by Maya Rodale, Caroline Linden, Miranda Neville, Katharine Ashe
The other carts circulated along the tables, offering each diner a choice of cake slices. “Which would you like, sir?” the waiter asked Archer.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said without taking his eyes off Natalie. “They’re all fantastic.”
He caught up to her after dinner, as the guests began to filter out. Music started up somewhere for dancing, so he swept her into his arms and spun her around.
“That went better than I thought it would,” she said, beaming.
“People were fainting away in ecstasy as they ate.” He kissed her. “Do you want to dance or shall we go?”
She smiled and went up on her toes, pressing against him. “Let’s go,” she whispered.
Archer grabbed her hand and headed for the door, stopping only to snag a bottle of champagne at the bar. Duke Austen, walking by with Jane plastered to his side, saw them. His eyes flicked toward Natalie, then back to Archer, and he smirked. Archer just raised the bottle in salute and kept going, through the garden, up the hill, toward the stone house with the quaint name, the best Wi-Fi of all time, and plenty of privacy to make love to Natalie all night long.
“Thank you,” she said as they walked.
“It was all you. And a success like that deserves a toast.” Archer popped the cork and offered her the foaming bottle.
Natalie laughed as she tilted it to her mouth. “True, but I meant for your idea earlier. About the bakery.”
“That was all your idea too.” He took a drink himself. “But one I selfishly applaud. I’ll be first in line when you open.”
She kicked off her shoes and scooped them up. “You know, it never occurred to me until you said that. My brother wants to open other restaurants, and I was so focused on preventing that, I never tried to find a compromise that would suit us both. I texted him today and I think he likes the idea too.”
“The art of a good deal. Everyone gets something they want.” He offered her the bottle again.
“I should probably find a lawyer, huh?”
Archer made a face. “Lawyers suck. You hate them.”
“Really?” She tugged him to a stop. “I’m revising that opinion.”
He caught her against him. “Don’t do that. Just… Make an exception.”
Her arms went around his neck. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You’re definitely the exception.”
“Natalie.” He inhaled deeply as she kissed his throat. “We need to walk faster.”
“Why?” She nipped his skin and he shuddered. He was already so hard, he wasn’t sure he could walk faster, but…
“Because otherwise I’m going to throw you to the ground right here and now. So unless you want grass stains on your skirt…”
With a peal of laughter she broke away. She took another gulp from the champagne and danced backward out of his reach. The path to Primrose Cottage had never seemed longer as they strode through the damp grass, passing the bottle back and forth. They reached the familiar patio, lit by the glow of the kitchen lights.
Natalie turned to walk backward again, her gaze riveted on him as she unbuttoned her white shirt. His eyes burned as she ripped it off, exposing her lacy pink bra. He barely managed to leave the empty champagne bottle on the table where he’d spent so many hours working before he grabbed her around the waist, lifting her up the steps to the door. With some laughing and a few whispered curses, she fumbled the key out of her skirt pocket and he let them in, almost stepping on Oliver as they crashed into the kitchen and up against the pantry door.
“We seem to have a thing for this door,” she gasped as his hands covered her breasts.
“It’s the best damn door in the world,” he growled.
She tugged on his tie. “Prove it.”
Shaking with lust, he ran a hand up her leg. Her skin was bare, all the way up. She wasn’t wearing underwear. “Shit,” he said hoarsely. “Thank God I didn’t know that earlier…” She started to laugh, but he ran one fingertip between her legs, probing into the soft, wet folds, then sliding inside her. That made the laugh clog in her throat until she stopped breathing entirely.
He groped in his pocket while she made short work of his belt and zipper. She took the condom from him and he let her; his entire being was focused on the gentle but firm touch of her hands on his cock as she rolled it on. Her skirt was already around her waist and he almost came on the spot as he pushed hard inside her.
Oh God. There—this—that was what she’d been craving. Natalie bit down on her lip to keep from moaning out loud, then remembered there was no one within a mile to hear her. “Again,” she panted, clinging to his shoulders. Archer laughed even as he cupped his hands beneath her butt so she could hook her legs around his hips. Then he began to move.
She pushed and writhed, seeking the perfect friction between them. His mouth moved ravenously over her, teasing the skin beneath her ear, sucking at the curve of her throat. The champagne and the thrill of the wedding guests’ reaction to her cakes had already sent her flying high; now she thought she would literally burst. The door behind her back rattled every time Archer surged into her, sharp and hard and fast enough to make her toes curl and her breath degenerate into ragged gasps as her orgasm built like a tidal wave inside her. Oh God—she wasn’t ready—or maybe she was—
“Yes,” she cried as he drew it from her, long and sinuous and crackling with electricity. “Oh my God, yes.” She was out of her head, punch-drunk on the high of good sex. He changed his angle, driving hard and deep, and wrung another aftershock of climax from her as his own hit. He leaned his full weight into her and exhaled a long, low groan, and she tightened her grip on him. Partly because she didn’t want to fall, but mostly because she didn’t want to let him go.
Ever.
Archer moved against her. “How do you feel about the door now?” he murmured against her throat.
“I love it. I have to get one for my apartment at home.”
His shoulders shook in a silent laugh. He raised his head and kissed her, softly and sweetly. “I want to stay the night.”
She nodded. There was nothing else to say.
He let her down onto her feet and eased away. Gratefully, Natalie leaned on the counter as he put himself back together. Her legs were shaking and her heart was hammering. She hadn’t even known it could be that good. “Oh,” she said dazedly, catching sight of the pan she’d left on top of the AGA. “I forgot. I made you something.”
Archer peeled off his jacket. “Did you?”
She raised a corner of the tinfoil covering the pan. “You said you wanted to see if I could make it as well as your mom…”
He went still in the midst of pulling loose his tie. “Is that—?” His voice was hushed and incredulous.
She nodded, reaching for a spoon. “Chocolate pudding cake.” She scooped out a bite and held it up.
“Good Lord in heaven.” His eyes rolled upward as he ate. “You made this for me?”
“Who else?” Natalie grinned. “I had just enough time between when you left and when I had to go to Brampton House…”
Archer spooned up a second bite and fed it to her. “Now do you see?” he murmured.
Her eyes widened as the light chocolate cake turned silky on her tongue. “Mmm.”
“Exactly,” he breathed, a moment before he kissed her. His fingers stole up her back and snapped the clasp on her bra. She pulled it off as he shed his shirt and finally they were skin to skin. “Natalie,” he whispered, nibbling her ear. “I think I’m in love.”
She blushed. “Because of the cake?”
His mouth quirked. “The cake only made me say it out loud. But you should know this isn’t just a hookup for me.”
She touched his chin. There was a tiny cleft there she had never noticed before. “Not for me, either.”
“If you want rid of me, you’d better say so now.”
For a few heartbeats her thoughts raced. “And if I don’t?” she asked slowly.
“I’m going to take you upst
airs and shag you six ways to Sunday,” he said in a surprisingly good—and terribly sexy—British accent.
“Well,” she said softly, winding her arms around his neck. “I like your terms. We have a deal, Mr. Quinn.”
Natalie awoke to find herself alone in bed, although Archer’s presence was all around. His shirt still hung from the top of the door, and his tie was on the bedside table. When she rolled over, she could smell him on the pillow next to hers. For a moment she just wallowed in it, feeling blissed out and mellow. He had indeed shagged her six ways to Sunday: on the bed, in the shower, and once from behind, when she woke up spooned against him while his marvelous hands wandered purposefully over her until she was begging for more. At the memory, she smiled a sleepy, satisfied smile and wondered where he was. His clothes were still here, so he must be as well.
A distant rattle made her eyes fly open, and a muffled curse made her sit up. That came from the kitchen. What on earth…? She got out of bed and pulled on her robe, tying it around her waist.
Sure enough, Archer was in the kitchen. The table was set for two, and he was standing in front of the open refrigerator. A large number of pans were on the AGA and in the sink, and she realized he’d been making breakfast.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice scratchy—probably from screaming her head off in ecstasy all night.
He whipped around. Clad only in his suit pants with a dishtowel draped over his shoulder, his hair rumpled and a scruff of whiskers darkening his jaw, he was the sexiest sight she’d ever seen. Something inside her lurched as he smiled his lazy, sly grin. “Good morning.”
“You look busy.” She motioned to the dishes, the table, the stove.
He looked around at the mess. “I hope I get points for effort. My actual cooking… Probably not.” He grimaced at the sink, and she leaned over to see two ruined eggs and a handful of blackened toasts.
Helplessly she laughed. “Major points for effort.”
“Good. At least I didn’t ruin the strawberries.” He came around the table and kissed her, first lightly, then wrapping his arms around her and deepening the kiss. “Good morning.”
“It is, isn’t it?” She could have purred like Oliver as his hands went down her back.
“Today is the wedding,” he murmured. “I have to go.” She made a soft noise of agreement as his hands found the hem of her short silky robe and eased it upward. “Come with me,” he said then.
Her eyes popped open in surprise. “I don’t know anyone in that wedding!”
“You know me.” He tipped up her chin and kissed her again, the long, hypnotic kiss that messed with her brain. “Jane and Duke would be happy to have you, and Arwen would probably rearrange every table to get you in, after the way you saved her rehearsal dinner.”
“So,” she said breathlessly, trying to regain her ability to think. “So. You want me to come with you, like a date?” It felt weird to ask that; usually she went on several official dates with a guy before she slept with him. Not that anything had gone “as usual” with Archer, and so far it was turning out far better than usual.
“No,” he said slowly. “I think I’d rather you come with me like a girlfriend.”
She jumped. “We’ve barely known each other a week! We haven’t gone out on a regular date…”
He grinned, dipping his head to the side in that endearing way he had. “The wedding will be the first. And tonight will be the second. Then there will be a lot more once we get home.”
“And we’ve already had sex,” she went on nonsensically.
“Which will also happen again.” His eyes darkened as he tugged at the sash of her robe. She couldn’t even blush as he pushed it open and ran his hands over her bare skin, making her melt inside. “Right here on the kitchen counter, just as soon as you agree to come to the wedding with me.”
“That’s unhygienic,” she whispered as he backed her up against the counter.
“Hot,” he retorted. He scooped up a bit of whipped cream from a nearby bowl and swirled it around her exposed nipple.
Natalie moaned helplessly as the cold cream hit her skin. “Archer…”
“Say yes.” He bent his head and licked at the cream. “Just to the wedding date for now.”
She couldn’t move. She was barely keeping her balance. As if he knew, he ran his fingers through the whipped cream and then dragged them down her body, from the notch of her collarbone, down between her breasts, over her belly, right between her legs. “But—but— You asked me to be your girlfriend. You even said the L word.”
“I did.” With shocking ease, he boosted her to sit on the counter. He tugged the robe off her shoulders and then pushed her knees wide, his face dark and taut with hunger as he looked her over. Natalie stared back in fascination. He yanked over a chair and knelt on it to start licking away the trail of cream he’d painted on her. And as his mouth leisurely moved lower, Natalie gave herself over to his persuasion.
“So, are you thinking about it?” He glanced up as he eased her back.
“What?” Her wits were scattered by the heat of his mouth on her flesh and by the anticipation of what was coming. No one had gone down on her in years and she was taken off guard by how badly she wanted it now—from him.
“The date part.” He ran his fingertips lightly up her inner thigh, and she flinched so hard she almost fell over. “And the girlfriend part.”
“Exclusive girlfriend?” she asked, not shocked by how ragged and husky her voice was. It was a miracle she could form words at all.
“The one and only.”
“I… I’m thinking…” she said faintly.
His eyes glittered. “Good.” His hands spread wide on her thighs and he lowered his head.
She had a hazy thought that if this was some sort of boyfriend audition, he was acing it. His lips were soft, his tongue firm. He held her in place as she rocked and twisted, blown away by the sharp pleasure of his mouth. He seemed to know exactly what to do, backing off just when it grew too intense, alternately gentling or dominating. She forced open her eyes to look in wonder on this man who had learned her so well so fast, and met his scorching gaze head-on. He was watching her, reading her… Then he pushed two long fingers inside her and broke her, his mouth pulling on her clit as she came, harder than she’d ever come in her life.
“Still thinking?” he rasped several minutes later, sounding as though he’d just run the marathon.
Dumbly, she shook her head.
“I heard you scream yes at least three times.”
She smiled, uncaring that she was sprawled on the kitchen counter with traces of whipped cream on her skin. She would never forget this kitchen. “Did I?”
“You did.” He pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh. “Was that your answer?”
With some effort she pushed herself upright. He grinned, looking rumpled and devastatingly sexy. She’d been right about him from the start—guys this right didn’t walk into a girl’s life every day. “Yes—times three.”
About the Author
Caroline Linden was born a reader, not a writer. She earned a math degree from Harvard University and wrote computer software before turning to writing fiction. Since then the Boston Red Sox have won the World Series three times, which can hardly be a coincidence. Her books have won the NEC Reader’s Choice Beanpot Award, the Daphne du Maurier Award, and RWA’s RITA Award. If you’d like to be notified when her next book is available, visit her website to sign up for her newsletter. You can also follow her on twitter or like her on Facebook.
Other Books by Caroline Linden
The Scandals Series
Love and Other Scandals
It Takes a Scandal
Love in the Time of Scandal, coming May 2015
The Truth About the Duke Series
I Love the Earl, novella
One Night in London
Blame It on Bath
The Way to a Duke’s Heart
The Re
ece Family Series
What a Gentleman Wants
What a Rogue Desires
A Rake’s Guide to Seduction
Other Novels
What a Woman Needs
Short Stories
Like None Other
Written in my Heart
When I Met my Duchess, novella in At the Duke’s Wedding
Chapter One
The City of Brotherly Love
Except for the sexy stranger, the park was empty when Cali Blake pulled the library’s shiny new bookmobile up to the curb and jumped out. Commanding his usual bench near the south entrance, he wore the same blue chamois shirt over a T-shirt and the hat that covered half his face. As always, he was reading the paper.
Today’s choice: the Wall Street Journal. He must be feeling serious. Cali liked it better when he read the Philadelphia Star. Then she let herself imagine crazy stories, like how a librarian found a government bond worth millions inside a book that’d never been checked out.
Other than the hat guy, Cali had the park to herself.
Green Park wasn’t green or even much of a park. It was a square of concrete with a ten-foot chain link fence on one side, a single tree, and a handful of benches cemented to the ground. The only signs of life were the man on the bench and pigeons picking at trash. But it wasn’t quite nine yet. Cali’s regulars would arrive soon.
