Page 98 of Dukes All Night Long

Carefully, Jo removed her hat and veil, shedding her cloak soon after. She took her time, placing the articles on the foyer table against the wall. She could feel Oliver watch her, feel him assess her movements as a lion stalked his prey.

At last, she turned to him. “Say what you need to say, Oliver. You won’t stop until you do.”

She should have known not to demand anything from him. His obstinate nature was too great. He didn’t speak. Instead, he moved toward her. His steps were measured, but his jaw was tight, resolute.

The dim lights from the sconces played on Oliver’s face, casting him in shadows and light, equal parts angel and demon. The closer he came, the more heat he threw off, and it circled Jo like a rope, making it impossible to escape.

Oliver’s footsteps on the tile were like church bells; the grandfather clock in the corner roared in Jo’s ears. This moment was too large, the sensations too heady. By the time he stood in front of her, she was too rattled to contain herself.

“Speak, Oliver!”

He shook his head. His lips curled. Teasing her. “You already know what I have to say.”

Jo wanted to scream. “Then why are you—”

Oliver was right. There were some things a person never forgot.

But Jo was also right. Memories were a dangerous thing.

Because when he captured her, folding her in his embrace, Jo was immediately transported to a different time. To a much younger, much happier version of herself. One that only wanted this. Only wanted him. And she was helpless to stop it. She gave in to it.

Oliver’s lips were hard and merciless as he kissed her, taking Jo with utter abandonment and raw power. He pressed his body against her, leaving nothing unsaid, nothing to the imagination. His lust was primitive and addictive.

He grabbed her hands and threaded them around his neck, forcing her to hold him, to act in the play.

And she did. Because it was a spark to a flame. It was match to a powder keg. His taste was sweet—dangerously so.

Oliver’s arms closed in tighter as he pinned her to the wall. She hooked one leg around him, tilting her hips up as he ground his pelvis against her.

Oliver feasted on her, sucking her lips until they were plump and swollen, licking them with his expert tongue. Jo arched her breasts into his palms, begging him to explore her.

“My love,” he whispered, trailing kisses down her jaw to her ear, “take me to your room.”

But even as all the blood rushed from Jo’s head, she knew she couldn’t do that. She didn’t want Oliver there.

But she did want him.

She unwound her arms from his neck, caressing his chest. Oliver sucked in a breath, pausing. Jo smiled as he tensed.

She felt his stomach undulate under her touch, felt it quiver and shake as she found his trouser buttons and worked them free. When she finally took him in hand, he jerked, grabbing her wrist.

“Jo—”

She caught his gaze. His bewilderment and surprise—and fear?—tugged at something inside her. In an instant she became fearless, emboldened, knowing that she needed this just as much as he did, and feeling no need to stop.

“Don’t tell me that the Duke of Winchester has become shy in his old age,” she teased.

Oliver groaned as she wrapped her fingers around the silky skin of his manhood, massaging up and down in the way he’d taught her. He dropped his forehead to hers, his chest heaving between them.

“Why don’t you take me to your room?”

“Because I don’t want you there,” she replied. “I want you here.”

Oliver needed no other explanation. He hoisted Jo up the wall, and she wrapped her legs around him.

Buttons pinged on the floor as he tore at her bodice, exposing her corset and the creamy, pink-tinged skin it did its best to contain.

Oliver shoved his head in the valley of her breasts, inhaling like a man who’d been trapped inside for years, a man who’d been waiting to take his first fresh breath.

Their lovemaking was fast and vicious. They were greedy for each other, taking everything the other would give.

As he thrust inside, Jo smiled at the sensation coursing through her, reveling in the way he filled her.

The way that he couldn’t stop touching her.

His mouth was never far from her, blazing a trail up and down her neck, biting and kissing—adoring.

Jo came before he did, curling her toes at the orgasm ripping through her body.

She had the sensation of flying, of rising above the mortal plane.

She bit his neck, muffling her scream in his cravat, luxuriating in the way he shook and spilled inside her, unable to withstand the pulses and shocks of her spent body.

Jo didn’t know how long they stayed that way, with Oliver inside her. Neither of them wanted to retreat. To look the other in the eye. To move on.

Move on.

The night flooded back to her, the witch’s words piecing together in Jo’s addled mind.

With a small chuckle, she eased away, releasing her legs back to the floor. She fluffed the wrinkles from her gown and did her best to tidy her bodice with the few small buttons that were left.

Oliver’s color was high. A gorgeous sheen of sweat on his forehead made his eyes positively glow. Jo’s chuckle had made him apprehensive, but that didn’t stop him from leaning forward to capture her mouth again.

But Jo saw it coming and slid away from the wall before he could kiss her.

Oliver massaged his chin, his gaze narrowing. He saved the awkwardness with a grin. “Yes, I suppose that’s enough for one night.”

Jo ventured to the staircase, gripping the banister post. Her knees were still shaky, her footsteps not at all straight.

But her conscience was.

“Enough for a lifetime, I would say.”

Oliver arched a brow. “Until tomorrow.” He picked his top hat off the floor and returned it to his head. “Will you join me for dinner?”

Jo was shaking her head before he finished asking the question. “This was only for tonight, Ollie.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Jo forgave the anger in his voice. “I won’t tell you what I was doing tonight before you found me. But I will say I received a message.”

“A message?”

She lifted her chin, suddenly plagued by nervousness. “I was given advice. I was told to move on. I confess…I didn’t understand it at the time, but then you were there, and now you’re here, and everything makes perfect sense.”

“ You’re not making any sense.” Oliver came toward her, and Jo carried herself up another step.

“I know, and I’m sorry. Believe me when I say that I didn’t plan for this to go this far—”

“We haven’t gone far enough,” Oliver interrupted. “Not until you say that you’ll see me tomorrow. Not until you tell me that you lied, that you do love me. And always will.”

“But I can’t do that,” Jo replied. He blanched at her even tone. “I was told to move on…to find love again—”

“With me!”

“No,” she whispered. “It was you I was supposed to move on from. I see that now. I can’t find love and create another life with you always in the back of my mind.”

Oliver wouldn’t be deterred. He reached for her, clutching Jo’s hands in his, ducking his head until they were face to face. “I’m always in the back of your mind because we belong together. Why can’t you see that?”

Jo stared at him for a long time, losing herself in the excitement of his big eyes, in the safety and warm clasp of his hands. But this picture of him was a mirage and it had fooled her before.

She freed her hand and caressed the lines of his forehead, the ones that seemed so new to her. “Loving each other was never our problem, Oliver. And yes, I was lying before. I will always love you. You know that.”

The words came from the base of his throat, guttural and harsh. “Then why do you send me away?”

Her hand dropped to her side. “Because it wasn’t enough for you before. And it’s not enough for me now.”