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New York Times Bestseller • USA Today Bestseller
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Between the Devil and DesireAvon Books December 30, 2008 978-0-06-135564-6
Regardless of her trepidation it was time to confront him, time to put matters to right. Olivia, Duchess of Lovingdon, nodded at the footman. He opened the door. Taking a deep breath, she walked in carrying the tray of food she'd prepared. Her heart thudded with the closing of the door. She’d expected Jack Dodger to make some scathing comment and was surprised to find he wasn’t sitting at his desk, but in a chair near the window.
Although sitting wasn’t the correct word. He was fairly sprawled in it, with one leg stretched out, the ledger detailing each item he'd inherit if he served as guardian of Lovingdon's son open in his lap, his head at an awkward angle, his eyes closed. Yet even in slumber, he didn’t appear innocent.
As quietly as possible, she walked over the carpet and set the tray on the desk. Curiosity getting the better of her, she cautiously approached the man Lovingdon had deemed worthy of guarding his son. She was not yet ready to proclaim he was the best selection, but she was willing to reluctantly admit he might not be the worst.
He really was in dire need of having his hair trimmed. She considered what it might be like to thread her fingers through his unruly curls. The disheveled strands should have given him the appearance of a child—but nothing about him reflected the innocence of youth. She suspected he wasn’t even innocent when he was born.
His face contained a cragginess that remained, even in sleep, as though the harshness of his life never left him at peace. She wanted to reach out and ease the furrow between his brows. A strange thing to desire.
She felt a trifle wicked standing there, watching him without his knowing.
His hand flicked, and she almost screeched. It was resting on a page of his open ledger. Curled slightly, it revealed that horrible burn he'd received in prison. She’d not given any thought to how much it would have hurt, but had focused on what it represented. She couldn’t imagine him willingly holding out his hand to accept a brand. He would have fought. They would have had to hold him down. Her stomach roiled. Even if he’d stolen, did he deserve to be burned? Did anyone?
She lifted her gaze back to the welt on his cheek. It was red, inflamed. He hadn’t deserved that either. He hadn’t deserved her wrath or mistrust.
What he did deserve, she decided, was undisturbed rest. She thought she could make him a bit more comfortable. If she just eased the ledger . . .
Iron clamped around her wrist, jerking her forward—
Releasing the tiniest of screeches, she halted her progress by shoving her hand against something hard—Jack Dodger’s chest. Her face was uncomfortably close to his, and for a moment, she knew sheer terror because in his eyes she saw reflected a savagery that she suspected existed only on battlefields. His breathing was harsh, his chest moving up and down beneath her fingers. Her knees had hit the chair, and to her mortification, she realized she’d somehow become wedged between his thighs.
She was afraid to move, afraid not to. He was looking at her as though he’d never seen her before, as though he was trying to determine how every aspect of her features had been formed.
“What are you doing?” he rasped.
She swallowed the tight ball suddenly lodged in her throat. “You-you were sleeping. I thought to make you more comfortable.”
He lowered his gaze to her mouth and she realized it had been so very long since she’d been this close to a man, so very, very long since her lips had been so near to being kissed. She recognized the passion flaring in his eyes. Her heart thudded, her knees weakened, and she thought she was in danger of finding herself sprawled in his lap. She fully expected him to draw her nearer, to place that perfectly shaped mouth, those full lips on hers—
Lifting his free hand, he cradled her cheek. His palm was much rougher than Lovingdon’s had been. Rougher and larger. He skimmed his thumb over her lips, before lifting his gaze back to hers. “Careful, Duchess,” he said in a gruff voice. “I’m not a man who settles for only a kiss.”
Copyrighted © 2008
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