The Temporary Duchess: A Jet City Billionaire Serial Romance

by Gina Robinson

  He fumbled over the first few. I bit my lip to keep from laughing at his attempts and the sweet thought that he really was nervous.

  After a few attempts, he got the hang of pulling the silk loops over the slick silk buttons. His fingers glided down my back until my dress fell open in the back and I felt the coolness of the room.

  I stepped out of the dress and draped it over a nearby chair. It was too beautiful and expensive to leave on the floor. I had to keep going before I lost my nerve. I turned to face him and reached for the buttons of his shirt.

  "Cuffs first." He held his arm out to me.

  I unbuttoned one, then the other, feeling his pulse, strong and rapid, as I ran my hand over his inner wrists. I liked to imagine his pulse raced for me, not just at the thought of sex. I unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off over his shoulders, running my hands over the firm planes, and letting his shirt fall at his feet.

  His chest was firm and well defined. Beautiful to look at and stroke. I wanted to turn things around. Show him he shouldn't be afraid of me, or of hurting me. That I wasn't made of glass. Prove to him he hadn't been wrong to pick the less experienced woman or to worry about my virginity.

  The corset shoved my breasts up to the point that my nipples very nearly popped out. I was trying not to breathe hard and emphasize them. But I was excited as I leaned forward and took his nipple in my mouth, running my tongue around it, and sucking as he cupped his hand around the back of my head and laced his fingers through my hair.

  I felt him kiss the top of my head. He whispered something to himself.

  Without warning, he released my head and pulled me away from him. His eyes were very dark now, his pupils large with arousal. My heart pounded rapidly despite my best efforts to slow it.

  "Fair's fair." He spun me around so that my back was toward him.

  He kissed my neck as he untied the strings that held me in and unlaced my corset until it was loose enough for me to step out of. He tossed it away then slowly turned me around to face him.

  I stood before him in my white lace thong panties decorated with a tiny blue ribbon, my thigh-high white nylons, and nothing else. My breasts budded even tighter beneath his gaze. The way he stared at me, and them, took my breath away. When he bent and sucked them, I went weak at the knees.

  I reached for the hook at his pants. Released it. Slid his zipper down, and then his pants. He stepped out of them, still sucking on my breasts and using his tongue like an expert. I kissed the top of his head and helped him out of his boxers. He was erect and hard, totally delicious.

  He finally released my breast and kissed me, hard and insistently, his tongue dancing with mine. I pulled away and kissed his neck. His shoulder. I slid kisses down his chest, nibbling and gently biting. I sucked his nipples, hard. Bit them just to the edge of pain. Then fell to my knees, intent on taking him in my mouth.

  He caught me and pulled me to my feet before I could take him, swept me into his arms and carried me to the bed, laying me on my back and perching over me, staring at me with the most intense look. In stark contrast to my roughness, he bent and kissed me gently, very sweetly. Romantically.

  He kissed my neck. I sighed softly and guided his kisses toward my breasts again. They ached for him. I ached for him.

  He kissed me between my breasts. Then slid lower. Almost before I realized what he was doing, he slid my panties off, pressed my legs apart, and buried his face between my legs, sucking and kissing my sweet spot until I threatened to come.

  "No," I whispered, begging him to stop, not wanting the release until he was inside.

  Suddenly, he pulled away and perched over me again. "You're so fucking beautiful."

  Ah, the art of distraction. As my heart sang beneath his appreciation and sense of wonder, he slid into me with a single, hard thrust.

  I gasped, surprised by the sudden pain. I was so ready for him, and yet…

  I whimpered.

  "You're so tight. So wonderfully tight." The sense of awe in his voice made my heart sing as the cleft between my legs reacted to the intrusion and fullness of him.

  I whimpered again.

  He kissed me, silencing me as he thrust deeper into me. "Wrap your legs around me," he whispered in a husky voice I barely recognized.

  If that was what he wanted, who was I to argue? I wrapped my legs around the taut muscles of his back, digging my heels in and rising up to meet him. Looking him in the eye.

  Overhead, stars sparkled through our candlelight reflection in the big, round window above the bed. It was almost mirrorlike in quality. We looked ethereal. Ghostly. See-through. Otherworldly. Particularly me in my white hosiery with my silvery hair fanned out on the pillow. We looked as if we were erotic lovers placed in the sky next to the W of Cassiopeia, the vain queen who boasted of her beauty. I wasn't vain, but as I watched the reflected muscles in Riggins' back tense, my legs wrapped around him, locking him tight as he took me, I thought we were beautiful. The act was beautiful.

  "Like what you see, duchess?" Riggins whispered.

  I blushed. Caught. I looked him in the eye to explain.

  He thrust again, cutting off any response I could make. And again. Deeper and deeper as I held his gaze. He was daring me, looking for something, but I had no idea what.

  The pain melted into pleasure. I gasped and closed my eyes as the fever pitch built. I clasped him tightly as the waves built. Finally, I let myself go and surrendered to the pleasure. As I cried out in completion, he covered my mouth with his, kissing me deeply. He grunted and gave a final deep thrust, still kissing me. I felt a oneness with him that was almost frightening as the waves of pleasure kept crashing.

  When he finally released my mouth, he brushed my hair out of my face tenderly. "I hope I didn't hurt you."

  "You nearly killed me." I was completely breathless.

  His eyes went large.

  "With pleasure. That was…exquisite." I smiled, so full of joy it was scary. "Can you say that about sex?"

  "You just did." He looked incredibly pleased. He was still inside me. And still very large. Like, huge.

  I swore I felt every inch of him. And that he'd just opened me to everything carnal and wonderful. Later, I imagined I'd appreciate him being so well hung. But at this particular moment…

  I smiled, trying not to laugh and not to cry. I was weak with emotion. "I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but would you mind pulling out?"

  He smiled back. "A little too much man for you, am I?"

  "Oh, shut up." I shoved him playfully. "I'm a virgin. You can only expect so much at once."

  "Were. You were a virgin. I just made a real woman out of you. And Thorne is very relieved."

  He was so clearly teasing, I couldn't help laughing. "Out. Please?"

  "Polite to the end. I'm going to have to teach you how to talk dirty." He pulled out and collapsed beside me, staring at me. "Cold?" He grinned again and pulled the covers up.

  As he did, he sent a bunch of rose petals flying. One landed on my nose, another on my cheek, a third on my lips. I blew it away and sneezed.

  "Damn, when people say life's no bed of roses, they have no idea what they're saying." He laughed and brushed the petals away.

  He pulled me close. "At least we fit well together."

  "When you first entered me, I had my doubts," I said. "It felt like you were tearing me in two."

  "That bad?" He winced. "I thought I was being gentle."

  I laughed at his shocked expression. "As awful as it sounds, it was wonderful at the same time." I sighed happily. "Even though you're out, I can still feel you. It's like my body's still reacting to you."

  It was true. I was pleasantly achy. The muscles of my vagina were still contracting.

  We lay side by side on the bed and looked up at ourselves and the stars above us.

  "That's a very naughty window you have, duke." I raised an eyebrow.

  "Is it? I like to consider it nautical. What do you have against stargazing?" H
is eyes danced.

  "Mirrors by the bed. A highly reflective window above it. Do you always watch yourself perform?" I asked.

  "I didn't see a thing. The stars are for your pleasure, the pleasure of the person on the bottom."

  I blushed again.

  As he studied me and the stars overhead, I felt him go hard again against my leg. And the sheets were getting a rise out of something.

  I pointed overhead to the reflection of the tented sheet in the window above. "Is that the Milky Way?"

  "Stop teasing, duchess." He stroked my thigh and looked at me for permission.

  "Again?"

  "Once a night is never enough…"

  I smiled and tugged him playfully on top of me.

  You only get one wedding night. And one deflowering in your life, period. I might as well enjoy the pain. It was, as I'd said, exquisite.

  "Hard and fast, Riggins," I whispered.

  Chapter 5

  Haley

  "How are we going to get to Witham House from the airport?" I'd asked Riggins on the flight over. He'd been so mysterious about everything honeymoon.

  "Buy a car when we arrive? Maybe a Bentley, like Lazer's?" I'd joked, as I had been about most things billionaire. Having money to throw away made me feel guilty when others had so little. I was still fresh from the struggle of trying to keep Sid and me afloat amid her medical bills and college costs. I continued having a hard time with the concept of being filthy rich. And the filthy part was winning and weighing on my conscience. "Only with the steering wheel on the other side, because this is England, after all. If Lazer can buy a car for the weekend—"

  "Damn Lazer. I'm not playing keep-up with Lazer." He grinned, clearly not angry. "And why should we buy a Bentley when we have a fleet of luxury vehicles the Dead Duke left us? His driver will meet us at the airport and drive us to Witham House."

  "A fleet?" I laughed and put on a fake pout. "But those are all used cars. I want a new one!"

  "Oh, my little pampered duchess. Feeling entitled already?" He kissed me, silencing my protest that I was only joking. He knew that.

  Riggins' friendship with Lazer was puzzling. I'd given up trying to figure it out. But clearly, it was a hot point.

  I couldn't help teasing Riggins. And flirting with him at every opportunity. There was an easy intimacy between us now, the familiarity of lovers. Whenever we looked at each other, we grinned. Just like real in-love newlyweds. I knew why I was grinning like that. But Riggins?

  I didn't want to get my hopes up. He still hadn't professed his love to me, not even after lovemaking. Which was customary, right? Even if you didn't mean it. Still, I appreciated his honesty. If he ever did say he loved me, I'd have to assume he meant it.

  At least we had lust to keep us together. I'd never really been worried that we didn't have chemistry. It was there in the air between us from the beginning, whether he wanted to deny it or not. But I was still pleasantly surprised by the depth and intensity of the passion that drew us together. And the longing that made us want to couple as often as possible. And the reaction of our bodies to each other.

  I might have chalked up my reaction to him as my inexperience and naivety, but there was no denying he wanted me, too. As much, or more, as I wanted him. He just didn't have the accompanying soreness to slow him down.

  We'd been married just over twenty-four hours and had already made love so often I was in danger of losing count, and each time was something special. Wasn't the world wonderful when everything was a first?

  The morning after, on our first full day of marriage, Riggins woke me to the sun rising over the Pacific Ocean. No small feat, since the Pacific was to the west of land. But he'd had the captain speed through the Strait of Juan de Fuca overnight and cruise far enough out into the ocean that the curvature of the earth made land invisible so the sun would rise over the water.

  He'd opened the blinds so we could watch the sun rise from bed. And made sure none of the crew came up on our deck. Yes, I was modest. I didn't want anyone walking in on us, or past us on the deck, which in my book was the same as, while we made love.

  Simple pleasures, though. It didn't take much to thrill and titillate me. I didn't need handcuffs or chains. The open curtains were dangerous enough to make sex even more exciting. Though with Riggins, sex was inherently exhilarating.

  As if making love to an ocean sunrise wasn't unique enough, he'd also initiated me into the mile-high club on the chartered plane to England. The bedroom suite hadn't been as sumptuous as his master suite on the yacht, but the thrill had been the same. We even made love with the plane window shade up. Though that, obviously, didn't have the same thrill as open curtains on a yacht.

  Now I was looking forward to making love in a private castle.

  The driver met us as promised. It was all very discreet. We were trying to avoid the press, after all. I wasn't probably the most popular person, being the American winner. To the British way of thinking, there were too few coveted duchess positions that came on the market for one of them to go to an American commoner. It wasn't even like I could strongly disagree with their point of view. We also had our new station to think about.

  The driver greeted us with the reverence reserved for our status, loaded our bags into the car, and we were off to the several thousand acres we owned in the countryside outside of London somewhere. Geography wasn't my best subject.

  I had never been to England, Great Britain, the United Kingdom, whatever it was that I should have been calling it. As an American, all the names confused me. Though I knew enough that England was one country, Scotland another in the kingdom, etc. Crazy to be a duchess in a land you've never been to and whose customs, and even geography, were foreign to you.

  Riggins had been several times. On the flight over we'd looked at the portfolio of pictures Mr. Thorne had given us of the castle, and read about the history. I was already intimidated, to say the least. I just couldn't believe a single family could own such magnificence.

  Just like Wareswood, the entrance to the estate was gated. You didn't want any old riffraff to get in. Not easily, anyway. And certainly no poachers. Though poaching was no longer the capital offense it had been in the Middle Ages, Mr. Thorne said we still had a gamekeeper who was on the lookout for that kind of thing. The game on the estate must be carefully managed if we were to have a healthy ecosystem. Poaching threw it off balance.

  The driver buzzed in through the gate at the entrance of the estate by texting someone at the house. The drive through the woods and park was longer than I'd imagined.

  I turned to Riggins. "How many thousand acres do you own?"

  "Three." He smiled.

  "What does that translate to in miles?" I couldn't help grinning.

  "I have no idea."

  "Are we almost there?" I bumped him playfully. "I can't believe you own all the eye can see, Your Grace." I carefully avoided saying "we" owned it. Because I didn't.

  We rounded a gentle corner. The castle came into view on the hill before us. It was a castle in every sense, complete with fortified stone walls, a castle keep, the remains of a moat, and turreted towers.

  The history Mr. Thorne had given us said there was even a dungeon. As well as a chapel. A ghost tower, aptly, and with a flair for the obvious, named the Ghost Tower, which you could be pretty sure I wasn't venturing into. Well, of course after seven hundred years and all of its history, the castle would be haunted. As long as the haunting was confined to one tower…

  Maybe we could get Lazer to come with his ghost-hunting equipment and evict it.

  And there were all manner of gardens, including a Victorian garden and a separate poison garden, which intrigued me. Not that I had any intention of poisoning anyone, but it sounded mysterious and very gothic.

  The day was sunny, thank goodness. In the gray of a typical rainy English day, the thing would have been absolutely foreboding and terrifying. I could imagine someone like poor Jane Eyre coming to a place like this to
work.

  "Wow!" I said without thinking. Yes, I'd seen pictures, but nothing had really prepared me for the reality.

  Riggins was staring at it, too, with a fully businesslike expression. Like, How the hell am I going to run this monstrosity? It's a bloody corporation that needs a fulltime CEO, chief cook, and bottle washer.

  Notice how I even threw a little British into his thoughts. He was learning, and so was I.

  Riggins didn't seem particularly pleased by the awesome sight. Which wasn't good for my case to remain the duchess. As long as he fought being the duke—okay, he'd always be the duke until he died, but as long as he fought keeping the estate—I was fighting a losing battle to remain his wife.

  After a marriage that could still be counted in hours, I knew that I didn't want anyone else but Riggins for the rest of my life. At the tender age of my early twenties, I didn't want to end up sad and alone, divorced and longing for a man I could never have again. There was way too much of my life ahead of me for that.

  He had to fall in love with the place. He had to. And then maybe there would be time for him to fall in love with me. Or at least make an heir and multiple spares. And maybe by then be settled into pleasant domesticity together.

  Oh, crap. Since when I had aligned myself with the Dead Duke? Sigh.

  The medieval castle had been in Riggins' family for over seven hundred years, even when his ancestors had only been earls. With was unfathomable to an American like me. Our whole country wasn't that old. Not even if you went all the way back to Jamestown.

  I leaned over and whispered into Riggins' ear, "How can anyone call that a house?"

  "It was called Witham Castle until the French Revolution, when the British aristocrats got nervous that French sentiments against the aristocracy might infect British citizens and lead to an off-with-their-heads movement. The Earl of Witham at the time insisted on renaming the castle Witham House so that it sounded more modest."