Berkley Sensation
Featuring: Elisabeth de Roussel; Nicolas de Savignac; Adrien d'Aspe
368 pages ISBN: 0425235564 EAN: 9780425235560 Trade Size Add to Wish List
Sleeping Beau: Five years ago, notorious rake Adrien
d'Aspe was drugged with an aphrodisiac and accosted with a
carnal encounter with a beautiful redhead. The now-widowed
Catherine de Villecourt, who is again betrothed, appears
and is threatened by exposure unless she succumbs to
Adrien's erotic lovemaking. Both find their worlds are
again unpredictable.
Little Red Writing: Under the guise of the name
Gilbert Leduc, Anne de Vignon publishes illegal volumes of
short stories of maligned and mocked men. Musketeer
Nicholas de Savignac is ordered by the king to discover the
author's identity and bring that person for punishment. The
poet and the Musketeer, lost in exotic sex, cannot avoid
the impossible finality of his mission for the king.
Bewitching in Boots: Elisabeth de Roussel, widow and
favorite daughter of his majesty, has set her hat for the
handsome ex-commander of the King's Private Guard.
Accustomed to having her way, Elisabeth has woven a web of
deceit to gain the sexual prowess of Tristan de
Tiersonnier. Conniving and plotting gives them both extreme
exotic sexual pleasures with unexpected results.
Lila DiPasqua has created three tales depicting the
classic fairy tales of Sleeping Beauty, Puss in
Boots and Little Red Riding Hood, with
astounding twists. All three contain an abundance of
extremely erotically charged sexual acts. Believe me, these
are not your usual fairy tales!
Three sexy stories based on the fairytales of
Sleeping Beauty, Little Red Riding Hood, and
Puss in Boots.
Once upon a salacious time,
when fairy tales were written...
Sleeping Beau: Five years ago, the notorious rake,
Adrien d’Aspe, Marquis de Beaulain, was awakened by a
sensuous kiss—and experienced a night of raw ecstasy that
was branded into his memory. Years later, he spots his
mysterious seductress—and this time, he has no intention of
letting her go...
Little Red Writing: Nicolas de Savignac, Comte de
Lambelle, has been assigned by the King to uncover the
secret identity of the author writing scandalous stories
about powerful courtiers. He never expected his
investigation would lead to his grandmother's house, or to
a ravishing woman who would stir his deepest hunger...
Bewitching in Boots: Elisabeth de Roussel, daughter
of the King, is accustomed to getting what she wants—and
she wants Tristan de Tiersonnier, Comte de Saint-Marcel, an
ex-commander of the King’s private Guard. A recent injury
has forced Tristan to leave his distinguished position, but
Elisabeth is determined to make him see he's every bit the
man he once was—and more than man enough for her...
Excerpt
Chapter 1
France, 1685
“Will you do it, Adrien? Say yes. You simply must. I’m
your sister.”Charlotte’s whine taxed
Adrien’s already thin patience.
Adrien Christophe d’Aspe de Bourbon, Marquis de
Beaulain, stared out the window at the gardens below. Lords
and ladies milled about, clustering near the fountains and
along the pathways bordered by flowerbeds. His mood was
foul. His audience with his father the root cause. It hadn’t
gone well. It never went well. Days after the fact, he was
still irritable. He’d only just arrived at the Comtesse de
Lamotte’s château and already Charlotte had him wanting to
leave. Her unexpected presence and the absurd scheme she’d
devised had effectively soured his plans: a few days at
Suzanne’s abode, indulging in drink and debauchery to lift
him out of his ill humor.
“You’re my half-sister, Charlotte. We have
different fathers,” he replied bitterly. Raised in
Paris at the Hôtel d’Aspe by his three uncles, Adrien had
had all the male influence he’d needed. Or wanted. Except
for the occasional horrid visit, his father had been absent
from his life—that is, until a year ago when Adrien’s mother
had died. Since then Louis had injected himself into
Adrien’s world. Though Adrien wanted nothing to do with the
man, his father was not someone he or anyone could simply
ignore.
Charlotte rose from the settee and stopped beside him.
“You needn’t remind me of that. Your father is the King. At
least he has legitimized you, given you title and lands—
”
“He legitimized all his illegitimate children. Not just
me. And it is a wonder there’s any land left in the realm,
given the multitude he sired. I doubt even he knows how many
mistresses he’s had.” Their mother among the masses.
“Well, the Baron de Chambly still won’t recognize me as
his. He’s never given me a moment’s thought, much less
wealth.”
“Charlotte, nothing comes without a price.” His tone
dripped with disdain.
“Come now, Adrien. Enough of this. We are family. I
need you.” Her bottom lip was out in a full pout. “What
I ask of you is not so strenuous. You and I both know you’ll
bed some of the women here before the week is up. All I ask
is that you bed Catherine de Villecourt as well. Charm her.
Convince her that marriage is not what she wants. Lure her
away from my Philbert. You’re my only hope, Adrien. He’s set
to wed her in two weeks.” Tears glistened in her hazel eyes.
“I don’t want to lose him. He’s been so distant lately. I
fear if he weds, I’ll never get him back. She’s younger than
I. Fifteen years his junior.” Two tears spilled down her
cheeks. “He’ll focus on his new bride and forget all about
me.”
Exasperated, Adrien let out a sharp breath. Charlotte
and their mother were so alike. She, too, had harbored the
illusion that she could accomplish the impossible: maintain
her lover’s interest indefinitely and remain his favorite
for good.
“Charlotte, find yourself a new lover. You don’t need
Philbert de Baillet.”
“Yes I do,” she protested. “I love him! I don’t want to
live without him.”
How many times had he heard those very words from his
mother’s mouth about his father? Love. It was highly
overrated. He’d no idea why anyone would pursue it. Love
caused suffering. Lust was much easier to deal with. And far
more pleasurable.
Adrien was about to rebut when she added, “Look down
there. There she is now. With our hostess.”
Mildly curious about Charlotte’s rival, he glanced down
at the manicured grounds and spotted their hostess Suzanne
de Lamotte. She was with a woman whose rich auburn hair
looked a tad too familiar. He stared harder. From this
distance, he couldn’t make out enough details to be
certain . . . but . . . The
hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Dieu, it
looked like her.
Could it possibly be . . . ?
Visions of the redhead naked in his bed materialized in
his mind. He still remembered her face. Her scent—jasmine.
And the sultry sounds she made each time she came. Their
carnal encounter was like none he’d ever known. Perfect
spine-melting passion. Her delectable mouth, her lush form,
and her hot creamy sex clasped snugly around his thrusting
cock had him on fire the entire night.
In the morning, he was shocked to discover that she’d
spiked his burgundy with an aphrodisiac. And she was gone.
He’d been confused, a bit disoriented, and uncertain if the
whole thing hadn’t been a dream. But the scent of jasmine
lingered on his skin.
And on the sheets, glaring back at him, was the stunning
proof that he’d taken a virgin.
Furious that he’d been played, tricked, he’d questioned
his friend Daniel, Marquis de Gallay, the host of the
masquerade. Made discreet inquiries everywhere. No one knew
who the auburn-haired seductress was. For the longest time
he’d been unsure whether he’d be hauled to the altar or
called out. But the lady’s family never stepped forward.
She’d left him with a sizzling memory and unanswered
questions. Worse and even more maddening, after all these
years she still made appearances in every one of his erotic
dreams.
Was it possible that after five years he’d found the
mysterious beauty who had sneaked into his chambers and
awakened him with a searing kiss?
He stalked to the door and snatched it open.
“Well? Will you do it?” Charlotte called out. “Adrien?
Where are you going?”
Adrien crossed the threshold with purposeful
strides.
*****
Moving through the gardens, Catherine walked arm in arm
with Suzanne—her friend and former sister-in-law and the
only good thing to come out of her brief scandal-ridden
marriage. If Suzanne’s guests were privy to gossip about
Catherine’s late husband, the Comte de Villecourt, they gave
no indication of it.
Strains of music from the violins sweetened the summer
air and blended with the trickling sounds of the
fountains.
Her tension easing, Catherine was starting to enjoy
herself. She’d remained in mourning two years—longer than
her marriage had lasted—and had thereafter kept to herself
at Château Villecourt, away from the gossipmongers who’d
gleefully spread the sensational details leading to her late
husband’s fatal duel.
It was Suzanne who had convinced her to visit last year.
It was Suzanne who’d introduced her to her present
betrothed, Philbert, Comte de Baillet. And it was Suzanne
who’d persuaded her to take this sojourn before her
impending nuptials.
“You aren’t really going to marry Baillet, that old
bore, are you?” Suzanne asked, her hostess’s smile affixed
to her face as they moved past the guests.
Catherine’s smile was genuine. “I am. I shall proudly be
the Comtesse de Old Bore.” Her laugh moved Suzanne to one as
well.
Sobering, her friend remarked, “I know my brother made
you suffer, Catherine. I only want your happiness.”
Catherine arrested her steps. “I am happy. Philbert and
I will get along fine.” Philbert was not the most exciting
of men, but she’d endured enough excitement to last
a lifetime while married to Villecourt. Philbert was the
right choice. She’d have a quiet existence, financial
security, and that was enough to satisfy her. Shoving aside
the twinge of regret, she silenced the small voice inside
her heart that opposed the notion. It made no difference
that he didn’t love her. Or that she didn’t love him. Such
marriages were virtually unheard of. At least Philbert had
enough regard for her to treat her with respect and to be
discreet about any paramours he’d maintain.
Suzanne sighed. “I suppose . . .
but . . . beneath that very proper exterior
lies a vivacious woman. One desperate to get out. I fear the
sheer dullness of the man will kill her.”
“Suzanne—” Catherine’s retort was interrupted.
“Madame de Lamotte!” a woman called out behind her.
Turning, Catherine saw two women about her age briskly
approaching.
“Ah, Dieu . . .” Suzanne
murmured softly.
The two dark-haired females stopped before them, cheeks
pink and slightly breathless.
“Is he here, madame? Has le Beau arrived?”
blurted out Madame de Noisette the moment Suzanne had
finished with the introductions.
“Yes, do tell,” her friend Madame de Bussy,
prompted.
“He is here.” Suzanne’s statement was weighty with a
certain amount of smug pleasure.
Excitement bubbled out of the two women, the sound much
like that of a gaggle of geese.
Catherine hid her amusement over their reactions. “Who
is le Beau?” she inquired, her curiosity
piqued.
Madame de Noisette’s brown eyes widened. “You don’t know
le Beau?”
“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of him.”
“Why, he’s only the most handsome man in the realm,” she
explained. “He’s one of the King’s own bastard sons—Adrien,
Marquis de Beaulain.”
“And I hear he’s between conquests,” Madame de Bussy
added. “His reputation as a master swordsman and”—she
blushed—“in the boudoir is renowned. In fact, they say he’s
had more women than his father.”
“Oh?” Catherine remarked, unimpressed.
Madame de Noisette tittered. “He’s living up to the
curse.”
That grabbed Catherine’s interest. “Curse?”
“Why, yes.” Madame de Bussy looked around then stepped a
little closer and continued sotto voce. “His mother was, for
a time, the King’s favorite. It is said that at le Beau’s
christening, one of the King’s former favorites was overcome
with jealousy, burst into the chapel, and cursed the child
the moment the holy oil was placed upon his forehead.”
Madame de Noisette shook her head. “Can you imagine such
a thing?” Knowing how superstitious the King and his court
were, Catherine understood the horror in the woman’s tone.
Uttering ill-intended words toward the babe was bad enough,
but to hurl them at the anointing of the child was far
worse. “Tell her what she said. Go on,” Madame de Noisette
urged her friend.
“Yes, of course . . . She said the babe
would grow up to be exceptionally beautiful, charming, break
women’s hearts, as his father did, yet be nothing but
grief to Louis. The King became instantly incensed at
the woman. One of le Beau’s godfathers, for his mother had
three brothers and couldn’t choose between them for such an
honor, tried to mollify the King. As the story goes, he
placed a hand upon the infant’s crown and said that the
child’s looks and charm would indeed be great and that all
would marvel at him. That he would fill His Majesty with
pride, for a son so fine could only belong to the ruler
himself.”
Catherine glanced at Suzanne and caught her rolling her
eyes.
“Really, madame, that tale has been retold too many
times with too many variations to be believed,” Suzanne
said.
“It is true!” Madame de Bussy insisted, then turned to
Catherine. “It’s all come to pass. He most definitely has
looks and charm, and at the age of majority, barely fifteen,
he pricked his first woman.”
Her friend laughed. “My dear, I believe you mean he
used his prick for the first time to tumble a
woman.”
Madame de Bussy’s face turned crimson. “Ah, yes, yes,
that is exactly what I mean. And he has been using that
particular part of his anatomy to delight many fortunate
females ever since.” By the sparkle in her eyes, Catherine
could tell she was anxious to be his next conquest. Since
most men preferred to live at their hôtels in Paris while
their wives were banished to their country châteaus, the
ladies before her could easily take a lover without anyone
being the wiser.
“And, my dear, let us not forget how often His Majesty
has had to look the other way each time le Beau has broken
his own father’s law—” Madame de Noisette’s words froze on
her tongue her mouth remaining agape as she stared beyond
Catherine.
“It’s him!” Madame de Bussy exclaimed.
Catherine was just about to turn around when Madame de
Noisette squeezed her arm. “Don’t. Don’t turn around. He is
looking this way and it will seem as though we are speaking
about him.”
“We are speaking about him, madame,” Suzanne said
blandly.
“Oh, my.” Madame de Noisette removed her hand from
Catherine’s arm and pressed it to her bosom. “He is coming
this way.”
Suzanne was now facing her approaching guest with a
welcoming smile.
Unable to resist a peek at the roué, Catherine peered
over her shoulder. Her stomach dropped the moment her gaze
locked on to a set of arresting green eyes. Sinfully
seductive, intimately familiar light green eyes. Her limbs
went cold and her knees felt suddenly weak.
Dear God, it’s him . . .
“Hmmm? What did you say?” Suzanne asked, still focused
on the ever-nearing le Beau.
“No, nothing.” Oh God. Oh God. Oh
God. He’s the bastard son of the King! She’d
tainted his wine with an aphrodisiac. He could have her
arrested for that. For her rash—idiotic—act. Every fiber in
her body screamed, “Flee!”
“Suzanne,” she croaked out, her heart hammering.
Her friend dragged her gaze back to her, her smile
instantly dissolving. “Catherine, are you all right? You’re
flushed.”
“I’ve suddenly developed a terrible headache. I’m going
to lie down. Excuse me.” She fisted her skirts and made her
way across the gardens, forcing herself to keep to a swift
walk and not a full-out run. She maneuvered around the
guests, never making eye contact, never turning around,
using the bushes to shield her from le Beau’s view whenever
possible. Around the side of the château she’d find the
servants’ entrance.
Ten more feet and she’d be out of sight.
Her breaths were ragged.
Eight feet. Hurry!
How could Odette have been so mistaken? Her maid had
told her that the beautiful stranger she’d spotted at the
masquerade five years ago was a foreigner. From Vienna.
She rounded the side of the château. At
last . . .
Tossing a quick glance over her shoulder, Catherine
bolted for the wooden door, all but falling against it when
she reached it. Briefly fumbling with the latch, she opened
it, ducked inside, and raced through the kitchens,
negotiating around each busy servant who got in her way,
ignoring their curious looks. Smoke and the heavy scent of
roasting meats assailed her nostrils and scorched her
throat. Move! Move!Get to your rooms!
She rushed up the servants’ darkened stairs and stopped
at the door that led to the upstairs hallway. Cautiously,
she opened it and peered out. Empty!
Only twenty feet remained between her and her chamber
door. Wasting no time, she stepped into the long corridor
and made her way to safety, her legs wobbly with each rapid
step she took.
“Madame?” A male voice arrested her steps.
And her breathing.
She heard footsteps approaching.
Don’t panic. It could be anyone. Let it be anyone
other than—she turned. Her knees almost buckled.
Le Beau.
Chapter 2
Where had he come from? The shadows? Likely the grand
stairwell.
Two final strides and he was before her. Tall. Muscled.
With hair the color of a moonless night sky. Her fingers
began to tingle. Catherine clasped her hands tightly
together. She could still feel its cool silky texture
between her fingers, as if it were only yesterday that she’d
caressed his dark shoulder-length hair. She’d forgotten just
how large a man he was—his broad shoulders, his
magnificently sculpted form. She felt small, very feminine
near his powerfully built body.
Give nothing away. He doesn’t remember
you. He can’t. Then why did he leave the
gardens so quickly? Why is he here?
Schooling her features, she expelled the air from her
lungs and met his gaze unwavering. “Yes?” she said, amazed
at the coolness in her tone when she was on the brink of
discomposure.
Those unforgettable light green eyes scrutinized her
face. She fought not to fidget. His presence and proximity
were disquieting on so many levels. Her insides quaked.
“I believe we’ve met, madame.”
Her heart lurched. She managed a small smile. “I’m
afraid you have mistaken me for someone else. Now, if you’ll
excuse me.” She turned.
He caught her arm. A jolt of sensations shot through
her.
“Unhand me,” she said, shaken, a dizzying combination of
excitement and dread inundating her.
He released her, the corner of his sensual mouth
lifting, stopping short of a smile. Without a word, he
slowly walked around her, his bold assessing gaze moving
over her body. She could feel his tactile regard right
through her clothing, making her hot from the inside
out.
“Sir, your conduct is outrageous.” Did she sound as
breathless as she felt? “You are being extremely rude.”
He stopped, his towering form now a formidable obstacle
between her and the door to her rooms.
“It’s you,” he said.
She swallowed and lifted her chin a notch.
“Pardon?”
“You’re the woman who sneaked into my chamber that night
five years ago.”
Stirring memories filled her mind. She shoved them aside
as she’d done many times throughout the years.
“You are mad. I told you—I don’t know you.”
He tilted his head to one side, a smug look in his eyes,
much like the cat that had cornered the mouse. “Madame, you
do know me—in the biblical sense. Though there was nothing
but sinful delights in what we shared.”
Heat crept down her face and neck to her chest. “Tell
me,” she responded with as much calm as she could muster.
“Is this a habit of yours? Skulking around hallways? Making
lurid—unfounded—accusations?” she asked. “Or perhaps this is
your twisted way of enticing women? By telling them of your
sexual exploits. Are there women who actually fall for this
ploy?”
He stepped closer. Awareness rippled through her. Yet
she refused to step back, knowing he was trying to
intimidate her. His mouth was oh, so close to her
own . . . Images of that skillful mouth on
her body, grazing over her skin, drawing on her breasts made
her sex clench and moisten.
“Perhaps you and I have a different definition of
twisted,” he said. “I’d like to know what twisted
motives you had when you decided to taint my wine and
surrender your innocence to me.”
“It sounds like you had quite an evening,” she said
without flinching. “Though I can’t comprehend why—after five
years, did you say?—it would be so vivid in your mind. How
can you be certain that it was I? Surely, you managed to
find a woman or two since then willing to overlook your
barbaric manners. You are”—she shrugged—“mildly
attractive.”
His brows shot up, surprised at first, then his lips
twitched as he fought back a smile.
“Have I amused you?” How she wished he’d step back. His
closeness was making it difficult to breathe. Or think. She
had to get away from him. From the château.
Preempt her vacation.
“You have. I’m not accustomed to receiving a set-down
from a woman.” He slipped his fingers beneath her chin and
caressed his thumb along her cheek. Pleasure streaked from
his touch down to the tips of her breasts, causing her
nipples to harden.
She took a quick step back and bumped into the wall. He
braced his palms on either side of her shoulders, trapping
her.
“I am also not accustomed to having a woman dupe and
drug me.” He stared at her pointedly.
Catherine glanced at her chamber door. It was so close,
yet it might as well have been on the other side of the
country. She couldn’t simply race to it and bolt the door
behind her. That would only make matters worse.
You’ve got to convince him he’s mistaken.
Fail and he could have the King draw up orders.
They’d arrest her and leave her to languish in prison—until
her trial and certain execution. Other women had suffered
this fate. Because of the recent poisonings at court,
administering anything, even something as harmless
as a love potion, without the other person’s knowledge was
punishable under the law.
Adrien scrutinized the woman before him with the
discerning eye of a libertine. Her skin was flushed and her
breasts rose and fell with her quickened breaths in the most
mesmerizing, mouthwatering way. Jésus-Christ, that
auburn hair, delectable form, and those brandy-colored eyes…
She was just as alluring as he remembered.
He was not mistaken.
She was indeed his midnight temptress.
She knew it. He knew it. And so did his unruly cock. She
hadn’t done anything more heated than to glare at him, yet
she had him stiff as a spike, his hard prick straining
against his breeches. The way her small pink tongue
unconsciously licked her lips was driving him to
distraction.
Her haughty airs and indignation were an act. She was
trying to conceal not only the truth, but her arousal as
well. Her nipples were hard and her frequent glances at his
mouth were telling. Thoughts of taking her to her chamber,
stripping her naked, and sinking his length into that tight
juicy core of hers—of purging her from his system for
good—were running rampant in his mind. Merde, there
was no short supply of willing women. The last female he
should want was one who’d schemed and stooped to such
trickery. Unfortunately, his cock didn’t agree with his
head.
No woman had ever occupied his thoughts or dreams the
way she had. And he resented it.
He resented that the best fuck of his life had been
drug-induced.
She’d left him to imagine every possible scenario that
had motivated her actions. With no way of confirming any of
them. Now that he’d found her and knew her name, he wasn’t
going to relent. No matter how lovely she was, how enticing,
how physically pleasurable that night had been, she
was going to admit what she’d done and tell him
why. He was going to have answers to the questions that had
plagued him for years.
She owed him as much.
“Perhaps you are reluctant to discuss the matter because
of who I am—or better yet—who my father is. But I assure you
I want answers, not revenge,” he said. It had to be a
barrier for her. One he wanted out of the way to clear a
path for the truth.
“I’ve nothing more to say to you. This conversation is
over. Please step back.” She had an obstinate look in her
eyes, one that said she wouldn’t confess. That she’d never
confess. It steeled his resolve. If she wanted to engage in
a round of wits and wills, he’d play along. She’d started
this game. He’d finish it. And win. It was time to chisel
away at her façade.
Since it was clear she wasn’t immune to him, he chose
his course of action.
Adrien dipped his head. The light scent of jasmine
inundated his senses with a heady rush.
“Catherine . . .” he said softly in her ear,
her edible little earlobe so temptingly close to his hungry
mouth. “I’ve thought of that night many times.” She placed
her hands against his chest as if to stave him off but
didn’t push him away. Encouraged, he continued. “I remember
the sweet taste of your mouth . . . your pink
nipples . . . details of your beautiful
body . . . You remember our night together.
Having me inside you . . . as you came,
again . . . and again . . .”
She shivered with excitement. It reverberated inside him.
His cock began to pulse. “Ma belle, admit it was
you.” He brushed his mouth over the sensitive spot under her
ear. She made a strangled sound and turned her face away,
inadvertently giving him better access to the slender column
of her neck. Or perhaps it wasn’t so inadvertent.
But stubbornly, she remained silent.
Urgency thundered through him. Her soft skin beckoned.
He drew her warm skin between his lips and gently sucked.
She fisted his shirt and gasped. Her pulse beneath his mouth
was as wild as his own. She tasted of jasmine. And slightly
salty. Sweet womanly sweat from her nervous excitement.
“Tell me what I wish to know,” he murmured. “And I just
might give you what your body is begging for.”
He moved to her earlobe and lightly bit it. This time
she moaned, the delicious sound making his sac tighten and
his heart hammer harder. She was too damned desirable. The
crest of his cock was moist with pre-come, his body
clamoring for him to take her right here against the
wall.
He’d been with enough experienced women to know that she
was not. In the last five years, she hadn’t gained any
significant experience. He couldn’t believe this sexual
novice had him this undone. Just as undone as he’d been five
years ago when—in his ravenous state—he’d overlooked the
signs of her innocence.
Pulling back slightly, he gazed at her face. She was
panting, his breathing no less affected. She stared back at
him. Her cheeks were pink and her lips were parted, begging
to be kissed. Hers was no ordinary mouth. It was
extraordinary—made to drive men wild.
Grappling with self-control, Adrien could barely
moderate himself. “There is a way to put this to rest, you
know. To prove once and for all whether or not you are the
woman I seek.”
Something flickered in her amber depths. Confusion?
Curiosity?
“You see,” he continued, “the woman who came to my bed
that night had lovely breasts, much like
yours . . . and on her left breast, right
here”—he stroked his fingers along the outside curve of the
soft mound, and she gave a delightful gasp—“she had three
small freckles. A pretty constellation that, if connected,
would make a perfect tiny triangle.”
He thought he saw her flinch, though it was so slight,
he wasn’t certain he’d seen it at all. The sexual haze in
her eyes dissolved. Replaced by a fire of a different
sort.
She shoved his hand away. “Are you suggesting I show you
my breast?” she said, clearly incredulous.
He pressed his palms against the wall once more, and
tilted his head to one side, his mouth mere inches from
hers. “It would prove whether or not you’re my mystery lady.
Come with me to my chambers or invite me to yours—someplace
where we’ll be more comfortable. I promise, you’ll enjoy
every moment.” Her gaze once again dropped to his mouth. His
greedy cock jerked in response. Adrien leaned in a little
closer, their lips all but touching. “Which is your room,
Catherine?” he whispered against her tempting lips. He was
dying to possess them. He was dying to possess her.
“Adrien!” a male voice called out.
She squeaked, ducked down and slipped out from under his
arm so quickly, he almost kissed the wall.
“Merde,” he growled, shoving himself away from
the wall. His head snapped around in the direction of the
intruder, with every intention of venting his full fury over
the interruption.
Merde. Merde. Merde! His
three godfathers stalked toward him. What the bloody hell
were they doing here?
Was everyone he was related to going to show up?
He looked at Catherine. She’d paled and was using him as
a shield from his approaching uncles. Her intoxicating eyes
were large, beseeching, as if she thought he’d make the
situation worse. They both knew that she’d been caught in a
compromising situation with a man who had a shameless
reputation.
He stepped in front of her to better conceal her from
the ever-nearing trio. “Go,” he said over his shoulder.
Dainty footsteps quickly retreated down the hall behind
him and then a door closed just as his godfathers stopped
before him.
Adrien clenched his teeth, his muscles taut, his body
rioting for release. He was in sexual agony,
unnecessary sexual agony, for given a few moments
more and he’d have had the auburn-haired enchantress behind
closed doors …