Nevertheless, her stomach was a giddy frolic of crickets and butterflies. He was just so near. And so tall. And so commanding. So male. Everything female in her was rallying to the challenge.

Was it a ruthless seduction or a simple mistake?” Her companion scowled. And unleashed a robust chain of what sounded like pure Breton blasphemy. Violet glanced in Finn and Fosbury’s direction, reassuring them with a mild smile. When she spoke again, she kept her voice hushed and her manner calm. “I wasn’t unwilling, if that’s what you’re thinking. Quite the opposite.” “Even so. He was a devil to take advantage. And a fool to ever let you go.

Rothbury stood over her. He was shirtless, wet, wild-haired. Handsome as sin and angry as Lucifer. A duke accustomed to having his way. Now she’d not only defied him, she’d directly challenged him. His words were low and even, but they smoldered like a fuse burning toward gunpowder. “I don’t need to prove anything to you.” He propped his hands on his hips. One of his pectoral muscles twitched angrily. As if registering an indignant harrumph.

She rolled toward him, nestling close and throwing her arm over his chest. Her fingers toyed idly with the hair there, sifting.

Most of the time, a girl needed to rescue herself.

My goodness,” she whispered. “Are you truly so afraid of asking for help? It’s that terrifying?” He balked. “I’m not afraid at all.” “I hear you saying that.” She pressed a hand to his shirtfront. “But this frantic, pounding thing in your chest is saying otherwise.” Little minx. There was exactly one reason his blood was pounding, and it had nothing to do with “please.” It had to do with “yes” and ”God, yes” and “just like that, but harder.

Chase planted his boot on the floor, levered for the advantage, and flipped them both. He straddled Ashbury’s chest and stared down at his scarred face. “I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt on Alex’s account, but now I’m angry. I may not have a bloodthirsty cat, but I know a girl who can make a small bowel obstruction look like an accident, and I have a great deal of experience giving eulogies.

Never mind the curtains, you milk-livered, flap-mouthed dotard.

I’ve waited too long for this. Days. Weeks. Years.

If I had your life story, it would be the first thing I mentioned to anyone. ‘Hullo, I’m Chase Reynaud. I learned to toddle aboard a merchant ship, and the Seven Seas rocked my cradle. And have I mentioned that no tropical sunset could compare with your beauty?’ The women would fall into bed with me.” “Don’t they fall into bed with you anyway?” “That’s true. But they might do so a half minute faster. Over months and years, those half minutes add up. So let’s hear the rest of the tale.