Shayla Black Read online

  “Do you have this book?” Maddie asked, hopeful.

  Vema glanced at Edith, whose aging cheeks flushed.

  “I believe I do, dear,” her aunt said. “I shall see if I can find it in the attic.”

  Though Maddie sensed the book had not been put away in storage at all, she bit her lip on the subject. “Thank you, Aunt Edith. I do believe such a book could prove helpful.”

  Imagining all the ways she could surprise and arouse Brock into surrender, she slathered butter on a piece of bread, feeling more optimistic than she had in weeks.

  #

  Clutching the imperious missive in his hand, Brock read it again.

  Mr. Taylor,

  I have questions regarding our endeavor. Come to my home this afternoon at four. I expect a complete status on every parcel of land.

  Gavin Daggett, Duke of Cropthorne

  Cursing roundly, Brock crumpled the thick-papered note in his fist. A page bearing the duke’s livery had delivered it to his office at ten this morning. Brock had been fighting a dense anxiety since.

  Cropthorne knew. Somehow, the man had managed to find out about Maddie’s land and its tentative status. God forbid, if somehow Cropthorne had learned about his wager with Maddie. Any hint of a possible scandal would send him running.

  Brock sighed, pressing tight fingertips to his aching forehead. Damn, what could he tell Cropthorne? Certainly not that he had done his utmost last night to make Maddie surrender. That he’d kissed her mouth, her breasts, her feet, the slick folds. Kissed her until she had moaned, panted... made him sweat and ache to take her on the sofa as she wore nothing but the stockings filming her shapely legs. She had panted, so wet, thighs taut with need, fingers gripping him in clenched fists as she’d begged him for more.

  Damn. He should be focused on business. Instead, he kept seeing Maddie in his mind, golden by firelight, head thrown back, hair as fiery as her passion.

  With a frustrated grunt, he tossed Cropthorne’s missive across the swaying coach and propped a shiny black Hessian on the seat across from him. Why could he fire Maddie’s body, but not overcome the objections clouding her mind?

  The Maddie of old, that girl in the hay, had been full of spontaneous desire. She had raised no objections to their lovemaking. Indeed, she had encouraged him, seemed eager to take him in, despite her virginity. Her passion had overridden her natural caution. Why could he not achieve the same ends with her reserve about marriage?

  Brock did not delude himself; she refused for the same reason Maddie had broken faith with him five years ago: He did not possess a drop of blue blood. Though she had come to his rescue after Lady Litchfield’s slight, that had been her kindness, her sense of fairness. But Maddie still believed him beneath her.

  His coach came to a jarring halt in front of Cropthorne’s town house. With all the enthusiasm of a condemned man, Brock climbed out and made his way to the door. Within minutes, a servant showed him into Cropthorne’s massive, dark-paneled study.

  Behind a huge desk sat the duke, all hue and size of shelved books serving as background. Brock knew by looking at Cropthorne’s tense, angular face that he was in for a fight.

  “Sit down, Mr. Taylor, and I’ll get right to the point.”

  Sinking into a George III mahogany library chair, Brock did as the man bid. The duke’s displeasure increased the rapping of the anxious drum beating in his stomach. Brock tried to shrug off his foreboding.

  “I received a letter from Kent Wainwright, Viscount Belwick,” Cropthorne spit out quickly. “Apparently, he knows I’m your primary investor for the railroad project.”

  “Belwick makes it his business to know when someone is pitted against him in a business venture.”

  Cropthorne leaned forward, eyes narrowed. Clearly, he had not appreciated Brock’s observation. “He’s also learned that you are poised to buy every parcel of land necessary, except one in Warwickshire. Is that true?”

  Gritting his teeth to hold in a biting curse, Brock drew in a sharp breath. He wondered how much Cropthorne knew and decided to take a gamble.

  “The parcel isn’t legally for sale. A woman inherited it, but not outright. She holds it in retainer. The land may only be owned by any future husband she takes.”

  “What?” Cropthorne nearly came out of his chair. “I thought that old practice died centuries ago. Who the hell would leave land to a woman in such a manner?”

  So Cropthorne didn’t know the land was his distant cousin Maddie’s. He wasn’t about to tell his demanding investor, either. Not only might Cropthorne object to Brock’s methods against his kin of the fairer sex, he could well object to the marriage. And this time, nothing, no one, would stand in his way of acquiring not only more wealth, but Maddie herself.

  Brock forced himself to relax. “The woman’s affections are...engaged at the moment, and I feel sure she will wed within a month. Two at most. Her future husband will sell to us.”

  “You’ve spoken with him, then?”

  “Yes.” The half-truth came out in a robust syllable that made Brock’s teeth hurt. “I’ve even arranged clandestine meetings for them, to hurry their courtship along.”

  With a raised brow and the cocking of his head, Cropthorne conveyed the fact he was impressed. But his eyes still drilled Brock to his chair. “What if this woman doesn’t wed?”

  “She will,” Brock assured, hoping like hell he could live up to that promise. He didn’t want to explain to Cropthorne that rivers and hills and Belwick’s holdings would take the railroad far out of its straight path and drive the construction costs as high as the moon.

  Cropthorne banged his fist on the solid desk. “One month, damn it. Those banns had better start posting in one month, or Belwick will beat us to construction and you can find yourself a new partner. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Brock hid his worry behind an impervious mask. Christ, he had more at risk here than Cropthorne, his fortune, his reputation, an aristocratic beauty he’d never forgotten—everything he’d sweated all his life for was tied up in this railroad—and hinged on Maddie becoming his wife.

  His mind raced. Paddington. Yes, he would go there tonight. Use every method, every whispered word within his power, to seduce her. She had to marry him, damn it, and soon.

  Cropthorne rose. “I want to hear about your progress in two weeks, Mr. Taylor.”

  “Consider it done,” he said smoothly.

  “And from now on, I expect to hear about everything that affects my investment.”

  Brock left with a nod, knowing Cropthorne wouldn’t want to know absolutely everything. The truth, unless he convinced Maddie to wed him soon, would only ensure that he lost Cropthorne’s backing for the railroad and suffered a shattered reputation forever.

  #

  Brock entered the silent cottage in Paddington later that evening. Determination beat an urgent dance in his veins as he removed his gloves. Maddie would marry him. Tonight, she would agree—finally—no matter what he had to do.

  As he divested himself of his greatcoat, a vision of Maddie stormed his mind, strands of her copper tresses clinging to her damp face, sleek, flushed body bare for his hungry eyes and hands. Brock’s cock grew stiff imagining all the ways he could continue his seduction, awaken every inch of her, persuade her to let him fulfill her every desire.

  The need to possess her—her body, her land, her hand in marriage—plagued him until he could think of little else.

  Brock could not remember any woman who had stirred him so much. Perhaps the game they played provided extra impetus, but he feared that his need had everything to do with his heart.

  Shoving his musings aside, he wandered into the house and concentrated on this evening. As soon as Maddie consented to wed him, he would make love to her, a lightning fast union with gasping insistence and need. He would follow that with a long, slow melding of bodies that would last half the night. Then he would slide inside her again come dawn, just to hear
her cries of passion.

  Maybe then he could stop dwelling on her when he should be focused on investments, the railroad, on money—the pulse beat of his life.

  Brock frowned when he realized Maddie was nowhere in sight. His gaze skimmed over the velvety sofa, a pair of green baize chairs atop a matching Persian carpet resplendent with burgundy accents. The orange-yellow glow of a fire crackling in the hearth told him she was likely here.

  A search of the kitchen, study, and garden also proved empty. Scowling, he trekked back to the entry and started up one of the twin staircases that led to the bedrooms, taking two stairs in a single stride.

  “Maddie?” he called.

  “In the bed chamber,” came her soft reply from behind the door of the master suite at the hall’s end.

  Was she hurt, unwell? Had she caught a plague, a pox, a wretched fever?

  Or did she lie in wait for him?

  Sprinting, Brock pushed his way through the door, shoving it open with an impatient sweep of his arm. He had expected almost anything.

  But nothing could have prepared him for this Maddie.

  He struggled to find his next breath, a coherent thought, as Maddie stood before him dressed in a sheer golden drape, sari style—and nothing else. The thin gossamer clung to the swells of her breasts and peaked nipples, yielded to the curve of her waist, hugged lush thighs, not quite shadowing the juncture between. No doubt, she was completely bare beneath the exotic garment.

  “Dear God,” he whispered fervently.

  Maddie simply replied with a kittenish smile.

  Brock clenched his fists at his sides. Apparently, she had decided to force an end to their game tonight. How in the hell would he find the strength to resist her now, when he wanted her so badly?

  Talons of lust clawed like fire through his belly. Staring at the creamy swells of her breasts beneath a blaze of exotic curls, Brock felt the foundation of his self-control shake. Don’t look any lower, he admonished himself. But he couldn’t stop.

  The visible outline of tight nipples made his mouth water. He clenched his fists. The erotic indention of her navel gave way to the flat of her stomach. Damn it, no lower. Reddish curls, not quite hidden in damp shadows, beckoned his gaze. He remembered her taste, her response to his mouth pleasuring her.

  Without a word, she swayed toward him. Her every move seduced him, devastated him, as the transparent garment alternately billowed and clung to her tempting curves, brushed her tight nipples, he hungered for her. Sweat rolled from his temple. When he caught the scent of her vanilla-jasmine skin, his desire only flared hotter.

  Brock started toward her with all the patience of a bull, forgetting everything but possessing Maddie in that erotic golden drape...

  #

  Clasping the folds of her makeshift sari to keep her hands from shaking, Maddie undulated toward Brock. She felt jubilant, powerful. The pure lust in Brock’s gaze, coupled with the hardening of his manhood visible through his tight breeches, told her this reckless plot was succeeding.

  But she never expected to feel the weakening of her knees, the moistening of her sex, at Brock’s rapacious gaze as he charged toward her. She meant to seduce him, not the reverse.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Maddie sidled over to him, trying to remember all she’d read in Edith’s Kama Sutra. Pressing embraces and rubbing embraces. Bent and clasping kisses. Scratches and bites. Congress of a crow, mutual oral stimulation, the description of which still made her flush. And intercourse in so many different positions... Woman on top: The pair of tongs. Man behind the woman: The congress of a cow. Woman on top and man from behind: The mare’s position. So many different variations she had never considered. Maddie had read most of the day and found the book shocking, scintillating. Everything she had never imagined—and wanted fiercely tonight.

  In addition, Vatsyayana wrote of a man’s obligation to satisfy his partner, suggesting different motions for penetration like piercing her with his member, pressing within her, churning once inside her. She wanted to feel them all, certain Brock would more than meet his responsibility.

  He reached her then. He grasped her transparent sari in his firm grip, twisted the fabric, using it to pull her flush against him. He sent a green stare searching into her face, into her soul. Maddie answered with a wicked smile.

  Remembering the clinging embrace described in the book, she twined herself about Brock’s heated body like a vine, grabbed his neck and brought his mouth to hers in a tangle of lips and breathy moans. He grabbed her nape and kissed her fiercely.

  Need rose up from her belly, awashing her senses. His nearness sensitized her to his every touch and breath, to his rigid erection, which he pressed against her belly in demand.

  Maddie returned Brock’s kiss with all the aching insistence he’d created in her over their nights together, losing herself in the flavor of brandy, the scent of spice and man and desire.

  Suddenly, Brock tore himself from her embrace. His breath came in short, hard gasps. His stare accused and possessed her at once. Objection and denial formed on the hard angles of his jaw, settled in the furrow beneath his brows.

  Panicked, Maddie stared back. He could not control the pace. Vema had stressed that the only way to really seduce a man was to make him forget all else. She latched onto all she had read since this morning and formed a hasty plan.

  “Brock,” she whispered, sidling closer again. “Darling.”

  She took his cravat in her hands and untied it, fingers lingering about his neck, palms drifting over his chest.

  “No, Maddie.” The words came out, but he made no move to stop her.

  His breathy denial infused her with triumph. She’d been right to block out Colin’s mocking voice in her head, telling her that she was too icy for any man to truly desire. Brock was proving her late husband wrong with every breath.

  Tearing the cravat away, she tossed it to the carpet. His pulse pounded furiously at the base of his neck. Then she unfastened the buttons of his shirt slowly, one at a time, grazing her fingernails across his feverish golden skin, his hard male nipples, as she descended further, down toward his rigid staff.

  He sucked in a sharp breath and swallowed hard. “Maddie—”

  Before Brock could finish his protest, Maddie melded her mouth to his and guided him with unerring steps to the sumptuous four-poster bed against the wall. When they reached it, she pushed him down with a gentle shove and a determined smile until he sat on the mattress.

  Brock sent her a hot, questioning stare. The passion etched onto his face sent her own desires flaring. Arousing him aroused her. Why had she never considered that possibility?

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  Hovering above him, she gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Bare to the waist, she watched the hard ridges of his chest rise and fall with every hard breath.

  Maddie kissed his lower lip, dragging it between her lips, toying with his flesh between her teeth. He moaned. Encouraged and incited, she outlined his lips with her tongue. When he tried to seize her, take control of their lovemaking, she danced away.

  “Maddie, you are killing me…”

  Smiling, she sauntered to the side of the bed and leaned back toward him to whisper, “I am trying.”

  Groaning, Brock reached for her again, but she made her way behind him, crawling across the mattress. He turned to her, but she clutched the warm, rippling steel of his arms and turned him away.

  The wide expanse of his powerful brown back lay before her. Blending her newfound knowledge with her urges, she brushed her palms across his flesh, grazed his neck with her mouth. He gasped as she nibbled on him, leaving tiny love bites along the way. She underscored his sensitivity to her touch by grazing his back with the length of her nails. Goose pimples broke out all down his arms.

  According to the book, they would be compatible lovers. They would form the highest union, her feminine sheath, untouched for three years, would form a tight glov
e about his large member. The force of their passion seemed equal, for his hungry gaze mirrored her own growing appetite.

  Teeth nipping on his earlobe, Maddie draped her arms about his neck and worked her way to his side. Brock hooked an arm about her waist, pulled her into his lap, and fastened his mouth to hers as if only she could bestow his next breath. Gladly, she gave of her lips, her passion, as she returned the kiss. With a growl, Brock grasped her hips, fingers digging with need. His unrelenting mouth continued to seduce her as he shifted to settle her aching core against his cock.

  Maddie cried out, needing him, throbbing with a boundless desire Brock aroused so easily. With him, she felt secure in her desirability as a woman. She craved the chance to explore everything between, to hold the thoughtful Brock who had once invaded her soul and tenaciously stayed.

  Without warning, he stood, turned, and lowered Maddie to the soft cushion of the bed. His lips never left hers as he followed her there, covering her body with the broad strength of his own. His hand probed between them, twisting, tugging. He cursed, then sighed. Maddie was too lost in the feeling of him, in the force of her desire, to take much note.

  With a thrust of his hips, he wedged himself between her legs so tightly, she felt every long, demanding inch of him pressed against her—with only thin gossamer separating them.

  He had unfastened his breeches. The man most equipped to fulfill every secret desire was finally ready to be her lover. She tried to remember why he’d been resisting the pleasure, but his mouth fastened on her breast, driving away rational thought. His fingers found their way past her slick folds, inside her tingling sex. Her need for him escalated to heady new heights.

  “Brock, now. No more waiting. Please!”

  Her hoarse plea reverberated in the air between them. Of its own will, her body unfurled for him, thighs parting wider. Impatient, she shoved the corner of her sari aside until they touched flesh to flesh.