Bloodlust Denied Read Online Free PDF Page B

explain she was the Lady Harriet’s great-niece, but his voice came from a great distance as each amplified beat of her heart echoed through her ears and thundered through her blood.
    “May I present His Grace, the Duke of Havenshire.”
    He bowed, and a shiver raced along her spine as she recalled the last time he had bowed to her just seconds after she’d demanded his soul. She forced a curtsey, her knees stiff, thighs shaking and finally risked glancing up at him.
    Vibrant green eyes mocked her in a face so starkly beautiful her breath escaped in a shocked gasp. The flickering lantern in the alley had revealed his strong jaw, his high cheekbones and sensual lips, but had concealed the extent of his charismatic allure that enfolded her like a living entity.
    But his eyes . She stared into them, mesmerized. In the dark alley, it had been impossible to discern their color and yet she knew these eyes. They were as familiar to her as her own but that was impossible. Madness.
    He was speaking. She struggled to clear her mind, to compose her senses. She resisted the urge to press her hand against her face, just to check that her cheeks weren’t really as hot as they felt.
    “May I have the honor of this dance, Miss Craven?” The quirk of his mouth was the only indication he found such formality amusing. She flicked the tip of her tongue over her lips and didn’t miss the way his eyes followed the movement.
    She could refuse. Turn and run. And knew she never would.
    “Thank you.” Her voice sounded cool, collected. Thank the gods. He took her gloved hand and even through the fabric his fingers heated hers, branding her.
    Surreptitious glances followed them as they took their place in the dance. He released her hand, slowly, as if in two minds as to whether to comply with the rules of etiquette before once again offering her a sardonic bow.
    She swept her glance over him. He was impeccably attired in a cream, elegantly embroidered waistcoat and black coat, a fashionable man of society. A duke, no less, and yet how could he be anything else with his arrogant bearing? Through lowered lashes, her gaze hovered over his tight breeches and her breath caught in her throat at the telltale bulge.
    Memories spilled from the dark corners of her mind. How often during the last three years she had dreamed of his thick cock filling her damp folds. Of the way he had ridden her without mercy or constraint, causing her to scream in wanton abandonment.
    “We meet again.” His dark baritone surged through her senses, like rich whiskey heating her blood.
    “So it would appear.” She pulled her errant thoughts back from the gutter and glanced along the line of dancers. But they were for the most part in animated flirtation with their partners and appeared to find nothing amiss with her flustered appearance. “Although the circumstances are somewhat different tonight.”
    He laughed aloud, a shocking breach, and her eyes widened as half the room turned toward them, fans fluttering, eyebrows arched. But then he was a duke. What did he care for others good opinion?
    They came together, and his grip on her fingers was more possessive than decorum allowed. She returned the pressure because what did she care for the etiquette of this time?
    His green eyes glittered in approval. “Your social status is certainly elevated, Morana.” He gave emphasis to her name, daring her to reprove his familiarity. “Do you care to share the secret of your success?”
    She followed the prescribed steps of the dance, so elegant, so refined, yet all she wanted was to throw off these social restraints and dance the way she had always danced. The way she had to dance, melding her body into the music and once again seducing this hypnotic stranger until he roared his release to the heavens.
    Her breath caught in her throat and she blinked rapidly to clear the haze of lust that floated through her mind.
    “There’s no secret to my success.” She hoped he