To Romance a Charming Rogue

“Isn't that like the pot calling the kettle black?” she asked with exaggerated sweetness.

Damon's wince this time looked real, but he continued with an edge of determination in his voice. “Your prince not only is royalty but he was raised in a country where women are shown little respect and rarely seen as equals to men. Lazzara demands subservience and submission from his subjects now. I'd wager that once the courtship is over, he will expect you to do his bidding and obey his every word. You are hardly a biddable female, Elle.”

Eleanor hesitated, knowing Damon had a point. Currently Prince Lazzara was all charm and affability with her, although she knew he could be forceful in getting his way with his servants and even his elder relative, Signor Vecchi.

“If you expect,” Damon said, “to lead the prince around by his nose after the wedding, as you do all your swains now, you will likely have a rude awakening.”

“I do no such thing,” she objected. “I certainly never led you.”

“Which is a prime reason you enjoyed our court ship, because you were not able to rule me.”

That much was true, Eleanor had to agree, even though she was not about to tell him so.

“You would not enjoy being ruled, Elle,” Damon observed. “And you are in for a great mismatch if you wed Lazzara.”

Eleanor grimaced, knowing he was calling her Elle just to rile her. “I am not interested in your opinion in the least, Lord Wrexham.”

He sighed. “Why do you insist on addressing me by my title, as if we are strangers?”

“We are strangers now.”

“I beg to differ, love. We still know each other very well.”

Eleanor had difficultly controlling her response to Damon's smile. That slow, lazy smile was his most potent weapon. “You are wrong, my lord. I don't know you at all. It seems I never did.”

“You don't know Lazzara either.”

“But what I do know of him, I like very much. He is extremely considerate and yes, charming. What is more, he has the Italian flair for romance, which is a strong point in his favor.”

“Because you want a passionate lover for your husband.”

Indeed, she wanted a man who made her feverish, who made her burn, the way Damon had once done. “Perhaps, but I also want more than passion. I have not given up on finding love in marriage.”

Damon's gaze turned shadowed. “So you believe your Romeo is passionate. Has he kissed you yet?”

Eleanor's chin lifted. “I beg your pardon? That is hardly any of your concern.”

“He must not have,” Damon said with satisfaction, “or you would not be so prickly in coming to his defense.”

“I am not prickly!”

“Do you intend to dunk him in a fountain if he dares to take liberties with you?”

Taking a deep breath, Eleanor tried to regain control of their conversation. “I have no intention of dunking him. He is a prince, after all. And I doubt he would take liberties in any case. He is a gentleman.”

“Meaning that I am not?”

Eleanor returned an arch smile. “You may divine whatever meaning you choose, Lord Wrexham.”

“Very well…” Damon leaned toward her, pausing with his mouth barely inches from hers.

She froze, feeling stupidly breathless and dizzy at his proximity. “What do you think you are doing?” she managed to rasp.

“It's called kissing, Eleanor. You have done it before-with me, in fact. Several times…”

He bent his head before she could protest. The pressure was light, only the barest touch of his warm mouth to hers, but it promised so much more-which doubtless explained the shock of desire that jolted through her.

Her heart suddenly pounding, Eleanor drew back sharply, even though all her senses were alive with awareness and alertness and excitement.

“Damon!” she declared tartly. “You cannot just kiss me whenever you feel the urge.”

“No, but I want to prove a point.”

When she made to rise, though, he grasped her shoulders to keep her from fleeing. “Let me try again…”

Eleanor's entire body went rigid, yet she found it impossible to struggle against Damon's light hold.

What was it about this devilish rogue that demolished all her common sense? Eleanor wondered, cursing her weakness for him. She should push him away, but he was so enchantingly close. His virile warmth spoke to some primal feminine instinct in her, while that beautiful, wicked mouth enticed her…

She watched, paralyzed, as his mouth moved even closer. When his breath fanned against her lips, she inhaled raggedly. Then Damon's lips caressed hers again, alluring, whisper soft.

His mouth was as delicious as she remembered, his taste as heady. Warmth spreading through her, Elea nor felt herself melting as his lips slowly twisted and pulled at hers.

When his hands slid from her shoulders to her upper arms, sensation skittered up her nerve endings and danced over her skin. Then Damon deepened the pressure of his kiss, settling his mouth more fully on hers while drawing her against his hard body.

When his tongue penetrated her lips in a sensual invasion, a heated rush of feeling assaulted Eleanor. His taste was incredibly arousing. She shivered at the warm stroke of his rough-silk tongue inside her mouth.

Of their own accord, her hands rose to clutch Damon's shoulders, and she could feel the hardness of his corded muscles beneath her fingertips.

At the same time his fingertips drifted to her bodice to skim the underside of her breasts. When his strong hands cupped the swells beneath the muslin, Eleanor shuddered at the riveting sensation.

A helpless sigh whispered from deep in her throat as he began to stroke her with stunning sensuality. His long fingers shaped her breasts, his palms molding the weight, while his thumbs coaxed her nipples, making the sensitive tips engorge painfully under his light touch.

Eleanor gave a breathless whimper-a sound that Damon evidently heard, for his caresses slowed before he finally ended their embrace.

She was dazed and trembling when he drew back.

His eyes smoldered with heat as he stared back at her. “You felt that, didn't you?” he murmured, his voice hoarse and deep.

“Felt w-what?”

“The sparks between us.”

Oh, yes. Heaven help her. The sparks were still there between them, running along her nerve endings, over her skin, flaring inside her. Eleanor couldn't believe how powerful, how searing they were.

Unable to look away from the dark intensity of Damon's gaze, she swallowed mutely.

“Do you feel those same sparks with your prince?” he prodded.

She had only one answer to give: No. Damon still sparked a fire inside her that she had never felt with any other man, including Prince Lazzara. Damn him.

Eleanor abruptly gave herself a fierce mental shake. Damon was weaving the exact same spell over her as he had two years ago, and like a fool, she was allowing it, despite all the pain he had caused her then.

With effort, she rose unsteadily to her feet, ignoring how weak her knees were. It was dismaying- appalling even-to find herself just as attracted to her former betrothed as she'd once been. It was galling, her inability to resist Damon. And it was frustrating in the extreme, knowing he had deliberately kissed her to prove a point-that she still wanted him and that her new suitor couldn't compare to him in terms of passion.

Her ire rose along with her dismay, but Eleanor clamped it down, knowing she would get further with Damon if she remained cool and composed.

“Lord Wrexham, you may take your leave now,” she announced, proud that her voice sounded almost even. “You have outstayed your welcome.”

When he didn't respond at once but merely sat there staring up at her, as if he too had been rendered spellbound by their kiss, Eleanor turned toward the bellpull to ring for the butler. But Peters miraculously appeared in the doorway, as if knowing she needed him.