Page 127 of Dukes for Dessert

When the far door opened, he breathed a sigh of relief and flattened his back to the wall, hoping the shelves and shadows would provide him cover.

Veronica swept in and turned instantly to lock the door against the winter wind, before glancing at the gloom of the interior. Her attentions were immediately diverted by a tightly packed pile of worn furniture. Chairs with torn velvet upholstery were stacked upon three-legged tables and the corpses of armoires, all secured by leather straps and chains.

As she’d not yet alerted to his presence, Sebastion took the opportunity to observe her in an artless, uninhibited moment. She inspected every piece of abused antiqued furniture as she pulled her peach gloves from each individual finger.

Why he found the action unbearably erotic, he couldn’t say.

It was bloody cold in these unheated cargo cars, why would she be taking off her gloves?

Oh… Oh fuck.

Questioning fingertips entranced him as they tested the textures and details of several pieces while thoughts and opinions escaped her throat in slight speculative sounds. A wordless murmur of discovery, a crestfallen sigh, a small oh of surprise as she discovered something unexpected.

He’d been a fool to suggest they meet in such confines, though he did note that it was safer than anywhere with a bed.

Not that he’d ever needed a bed to enjoy sex. Any surface would do, really.

Carefully, almost reverently, Veronica stroked the scratched, pocked surface of a desk, her fingers finding the grooves and following them to their fruition. Closing her eyes, she indulged in a private moment, as if she shared a memory with the desk that caused her to gain three shades of peach to her cheeks.

Sebastian had flirted with, fondled, and fucked an untold number of beautiful women. He was a hedonist at heart, and did his utmost to live up to his reputation at every turn. A man driven by desire, by the indulgence thereof, he consumed whatever pleasure a moment could provide, stretching it out to the final drop.

In the bacchanalia that had been his life, he couldn’t ever remember wanting a woman with such ardency.

Truly, it bordered on violence.

Not violence toward her, so much as a ferocious, primitive reaction slamming into his body with the power of a war hammer. Skewering him with wicked lances of lust before mocking him with her indifference.

Not only did this leave him intensely perturbed, but also uncharacteristically perplexed. Though painfully ardent, this was no rutting need to throw his hips forward into a warm orifice with a pretty face.

His hands itched to build things for her. To break what insulted her. He wished for a bullet to throw his body in front of. Or a tyrant to topple in her name.

These almost sophomoric desires and drives hadn’t been a part of his intentions toward women since he was a lad of fourteen, desperate for a dragon to slay to win his damsel.

As a man, he’d become the monster.

Still was, in her eyes.

Driven by an intensifying inquisitiveness, he crept forward, no longer hiding himself, but also not calling attention to his presence.

Something about the old desk had absorbed her notice so thoroughly, he’d moved close enough to reach for her and she’d yet to register that she was not alone.

He adopted a sprightly tone, so as not to startle her overmuch. “What a lovely old piece. I was fond of one very much like it in my quarters on the Devil’s Dirge.”

Veronica whirled toward him, pulling her hand away from the surface of the desk as if it’d burned her.

“How did you get in here?” she demanded breathlessly.

“Same door as you.”

“You mean…you’ve been here all along?” Her winged, ebony brows met in a scowl. “You did not announce yourself upon my arrival.”

“I hope you can forgive my wickedness,” he murmured, thinking of all the multitudes of meaning that statement could convey. “It is only that you swept into the gloom looking like a Caribbean sunrise, and I was too breathless to greet you.”

Her wary gaze had yet to meet his, and he was getting the idea she found his flirting more aggravating than amusing. His compliment did not go entirely unappreciated, he noted, as she smoothed an idle hand down her bodice and scrutinized the drapes of her lovely skirt before tugging at them.

“What do you want with me?” she inquired of the ground with no little amount of impatience. “Because of your shameful behavior today, I’m keen to stay close to Penelope and Adrienne as Arthur Weller is now in a rotten mood and likely to take it out on them.”

“I’ve been told Weller is in the casino car with his young mistress…the Weller women are safe from his moods for the moment.”