Free Their Wicked Ways by Julia Keaton Page B

demands.
     
    She’d tried to seduce him. 
There was no point in lying to herself that she’d only meant to soothe his
hurt, or make amends for the terrible things she’d thought about him.
     
    She’d wanted to see if he
desired her.
     
    She had her answer, and yet
it left her feeling dissatisfied, and not just because they hadn’t finished
what they’d started.  She knew she could provoke him to lust.  What she didn’t
know was whether his heated reaction was particular to her, or if he would have
been equally excited by any female who’d crawled in his lap and fondled him.
     
    It was perverse of her, she
knew, when she’d reacted just as heatedly to Nick’s kisses, but then she’d
always adored them both. Even as a young girl, she had felt just as thrilled by
Nick’s attention as she was by Darcy’s.
     
    She’d always wanted them
both.
     
    Maybe that was the real
problem?  It was her, not them.
     
    Sighing, she rose finally and
left the parlor.  She’d just set foot on the first tread when she heard the
bell ring.  Her heart skipped a beat as it popped into her mind to wonder if
Darcy had come back.  She hesitated, listening as the butler moved to the door
and opened it.
     
    The voice wasn’t Darcy’s. 
The moment Nick stepped through the door, their gazes collided.  She stared at
him guiltily.  His face hardened purposefully.  Without even stopping to
consider what she was doing, Bronte hiked her skirts to her knees and fled up
the stairs.
     
    She heard Nick’s brisk stride
as he crossed the hallway and came after her.  He caught up to her in the upper
hallway, grabbing her around the waist and jerking her to a halt.
     
    “Lady Dunmore!  Shall I summon
the footmen?” her butler called from below.
     
    Bronte looked at Nick
uneasily, envisioning the struggle that was bound to ensue if her footmen tried
to oust him.  “No,” she said finally.
     
    “Good choice.  You and I have
unfinished business,” Nick ground out.  Glancing around, he pulled her into the
upstairs morning room and closed the door firmly behind them.
     
    “The servants will talk,”
Bronte said uneasily.
     
    “But you don’t particularly
care, do you?” Nick asked tightly, releasing her finally although he did not
move away.
     
    Bronte blinked, trying to
think what he was talking about.  As she stared at him, however, she noticed
the bruising beneath his eyes.  “You fought with Darcy!” she said accusingly.
     
    Something flickered in his
eyes.  “It was a boxing match at the gym,” he said smoothly.  “Don’t change
subject.”
     
    “I’m not sure what the
subject is,” she said evasively, having finally remembered the words she’d
flung at him the last time she saw him.
     
    “I think you do,” Nick said
grimly.
     
    Bronte studied him with an
assessing glance.  “Which part are you objecting to?”
     
    His lips tightened and that
coldly devilish gleam entered his eyes.  “Both, but most definitely the last.”
     
    She forced a disbelieving
laugh.  “You, of all people, are chastising me?”
     
    “It was hardly ladylike,” he
retorted grimly.
     
    Bronte’s eyes narrowed.  “But
then I never was much of a lady, was I?” she shot back at him.
     
    “If you mean to blame that on
me, too, Bronte, I’m going to be severely tempted to turn you over my knee and
paddle your backside.”
     
    Finding she simply could not
resist the temptation to provoke him, she leaned closer.  “Naughty Nick.  You
want to play with my backside, don’t you?” she whispered.
     
    When she straightened, she
saw his face was taut, stony.  He swallowed thickly.  “Take care, Bronte, or
you’ll find yourself on your back with your skirts over your head.  I’ve only
so much self-control and it’s wearing thin,” he ground out.
     
    The threat alone was enough
to make the muscles in her belly clench.  Lifting a hand, she placed it lightly
on his chest.
     
    He caught her wrist when