how unreadable his expression, she was tight against him. And he wasn’t inside her, which meant that she could feel the truth, big and thick and hard between them. She would never know how she kept herself from shuddering.
In desperate, overwhelming need. And something far greedier.
“You are the Duke of Marinceli,” she said, wishing she could make herself sound less...throaty. Less obvious. “Surely I can’t be the first woman to go to great lengths for the mere taste of you.”
He moved a hand, reaching out to run a thick hank of her hair through his fingers. He watched as he did it, so Amelia did, too. And that meant she was completely unprepared when he lifted his intense gaze to hers once more.
“You knew,” he said softly. Dangerously. “You could be in no doubt as to my feelings about your mother.”
“I know what you felt about my mother ten years ago,” Amelia said, her heart kicking and her stomach cramping as if she’d tried to run a mile, or something equally foolish. “I had no idea what you felt about me. If anything.”
“So you disguised yourself.”
“I wanted to see if there was a connection. A spark.”
He looked faintly horrified by the notion and she smiled, because these stuffy Europeans never seemed to understand that Americanness wasn’t only unthinking gaucheness and naïveté as they imagined. It could be wielded as a weapon, like anything else.
“You know what it’s like,” she said, smiling wider. “Every little girl dreams of fairy tales. I realize you’re a duke, not a prince, but who’s to
say there can’t be such a thing as Duke Charming?”
She would have said that she’d never seen an expression of offended dignity before, though that probably wasn’t completely accurate. But there was certainly no more perfect expression of it than Teo de Luz grappling with the fact that she had just called him... Duke Charming.
In all apparent sincerity.
“I had no idea you were so prissy about your title, Teo. And the deference you feel it ought to afford you.” She shrugged, letting her smile go bland. “Are you really sure you want to claim a child who will be half Duke Charming the Nineteenth and the other half...me?”
“Miss Ransom.” His voice was a sharp rebuke, and somehow, it didn’t seem to matter that he was calling her Miss Ransom while she was straddling his arousal. While they were pressed together, having a ridiculous conversation, and pretending that nothing was happening between their bodies. No fire. No deep, raging need. “I would like to suggest, in the strongest possible terms, that you never call me such a thing again.”
“What should I call you, then? My baby daddy?”
He actually winced. “Certainly not.”
She shouldn’t have laughed. “You really do make it too easy.”
He shifted slightly then, and suddenly she felt that spiraling heat sharpen. And a delicious lassitude swept over her, reminding her of how she’d come apart in his hands.
Again and again.
“I hate to disappoint you,” he growled. He actually growled. “Allow me to make it hard.”
And then he slid a hand around the nape of her neck, angled his face over hers and took her mouth with his.
It was a punishment. It was a prayer.
And even though she was certain that she’d relived exactly this a thousand times or more, night after night, Amelia wasn’t prepared. She had dimmed it, somehow. Imagined it differently. It was like pain, perhaps. She knew she’d experienced it, she remembered it, but she could never quite feel it again.
Because this made a mockery of fire.
This was a supernova.
He took her mouth with certainty. An impossible, consummate skill that made her head spin, and she liked it.
She more than liked it.
His other arm wrapped around her, his hand splayed wide as if he was trying to hold as much of her as he could. Her breasts were pressed against the wall of his chest, memory and reality clashing. Tangling. Circling around and around on top of each other until she could hardly distinguish one from the other.
Not that it mattered. Or she cared. He angled his head one way, then the other, tasting her and tempting her, making her surge against him to get more. Deeper. Yes.
And she was the one who had taken his bait. He had challenged her, and she’d let him. No one had made her come and sit here on his lap like this. She’d done it, imagining she had control, and now she was paying the price.
It was possible that the Duke of Marinceli wasn’t the only arrogant person in the room.
His taste was exquisite. Male and addictive. And she was terribly afraid that those faint noises she could hear in the distance, somewhere, were coming from her own throat. Greedy, needy little sounds.
He kissed her and he kissed her, and then when she could do nothing at all but lose herself in the delirious slide of his tongue against hers, he moved. It took her a baffled, tumbling sort of moment to realize that he was standing up, carrying her with him. So that he supported her bottom on one hand, and her legs found their way to wrap around his waist.
He kept her there another moment, his mouth on hers in distinct possession.
And then he tore his mouth away from hers and set her on the ground before him.
She was afraid he knew exactly how wobbly her legs were beneath her. Her mouth felt swollen. She wasn’t entirely sure that there weren’t tears in her eyes.
“It is good to know where we stand, is it not?” His voice was silk and slap at once. “What astounds me about you, Miss Ransom, is that I do not think you are quite in control of yourself. Are you?”
“A kiss is just a kiss,” she managed to say. “There’s a whole song about it.”
“Let me tell you what a kiss is today,” he said, his voice controlled and even, and Amelia felt a daunting sense of horror as she realized that he was certainly not swept away. Or wobbling on his feet. On the contrary, his gaze was sharp and clear, as if he had only been toying with her all along. Her stomach knotted up. “A test, which you have failed.”
“Are you sure that I’m the one who failed?” she asked, eyeing the front of his trousers with more bravado than boldness.
But Teo only looked savagely amused.
He moved away, over to his desk, where he swept up his mobile, scrolled for a moment, then typed something out. It took him another moment, then he tossed his mobile back down to the surface of his desk with a clatter.
“You’re staring at me,” he said, calmly. “And I know it is indelicate to say so, but you seem a bit...spun.”
“I’m sure it’s the jet lag.”
“Here’s what will happen.” He was all ice and restraint and Amelia wanted to launch herself at him. Slap his face. Claw at his eyes. Behavior she would never condone in a million years, and yet... Yet. “I’ve texted my business manager. I told him another paternity test needs to be administered. I’m sure you will not be surprised to learn that there is protocol in place.”
She felt thin and pale straight through, but she smiled. “How lovely to be so prepared for any eventuality.”
“My manager will come with at least two members of my legal team, and they will see to the testing. I expect you to allow this test to be taken, but if you do not, never fear. That’s why my legal team is involved. They will make certain that paternity is established, positively or negatively.”
He didn’t say how they would make certain, especially if she refused. But she didn’t ask for clarification. She thought he wanted her to.
“If I’m not the father of the child you say you carry, or if, as often happens, you are somehow mistaken about your pregnancy in the first place, they will present you with a nondisclosure agreement to sign,” Teo said. “Generally speaking, we encourage claimants to sign this agreement. We occasionally even sweeten the pot. My privacy is more important to me than money, which means I’m happy to spend it to make sure false claims against me are never discussed in public.”
“Do you have protocol in place for when it turns out you are the father?” Amelia asked, impressed with the evenness of her tone when she felt like a giant, deafening scream inside. “Or do you just...wing it?”
His black eyes blazed. “I have every intention of following a very specific protocol if it turns out that you are, in fact, the mother of my child thanks to an act of egregious subterfuge. Believe me.”
“I can’t say I care what your protocol is, really. What matters is mine.”
“You go right ahead and tell yourself that,” Teo replied in that same dangerously silken tone. “I think you will find that the de Luz bloodline never, ever releases one of its own. Deny it all you wish. It will not change a thing. I have no intention of allowing any heir of mine to be raised apart from me.”
“I don’t want your influence. I don’t want your money. I want nothing at all from you.”
“Then, Miss Ransom—” and there was something in that gaze of his that made her quake, a kind of savagery that made her feel swollen with need “—you had better hope that this test comes back negative.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“YOUR EXCELLENCY.” THE deferential voice came from the door.
Teo did not turn, though he inclined his head, knowing that his business manager would read the gesture for what it was: tacit permission to speak.
“The test is positive,” the other man said.
For one beat of his heart, then the
next, Teo was sure that he’d misheard. Because he must have misheard. “Positive?”
“Yes, sir. The child is yours.”
Teo was still in his study, staring out at the winter version of the gardens that, come spring, the public clamored to fawn over on the few holidays he opened the grounds to visitors. But he hardly saw the landscape before him today. And not only because he knew it better than his own features.
His face changed with time, after all. The grounds of the estate did not. Teo employed a battalion of gardeners and groundskeepers to make sure of it.
He cleared his throat.
“Thank you,” he managed to say. “You may leave me now.”
He waited until he heard the quiet sound of the door on the latch, and only then did he allow himself to breathe. Or whatever facsimile of breathing he was attempting to perform through the racket inside him.
Because he, Teo de Luz, who had watched his father wreak havoc with his reputation thanks to the terrible women he’d allowed near him—he, who had vowed that he would never, ever bring so much as the faintest stain to the august dukedom that was his to usher into the future, as bright and shining as possible—
He had fathered a child. Out of wedlock.
With Marie French’s daughter.
Teo felt nearly light-headed with the potent combination of fury, despair and shame.
His life had always been plotted down to its smallest details. He had done the plotting himself. When he had come of age and understood both his place in the world and the importance of his bloodline, the debt he owed not only to his ancestors but to the long line of the descendants who must follow him, he had sat down and determined exactly what it was that he needed to do to accomplish those things. And how best to make certain that he did so with dignity.
He would become the Duke after his father. That was ensured.
But he had eighteen examples of the kind of Duke of Marinceli he could choose to become, with portraits to match that hung even now in his gallery. Teo had taken the various lessons of his ancestors’ lives very seriously indeed.
Secrets 0f His Forbidden Cinderella (One Night With Consequences) Page 5
