The Duke Takes a Bride (Entitled Book 2)

by Suzette de Borja

  She nodded, his trust in him implicit.

  Julian wished with all his soul he felt the same way. That he could trust someone that easily. Wanted to. But some things broken were better left unglued. Like a vase. Patching things up gave it a semblance of being held together, whole, but a slight fall and it would shatter, more fragmented than it had ever been.

  “How’s Hong Kong? Crisis averted?” Her left hand clutching a pencil began moving again, deft and fluid.

  “I’ll be able to leave day after tomorrow. You’ll love it here. The food is fantastic.”

  “I love dumplings.”

  “Me too,” he said in a suggestive tone.

  Being Imogen, she caught on in a second. “Excuse me! My breasts are not dumplings!” she cried in faux outrage. “They’re more like pork buns!”

  Julian grinned. She was adorable. “What they are is tasty! Now give me a peek. I miss them.”

  She dropped her pencil and stared in the direction of the CCTV camera again. “You want me to flash you my pork buns?” she said disbelievingly.

  “It’s all your fault, darling,” Julian said gravely. “I told you to stop wearing those ratty shirts around the house.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  His grin grew wider at her cheek. “A silk robe? How does that sound?”

  “You can do better than that,” she scoffed disdainfully.

  “How about a jade bracelet?”

  She shook her head.

  And then he knew. “Tank ornaments for Clark?”

  Her head cocked. “Nothing with jagged edges. Some silk plants maybe.”

  “Done.”

  “I’m so easy,” she sighed, placing the mobile on the coffee table. She rose from her lotus position on the floor.

  And I’m so hard. His own sister had cock-blocked him inadvertently that last night in Las Vegas. Imogen had gone back to the room she shared with Maggie, fearful her friend wouldn’t be able to rise early to catch the flight if she wasn’t there to wake her up. Julian tried to change her mind; she could sleep in his bed then go back to her room in the morning to rouse Maggie. She had blushed prettily and said she wasn’t sure she’d be capable of getting out of bed that early if she spent the night in his bed.

  Thus, prolonging the bloody moratorium and saddling him with a perpetual hard-on. Which served him right for imposing the ridiculous sex ban in the first place.

  Imogen grasped the edge of her shirt pulled it over her head before tossing it on the floor, leaving her in her pink cotton knickers.

  “Did you just groan?” she said. “I put you on speaker phone.”

  “I did not,” he denied through gritted teeth. This was going to be embarrassingly fast. “Touch your nipples!”

  “What?” she squeaked. “That’s not part of the deal.”

  “Just do it,” he snapped.

  “Those ornaments better be really fancy,” she grumbled, getting on with the task at hand. “Julian? You’re awfully quiet.”

  Perspiration rolled down his forehead. His heart raced. He was so close. Imogen pinched her nipples experimentally and then he came. “Fuck!” He slumped against the backrest of the executive chair limply.

  “Julian?” Imogen’s voice was tentative, as if she suspected something but couldn’t quite believe it.

  “Yes, darling?”

  “I think I should have held out for more.”

  Julian’s weak bark of laughter reverberated around his office. He couldn’t wait to be back in Los Angeles.

  Chapter 21

  Imogen was so caught up in her drawings, had entered a flow zone, that she did not realize it was already past midnight. Her mobile rang. She didn’t recognize the number but decided to answer it anyway. Maggie frequently called with a different phone number whenever she was out of the country.

  “Hello?” she repeated when she was only met by silence. She was about to hang up when the caller’s voice spoke up.

  “Genie?”

  “Who is this?” He didn’t answer, but she already knew. Dread lodged in the pit of her stomach. He must have gotten her number from Maggie.

  “I saw you first.” Gray slurred his words. Imogen wanted to drop the call, but he must have read her mind. “Don’t hang up.”

  “Gray,” she said sternly, “you’re pissed. I’m not about to have a conversation with a drunk−”

  “Please.”

  The single word, raw and pained, stopped her. She was not as immune to that plea as she would have wanted.

  She, Maggie, and Gray had done everything together during those summers in Trennery Court. They were of the same age group, Gray being just a year younger since the old Duke had remarried immediately after becoming a widower. They would play pirate and bury a “treasure,” she would draw the map, and Maggie would dig it up. They were inseparable. Gray was a sweet boy whenever he got his way. Until he didn’t.

  “What do you want, Gray?”

  No response. The silence lengthened and just as Imogen was about to cut the connection, he spoke again.

  “You.”

  Imogen shook her head, even if Gray couldn’t see her. “You’re spouting nonsense.”

  “I saw you first, Genie,” he repeated, sounding belligerent. “You’re supposed to be mine.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There are rules,” he insisted.

  The conversation had just gotten more bizarre. “Rules?”

  “Finders keepers, right?” Gray laughed without humor. “But no. He ordered me to stay away from you. That day at the stable, he told me never to see you again.”

  “After what you did, it was no wonder,” Imogen said flatly.

  “Who does he think he is, ordering me about? The fucking duke?” Gray chortled. “Oh yeah, I forgot. He is the fucking duke.”

  “I’ve got to go.” Imogen couldn’t stand listening to another minute of Gray’s drunken rant. “Listen to me, Gray.” She enunciated each word slowly, “Lay off the alcohol. Drink some coffee. Now.”

  There was another long silence.

  She heard a thud, filthy swearing, and a groan. “Gray?! What happened?”

  “The fucking floor fell on me!” He sounded more baffled rather than hurt. Then he chuckled, reminding her more of the Gray she once knew.

  “Get some sleep,” she said wearily.

  “I will, if you promise to see me again. We were friends once.” Imogen’s heart softened just a tiny bit, then he had to go and harden it again. “I’ll show you who the better brother is.”

  “Oh, Gray.” Imogen could only shake her head. “Just let it go.”

  “I can’t,” he said simply, then he hung up.

  Imogen went to bed and fell into a restless sleep. When she woke up there was an SMS on her mobile. She debated about responding to it. In the end, she decided it would be better, once and for all, for everyone involved.

  Chapter 22

  “I guess you were serious about the coffee.” Gray eyed the cup in front of him critically.

  He was impeccably groomed, his dark hair brushed off his handsome face, the stem of his sunglasses tucked into the V of his plain shirt. Only the puffy eyes and paleness gave away his state this morning. And even then, he was still a head turner. Women had been covertly glancing at him since he had entered the coffee shop minutes after Imogen arrived.

  “It’s black,” Imogen pronounced.

  “It’s vile, that’s what it is,” Gray said with disgust, but he took a sip nonetheless. “I guess I deserve it, after last night.”

  “You do.”

  Amusement and admiration flared in his eyes. “You’ve really changed, Genie. I like it. A lot.”

  She sipped her coffee so she wouldn’t be able to answer.

  “But some things, they remain the same.”

  Imogen didn’t want to go there. “I’m sorry, Gray−”

  “No. I’m the one who’s sorry. About that drunk call.” He gazed at her, his lips twisting wr
yly. “Can you give me another chance? Be friends like how we were before?”

  Gazing at her with a guileless expression, how could Imogen be hardhearted enough to resist? This was Gray, her childhood friend, the one she had spent countless summers with running around the estate with. She nodded.

  “Come on,” he said, rising from the chair. “Let’s take a walk.” Gray was causing quite a stir in the café. He donned his shades as they left the shop.

  “Do you get recognized a lot?”

  He shrugged. “Some days. The scar gives me away.”

  In most of his ads, the scar was very much visible. She wondered at that when it could be erased so easily digitally.

  “It’s become my brand.” His tone was mildly defiant so she didn’t press more.

  They sat on a bench and watched the people pass them by for several minutes, neither looking at each other.

  “I’m supposed to seduce you, by the way, from Julian,” he said casually as he removed his sunglasses.

  “What?” Imogen blinked in confusion.

  “Upon my mother’s orders. Maggie let it slip last night that he asked you to marry him.” He saw her dismayed expression. “Don’t blame her. I plied her with enough alcohol to extract the information.”

  Imogen shook her head. “She shouldn’t have.”

  “Is it because he’s rich? He has a title?”

  Imogen bristled. “You think I’m a gold digger?”

  “So you’re in love with him?” Gray demanded, his blue eyes flashing fiercely. The abrupt change in his demeanor startled her.

  “I’ve been in love with Julian since the first day I saw him,” she blurted out rather unwisely.

  Gray jerked back as if he had been struck. He whitened around the mouth. “Julian doesn’t do love,” he spit out. His laugh was ugly. “All he wants is a brat to carry on the title and inherit a pile of crumbling bricks. I just want you to be aware of what his priorities are.”

  “I’m very much aware. Thank you.”

  Gray cursed violently. “And you’re willing to sell yourself short?

  Before she could react further, Gray twisted his torso towards her and grabbed her face with his hands

  “I told you last night it wasn’t over, Genie.” The intensity that blazed in his eyes rendered Imogen immobile. “You were mine first. Once Julian gets what he wants from you, he’ll toss you aside, like all his other women.”

  “Let me go!” Imogen squirmed, but Gray held on fast. He lowered his head and his mouth descended on hers.

  “The lady said no.”

  Gray whipped his head up then froze.

  It was Lopez. The bodyguard stood back several paces, ready to spring into action if warranted.

  “It’s alright, Lopez,” Imogen said with a calm she didn’t feel. “His Grace’s brother was just about to leave.” She was afraid to move, fearful the bodyguard would be compelled to use force if she struggled.

  The three of them were all frozen in a tableau until Gray finally spoke.

  “’Til next time, Genie.” His lean, elegant form rose in one smooth motion. He shot the bodyguard a murderous glare before he donned his shades and strode off unhurriedly into the street.

  Chapter 23

  Julian felt homicidal. It was a foreign sensation. His head felt like it was swelling, growing grotesquely big for his body. His eyes felt like a furnace. He wanted to kick the penthouse door open but instead had to satisfy himself with several vicious taps keying in the code in his smartphone to let himself in.

  “Imogen?” He dropped his laptop and overnight bag in the foyer.

  Mrs. Nero came bustling out of the kitchen. She glanced at his face and quickly made for the door. “Have a good night, sir.”

  He ignored her and marched into Imogen’s room. This one had a door he could throw wide open. She was on the bed, her laptop on a breakfast-in-bed tray. She looked up, the smile on her face freezing at his expression.

  “I told you to stay away from him,” he growled.

  “Gray?” she clarified, rather unwisely.

  “No, the Pope.”

  She frowned at his sarcasm. “And it’s nice to see you again, too.”

  “Gray is trouble. I don’t want you associating with him.”

  “I can handle your brother.”

  “Like he was handling you this morning?” he bit out.

  “I was taking care of the situation before Lopez stepped in.”

  Her calm ratched up his anger. “If Lopez hadn’t stepped in, my brother would have had his tongue down your throat!”

  Her eyes flashed and she rose on her knees. “And speaking of Lopez, how dare you have me followed without my knowledge!”

  Julian tried to keep his eyes above her neck but the thin, worn-out shirt, what else, was making it obvious her eyes were not the only things pointed at him.

  “That’s what bodyguards do.” Julian ran a hand through his hair in frustration. This wasn’t the coming home to he had envisioned.

  “Well, I don’t want one,” she sulked, crossing her arms across her chest.

  All Julian wanted was to grab her, spread her legs wide, and slide deep into her wet, tight heat. He restrained himself. Barely.

  “In that case, I have to let Lopez go.”

  Her brows met. Julian knew she wouldn’t want anyone losing a job because of her.

  “Just add him to your security detail.”

  “He’ll be redundant. His position in my personal detail had been filled years ago.”

  Her frown etched deeper. “Then why is he still with you?”

  “He was assigned another post.” He leaned back against the door jamb, deciding to come clean. “I assigned him to you.”

  “To me?” She wasn’t angry now. She just looked confused.

  “Two years ago. I couldn’t let you go home alone every night to that kind of neighborhood. It wasn’t safe.”

  Her mouth went slack, then she dropped to her haunches. Any second now she would rail at him for violating her privacy. He had ordered Lopez to follow her home after she had refused to ride in his bodyguard’s car.

  “I didn’t require a full-detailed report of your whereabouts. I just wanted you to be safe wherever you were.” It was true. As long as she was safe, the bodyguard didn’t need to report to him. Julian didn’t want to know anything beyond that. Didn’t want to find out how he’d feel if she saw other men. He didn’t have the right.

  “You gave me a bodyguard?” She took a shuddering breath. Her lips were pursed tightly. She didn’t look angry. In fact, Julian thought with alarm, she looked like she was about to cry.

  Ah, fuck. Now she’ll think I’m a psycho. “I overstepped my boundaries, didn’t I?” Just like with Maggie. He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry−”

  “No.” Her hand shot out to stave off his apology. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I ran away that night before we could talk and left you feeling guilty when there was no reason to be.”

  She thought the bodyguard was about him dealing with his guilt over her. She couldn’t be more wrong. It was about her safety. And admittedly, that secret, forbidden knowledge that whenever he wanted to, he knew exactly where he’d find her. Which made him several shades of sick, after all.

  All the bluster and anger in him went out, to be replaced rapidly by an equally base emotion. Sexual hunger. Only it wasn’t really replacing it. He was just allowing it to surface to the fore. It had been there, simmering, the moment he had stepped into the penthouse.

  He strode to the edge of the bed as Imogen rose. His arms wrapped around her waist and he hauled her close, inhaling the sweet scent of skin between collarbone and neck. She exhaled, melting into him.

  “Did you miss me?” the minx asked as she leaned back and looked up at him, her eyes serious. She was expecting him to prevaricate, to give a teasing response.

  He pulled off her spectacles and dropped it on the bed. “Yes.” It was stark and true.


  Her gaze grew soft and tender. She pulled his head down and sighed into his mouth.

  Julian became rock hard. He wanted her too much for it not to be fast and rough. “I want you, Imogen. I can’t hold back,” he rumbled threateningly. “I won’t.”

  She disengaged from him, knelt on the bed, transferred the breakfast tray to the floor, and lay back on the sheets with abandon. “I’m yours.”

  Her words were water to a man wandering in the desert. He grabbed her ankles, dragged her to the foot of the bed, and pulled off her shorts and knickers. He sank to his knees into the mattress. He wedged himself between her thighs, buried his head between them, and coated his tongue with her sweetness. Her throaty moans filled the room. “Julian,” she cried, her hips arching off the bed as she came.

  With jerky motions, he divested his trousers and underpants, drowning that voice telling him what he was about to do was underhanded, manipulative. That he should give Imogen a choice.

  But no. Imogen wanted him just as much as he wanted her. It was already a foregone conclusion that they would get married. Before he could think himself out of it, Julian sought her slick entrance and with one smooth thrust buried himself deep inside her.

  “Fuck!” he gritted out. He could feel her clinging depths, gloving him like a second skin. He had his hands wrapped like a vise around her waist, dimly registering he might be leaving bruises on her skin, but her inner muscles still rippling from her release blew that thought from his mind. He stared right to where they were joined, easing out until only the tip of his bare shaft remained inside her, glistening with her wetness. The musky scent of their arousal teased his nostrils and drove him wild. He slammed back full hilt inside her, withdrew, then pounded into her again and again. The slick sounds of flesh slapping against each other was a counterpoint to their heavy breathing.

  He shoved her ratty shirt up to her neck, allowing him a front view of her hard tipped, luscious breasts as they bounced in rhythm to their rocking. Imogen was biting her knuckles, her other hand clawing the linens. Julian reached down and his finger found her sweet spot unerringly. With a cry her torso bucked off the bed, her toes digging into the bed. Her muscles contracted around him, milking him. “I love you,” she gasped.