The Demon Duchess: An Aristocrat Falls for a Cowboy Second Chance Romance (The Demon Duchess Series Book 2)

by Tessa Bowen

  “Your handsome Papa is playing hard to get,” she whispered.

  Abigail stood in the hallway a moment, plotting her next move. She threw a longing glance in the direction of her husband’s room. Was he behind that door? Was he sleeping or waiting for her? Abigail tiptoed up to the door and laid her ear against the wood. She heard nothing. Perhaps he had gone back downstairs. She chewed her lip and began to pace. She’d go to the kitchen for a glass of water, that’s what she would do.

  She made her way down the staircase. The only illumination came from the fire burning low in the great room. No one was awake—everyone had gone to bed. Apparently he had too, without her.

  “Oh blast,” she hissed with frustration.

  Well, she could use a glass of water before she went to bed anyway. She started for the kitchen, passing by the main room on her way. The Baroness leapt in fright when a low male voice sounded from within.

  “Quit flitting around, Slim.”

  She clutched her chest. “You scared me!”

  John sat in the big leather chair next to the hearth, staring into the coals with a drink in his hand.

  “Yeah, well you scared me, creeping around up there. You sound like the upstairs ghost.”

  “Well, I’m just getting ready to go to bed,” she puffed, adding in a sour tone. “Alone.”

  “Jesus, you really know how to wound a guy. I guess that means you didn’t like what we did the other night if you’re going to bed alone.”

  “You know I liked it.”

  “You want to do it again?”

  JOHN HID HIS GRIN BEHIND THE RIM OF HIS GLASS. He guessed he was a sadist for baiting her—she just looked so damned cute when she was peeved.

  “I do, very much in fact.” Her words came in a nervous rush as she approached. “I just wasn’t sure you wanted to. You hardly looked at me during dinner.”

  “I was too busy drowning myself in ice cream and crisp.”

  “Was it good?” she waved a hand in annoyance. “Oh, I suppose I’ll never be good at baking. Why does it matter anyway, if you’re always leaving.”

  She had worked herself into a nice little miff. She was yanking on the edges of her cashmere cardigan—a telltale sign that she was steamed.

  “Does the coat fit?”

  She stiffened. “Where are my manners—yes, it fits beautifully. I was very touched by the gesture.”

  “I left because I had important business, besides the coat I mean. But that’s not the only reason I bailed. I thought it might be a good idea to cool things down between us.”

  He knew this would send her into one of her affronted mini-fits. He leaned back in the chair and took a long sip of his bourbon.

  “How utterly boring of you,” she snapped. “But I suppose if you think it’s best.”

  She whirled to flee, but he caught her by the wrist and pulled her back. She hung her head like a sorry child. It was time to put her out of her misery. Tormenting her was pleasurable, but nothing beat kissing her or touching her. It was high time he made arrangements for that.

  “I just meant cool things down temporarily. I don’t want our next time to be rushed.”

  “Rushed?”

  “Both times we slept together I was still wearing pants. That’s not the way it should be.”

  She tilted her head, thinking this over. “Pants do get in the way.”

  “We’re man and wife, not a pair of hurried teenagers.”

  “Man and wife…” she echoed.

  “Circumstance has made us so. I know we didn’t choose each other, but if we’re to be lashed together we may as well enjoy ourselves.”

  “Enjoy ourselves?” she chirped.

  “Yes, if sex with me is something you’re interested in.”

  “It is—I mean…if it’s something you’re interested in.”

  He dropped her wrist and finished his drink, setting the glass on the hearth. “You’re kind of a dumb bunny, aren’t you?”

  Her forehead scrunched into a tight knot. “I’m not dumb,” she defended. “You’re just very hard to read.”

  “I’m not the sort of man who falls at a woman’s feet—I never will be. You’ll have to get used to it if you want this to work.”

  “I do want this to work,” she said very softly. She stared at her feet as she tugged on her low ponytail. “There is just one problem…I’m not sure I can bear another relationship like my last one. I don’t think I can share you with other women. And I may not be enough for you.”

  The amusement went out of John’s expression. How could this goddess in a sweater set doubt herself? It was that prancing fruitcake’s fault. He must have been out of his mind to run around on her. “You’ll be more than enough,” he stated. “Besides, I don’t care for casual sex.”

  “I just assumed after…”

  “Our night in the barn?”

  She nodded.

  “I know I didn’t put up much of a fight, but you’re raaaaaather a knock out.”

  She broke away to cover her burning cheeks with her hands, but he knew she enjoyed his compliment.

  “Anyway, that night didn’t turn out to be so casual, did it? We made a baby together.”

  “Yes, a beautiful baby.”

  “I won’t sleep around if you’ll afford me the same courtesy.”

  She blinked at him. “Of course.”

  He blinked back—and just like that the Jacksons were in a monogamous relationship. John knew if he pondered this astounding development further he’d start to panic, so instead he just smiled at her—a slow satisfied smile.

  “Your room or mine?” he asked.

  “Yours—I’ve been dying to get a look at your male lair.”

  He reached out and gave her a playful swat on her bottom. “Get upstairs, Abbie—I’ll follow you up.”

  She let out a girlish giggle and scampered across the hardwood, turning back in the doorway. Her beautiful features were barely visible in the darkness, but he could tell her doe eyes had gone all round.

  “Did you just call me Abbie?”

  “I did—does that bother you?”

  He didn’t want to break the mood and tell her he thought of her pompous ex-boyfriend every time he called her Abigail—and he couldn’t keep calling her Baroness.

  “No, it doesn’t bother me at all.”

  She fled the room, no doubt to fuss with her appearance or sprinkle the bed covers with perfume (or whatever females did when they were about to get laid). John was already hard at the thought of getting naked with her. He’d take his time tonight—he’d do things right, even if his erection threatened to strangle him.

  He found her in his room, looking around in wonder.

  “There’s a baroness in my bedroom.”

  “I’ve been invited,” she informed him sweetly.

  They stood there in the lamplight, both breathing heavily. He didn’t think either of them was winded from ascending the stairs. No, their quickened inhalation was purely anticipatory. He was glad for the drink he’d had downstairs. It would help to steady him. Part of him wanted to run at her and knock her down on the bed, but he wouldn’t. He’d stay in control, no matter how tempting she looked in her pencil skirt, or out of it.

  “What do you think of my lair?” he asked.

  “It smells like you. I never want to leave.”

  “This is the same room I had when I was a kid. Margaret took down all the football junk, thank Christ.”

  “And all the girlie pics?” the Baroness asked with an arch of one brow.

  “No girls allowed in this room, except you.”

  “Not even Miss Bettencourt?”

  “Only in my dreams.”

  “What a sinful boy,” she chastised.

  “Who did you fantasize about when you were a girl?”

  “Prince Charles of course.”

  He made a face. “Yuck.”

  She broke up with laughter. “Pathetic, I know.”

  “Come on—let’s get yo
u ready for bed, Mrs. Jackson.”

  She followed him into the bathroom. “All right, Mr. Jackson.”

  He smirked at her as he squeezed toothpaste on a spare toothbrush. They brushed in tandem, staring at each other in the mirror. He spat first then she bent and performed the dainty version. He handed her a cup of water to rinse with while he splashed off his face and neck. She did the same, patting her cheeks dry with a hand towel.

  “I like that you don’t wear makeup,” he told her.

  “I’ve never worn much, but I’ve stopped completely. I don’t really know why. I suppose I’ve forgotten about such things…”

  “You don’t need it—you’re real pretty without it.”

  She beamed up at him as she reached back to remove the band tying her locks. Her hair fell in waves around her oval face. John thought of how far she’d come. He hadn’t seen the chignon in a long while. He’d always secretly liked the chignon, but he liked her loose even better. He couldn’t wait another minute to taste her lips. He leaned in and kissed her softly, like a husband would a wife. She wound her arms around his neck and he placed his hands at her waist, walking her backwards out of the bathroom.

  Gently, he pushed her away so he could begin undressing himself. He got his shirt and jeans off, boots and socks too then he started on her clothes. The row of tiny pearl buttons running down the front of her sweater seemed endless. She helped him with her blouse, allowing him to pull it over her head. His erection hardened and lengthened at the sight of her breasts, embellished by pale lace. The woman had fine lingerie—that was for sure. He continued kissing her as he unsnapped the closure at her waist then supported her by holding her hand, so that she could step out of the pencil skirt. She stood in her bra and panties, looking every inch the underwear model. He noticed she still wore her pearl choker—just a simple strand of beads.

  He fingered the rope, tightness clenching in his gut. “Did he give this to you?”

  She shook her head, knowing exactly who he was talking about. “My father bought me this when I was thirteen. I stopped wearing the other pieces...I knew it would bother you.”

  “Smart move.”

  She placed a hand on the side of his face. “My pearls will go very nicely with my new coat.”

  “It’s just a coat,” he shrugged, knowing he was being childish.

  “Yes, but it’s my very favorite coat.”

  She ran kisses along his neck and lower, over his chest—then lower still. Her lips traced a path to his navel as she sunk to her knees before him. She threw him a coquettish smile as she tugged his boxer briefs down. His erection sprang free. She palmed him, licking her lips in anticipation.

  John sucked in a harsh breath when she took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock. She slid to his base, sucking gently. He let loose a ragged moan and tangled his fingers in her hair. It was beyond thrilling to have her lips around him, especially when she stroked his belly with her free hand, running the smooth edges of her fingernails across his ribs. He couldn’t stop himself from moving deeper into her mouth, even as his mind fought the overwhelming pleasure of what she was doing to him.

  Unpleasant thoughts gnawed through the sensuality of the moment. Why was he thinking about the fruitcake now? That goddamn ponce of a fruitcake. This was about her and him, no one else. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder at her expertise. How many times had she sunk into this same position for that ginger-haired blowhard? Jealousy clenched a tight fist around his heart, but his body could not resist the pressure of her tongue wrapped around the tip of his prick. And oh, Jesus, her nails were scraping across his balls now…

  He took her by the shoulders, gently but firmly pressing her away from him. He clasped her face in his hand, thumbing her wet mouth as she blinked up at him in confusion. John wanted to slide himself back between her lips, but instead he shuddered and closed his other hand around his throbbing shaft.

  “You weren’t enjoying that?” she asked worriedly. “I was…”

  “No, it’s not that. I was enjoying it a little too much.”

  “It’s not a bother—I like doing that to you. Very much...”

  “Then I’m a lucky man, but maybe we shouldn’t start with that.”

  She looked hurt. “I was only trying to please you.”

  John ground his teeth, disgusted with himself for letting her past get in their way. He helped her stand, his hands brushing over her slender arms.

  “Sweetheart, you could wiggle your pinky finger and I’d be pleased. The way you look and feel—I just don’t want to rocket off in the first two minutes.”

  He threw her a boyish grin then clasped her close, relieved when she giggled against his chest. He unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor while she shimmied out of her panties. He dropped his drawers too and pulled back to look at her naked body.

  Abigail colored and dipped her head shyly. “We’re both rather nude, Mr. Jackson.”

  “Yep, we’re as naked as a pair of jaybirds, Mrs. Jackson.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Her body wasn’t the only thing bared to him—her heart and soul were as well. She gazed at him lovingly when he lifted her in his arms and laid her in his bed. He climbed in next to her—they faced each other in the low lamplight. He’d peeled the comforter all the way back, but made no move to cover their naked bodies.

  “Warm enough?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Good, because I want to look at you.”

  He not only looked at every inch of her, but touched those places as well, starting at her chest to brush down her breasts and torso and over her belly, sliding around her hips to cup her bottom. He lifted the firm weight of it in his palms and tugged her closer, running his hands along the backs of her thighs. He caught her up around one knee and tugged a leg across his body, hooking it at his waist.

  Their intimate parts hadn’t touched yet, but there was heat sizzling between them. She steadied herself with a deep sigh. He wanted to take things slow—she needed to follow his lead, but it was difficult with such a handsome man lying naked beside her. Her very core cried out for fulfillment. She gnawed at her lip, trying to hold her lust at bay. When he began to fondle her breasts, kneading them in an almost languid fashion, Abigail couldn’t help herself. She rocked her hips forward, but he held her steady. She ground out a frustrated wail into the pillow as he chuckled.

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” he asked. “You need to relax.”

  She threw him her prettiest pout. “I’ll relax when we’re through. You made me wait over thirty-six hours.”

  “You counted every minute I was away?” he teased.

  “It seemed like bloody eons. I missed you terribly. Did you miss me?”

  He nodded and gave her an unhurried kiss. The sweetness of it eased her restlessness.

  “That was lovely,” she murmured with a long exhale.

  “Your breasts are lovely.” Worshipfully, he raked his fingers across her bosom. “I was such a jackass about the breastfeeding thing. I’ve been a stubborn prick in a lot of ways.”

  “Things work better when you’re nice to me.”

  He bent to her creamy mounds. “Cowboys don’t catch on too quick.”

  She writhed when he started loving her nipples with his mouth, moistening them with long circular licks, before nipping and sucking, blowing a little too.

  “John,” Abigail gasped. “Why…did you come back?”

  “This afternoon you mean?” he inquired between mouthfuls of her tender flesh. “For this, you British dumbbell—why else?”

  She was filled with yearning as she strained against him. “No…I mean…why did you come back to England? Why were you there that day?”

  He caught one erect nipple between his teeth, scoring it lightly. “What day?”

  “That day…that day at the Winterbottoms. You have…you have to touch me while you’re doing that, or I’ll go mad.”

  “Touch you whe
re?” he taunted. “Here?” The hand cupping her backside dipped between her cheeks, two fingers running a sleek path along her split. With his mouth still on her breasts he brought his free hand down her belly, the fingers of that hand nestled in the slick bud of desire positioned high in her nether curls. “Or here?” he purred, starting to move both hands in simultaneous rhythm.

  Her body churned against his touch, she’d gone blind with lust. A small part of her still waited for his answer, the rest of her was about to ignite into flames and didn’t care if he ever answered another one of her questions so long as he kept doing what he was doing. She tugged at his hair, seesawing her hips and groin, not knowing which of his magical hands gave her more pleasure.

  “I came back because I wanted to see you again,” he told her in a silken whisper. “Against my better judgment…”

  “But you didn’t…you didn’t know I was pregnant yet,” she panted.

  She cried out when he sunk the two fingers toying with her from behind deep inside. They slid easily, soaking wet as she was.

  “I had to see you again,” he confessed. “I’ve been sweet on you from the start, Abbie.”

  Abigail fell apart with joy at his words, just as the sensual rapture deep inside her gave way. She came in little bursts, riding his fingers as she bit the pillow to muffle her loud whimpers. She drooped weakly when the paroxysms of delight had passed.

  His palm brushed over her flushed chest. “You go all rosy.”

  She pressed a shaky hand to her burning throat. “I know…I turn as pink as a radish.”

  “I was going to say as pink as an English rose.”

  “Oh, I like that much better.”

  Laughter rumbled in his chest as he pulled her against him. His hard flesh wedged itself between her weeping thighs. Something needled away at her, even as she basked in the afterglow.

  “Why was it against your better judgment? To come back to me I mean…”