Fascinated

her imminent orgasm.

'Maybe I don't want to,' she heatedly retorted, arching her back against the exquisite pleasure. 'Maybe… I don't… want to at all,' she panted, a faint smile curving her mouth as her climax flared, crested, washed over her in flourishing splendor.

Brought a new degree of meaning to the word gratification.

And a new degree of satisfaction to a man who was contemplating an extended holiday in Monte Carlo. Restraining his own desires until she was lying calm and passive in his arms, he gently lifted her unresisting body upward and then as leisurely downward, his erection undiminished, his senses still in flagrant rut.

Pliant, tractable, she neither resisted nor participated, her passions subdued, her hands resting on his muscled shoulders, the rippling movement beneath her palms counterpoint to the smooth motion of his powerful arms. In a gentle, exquisitely relentless rhythm, he raised and lowered her with effortless strength and an eye to sensation, until she was predictably, feverishly panting once more, until he felt as though his body might dissolve from unsatisfied lust. Until he hoped she would come soon because he couldn't wait much longer.

Suddenly, she caught her breath, shut her eyes, and shuddered under his hands, and gratified, he plunged in that last distance more so they both felt the sweet agony begin.

Their climax lasted and lasted in prolonged, endless wonder, all the hyperbole, all the brandishing magnificence of soul-stirring passion pulsing, throbbing, screaming down their nerve endings. His ejaculation jolted his brain, his body, the hot-spur, out-of-control spasms brutal, jarring, sublime. She was shaking, shaken, scandalized by the power he had over her and, in due course, gloriously replete.

He didn't know where he was for a second when he regained his grasp on reality, and then he saw her and felt her. And with a whimsey that would have seemed far-fetched prior to his visit to the casino, he began to contemplate the existence of miracles. She was truly a gift from the gods.

'You're cold.' His transient flight of fancy was overcome by the sudden realization his companion's skin was cool beneath his hands.

'Am I?' Overwrought, she was simultaneously hot and cold, shamed and shameless, existing in the flagrant wonderland of shock and wonder, uncertain of all but the pleasure he gave her.

'Let's get you under the covers.' He spoke in the authoritative tone she had come to recognize. Shifting her into his arms, he rose and stepped from the tub, pulling a towel from a heated rack on the way out of the room. Placing her on her feet near the bed, he wrapped her in the warm toweling and briskly rubbed her dry. Then he tucked her into bed, covering her with several layers of comforters.

Leaning over, he dropped a kiss on the slender bridge of her nose. 'Better?'

Gazing up from her warm cocoon, she wrinkled her tingly nose. 'It would be if you were here.'

He raked his fingers through his wet hair, pushing it back in sleek waves. 'You're going to wear me out. Although,' he added, grinning, 'I'm not complaining.'

'I feel terrible for hounding you.' Her voice was small-girl apologetic, but her smile was the flamboyantly seductive one he had come to adore. 'And also horribly sexy.'

Surely there was a god, he thought. 'In that case, I'll hurry.' He began moving toward the sitting room.

She felt instantly bereft. 'What are you doing?'

'Getting you something you'll like.'

'Oh.' Her expression brightened. 'For me?'

'For you.' He winked, and she was flooded with jealousy for all the women who had been the recipients of that roguish glance.

But even in her pink-clouded bliss she knew better than to take issue with his past or future. His entire persona was distinctly profligate, and such men never stayed long. But she had him now, and she had every intention of enjoying the pleasure. And with him, pleasure was guaranteed. She snuggled deeper into the downy comfort of the enormous bed, intent on ignoring the cold reality of tomorrow. Today he was with her, and all was warm enchantment.

When the duke returned, he was carrying a tray with a coffee service. 'I had selfish motives for this,' he explained. 'I didn't want to fall asleep. Not that it's possible with you,' he teased. 'And before you ask,' he added, interpreting her puzzled look, 'I ordered this last night.'

She glanced at the tray he set on the bed. 'How sweet. Two cups.'

'I had no intention of letting you leave.'

'How flattering. Even last night?'

'Directly after I saw you enter the casino. You've changed my plans.'

'Plans?'

'I intended to leave Monte Carlo today, but if you're not busy, Miss Greenwood,' he declared, his faint bow exquisite, 'I'd prefer entertaining you for a time.'

After all the trials and tribulations of her life, she didn't question the equivocal designation 'time.' When one was offered paradise, one didn't quibble over details. 'I'd like that very much, indeed.'

'Thank you, Miss Greenwood,' he said with punctilious good breeding and a teasing smile. 'And this is for you,' he offered, lifting a small package from the tray and handing it to her before he sat down.

She couldn't remember when she had last received a gift; she felt like a child at Christmas. Coming to a seated position with a helpful hand from the duke, she carefully eased off the beautiful magenta silk ribbon, set it aside and opened the indigo-colored wrapping. The embossed gold box was from a well-known confectioner. A smile lit up her face. 'Chocolates!'

'Look inside.' He began pouring coffee.

'I adore any kind of chocolate.' Lifting the cover, she opened the crisp parchment and went utterly still. A diamond bracelet glistened from the midst of the chocolates.

'I thought it might go with your gown,' he casually said.

Or any gown or a royal diadem, the array of large diamonds was so dazzling. Her gaze came up, her eyes bright with tears. 'I don't know what to say. No one's ever given me anything… like this…' Her voice faltered for a moment. 'Diamonds… my goodness… they're magnificent, but- that is… I'm not sure I can keep it.' A tremulous uncertainty quivered in her words. 'It would make me-'

'No, it would not.' Quickly setting his cup aside, he leaned over and took her hands. 'It's a gift between friends. It doesn't make you anything; it doesn't make me anything. I've plenty of money, and I wanted to give you a gift.' He almost said, 'Women don't refuse these,' but knew better. She was already uncomfortable with the role of paramour.

'I've never done this before… I mean… coming here with you-'

'I know.' He gently stroked the backs of her hands with his thumbs. 'Look.' His tone was conciliatory. 'I had no intention of making you uncomfortable. If anyone should ask, tell them it's Aunt Gillian's.'

'I don't actually know anyone who would ask.'

'There. You see?'

'But I'd know,' she murmured.

'Please…' His voice was soft and low, his gaze tender. 'Do you know how fortunate I feel for having been in the casino last night?'

'Not as fortunate as I,' she quietly said. 'You saved my life.'

He traced a lingering path down her middle finger. 'Repay me by keeping the bracelet.'

A playful light appeared in her eyes. 'Now, there's a bargain.'

'I was the one who gained the most, darling.' And for once in his life, he wasn't uttering a charming phrase to please a lady.

'So you owe me.'

'Exactly.'

She wrinkled her nose in indecision.

'Take it, darling, or I'll cry.'

Her laugh bubbled up. 'When was the last time you cried?'

'I was probably two.' In truth, he had no memory of ever crying. Indulged by his mother, ignored by his father, his world had been perfection until his mother died when he was twelve. And by that time, he knew full well to never show emotion before his father.

'So you feel that strongly.'