He hates her for breaking his heart. She detests him for destroying her future.
When a Marquess Loves a Woman
Season's Original #3
Vivienne Lorret
Released Oct 4th, 2016
Avon Impulse
As a young,
penniless gentleman, Maxwell Harwick knew he had little to offer Juliet
White—the most beautiful debutante of the season—except his love, and one
thoroughly scandalous kiss. But when they were discovered in a compromising
position, a nearly ruined Juliet fled into the arms of a rich, older lord...
taking Max’s heart with her.
Now a widow, Lady Juliet Granworth intends to use the fortune she inherited from her odious husband to build a new life in London. Five years have passed, but she’s never forgotten Max… or his soul-searing kiss. Yet it’s clear the newly-minted Marquess of Thayne has not forgiven her—after all, the infuriating man can barely stand the sight of her. But Juliet has endured far too much to give up without a fight and if it’s a battle of wills he wants, it’s a battle he’ll get.
He hates her for breaking his heart. She detests him for destroying her future. But beneath all the loathing, simmers an intoxicating passion that neither can ignore… and the harder they resist, the harder they will inevitably fall.
Now a widow, Lady Juliet Granworth intends to use the fortune she inherited from her odious husband to build a new life in London. Five years have passed, but she’s never forgotten Max… or his soul-searing kiss. Yet it’s clear the newly-minted Marquess of Thayne has not forgiven her—after all, the infuriating man can barely stand the sight of her. But Juliet has endured far too much to give up without a fight and if it’s a battle of wills he wants, it’s a battle he’ll get.
He hates her for breaking his heart. She detests him for destroying her future. But beneath all the loathing, simmers an intoxicating passion that neither can ignore… and the harder they resist, the harder they will inevitably fall.
He spread his arms out in a shrug, cakes in one hand, walking stick in the other. “Now, as you can see, I am utterly helpless”—he paused at the sound of her scoff—“and unable to taste the cake that you offered to feed me.”
“I
made no such offer.”
“Then
I cannot think of what I heard moments ago unless . . .”—he lowered his
voice—“you were flirting with me. But
you, the ever-composed Lady Granworth, would never do such a thing.”
He
wanted to see her color rise, her ire flash, anything. Damn it all, he needed
to ruffle her feathers and crawl under her skin. It was the least she owed him.
“I
would not even know how to flirt,” she boldly lied and without batting an eye.
Wasn’t
every nuance of flirtation woven into her being? Every downward sweep of her
lashes. Every subtle curl of her lips. Every slash of her tongue. Every single
breath!
“Oh,
I’m certain that is a false statement,” he said, keeping his tone smooth and
even. “All you have to do is admit to flirting with me, and I’ll be on my way.”
“I.
Admit. Nothing.”
He
held out his hand. “Then feed me a cake.”
She
stepped forward so suddenly she nearly startled him in the process. “Fine.”
The
crisply enunciated word tolled a warning bell within him, advising caution. He
had anticipated their continued banter and even her eventual retreat, but not
her acquiescence. Instinct told him to be wary. And yet curiosity fixed him to
the spot.
Lifting
her hand, she slipped the serviette into her delicate palm, the edges draping
over fingers. He stared, paying close attention to every movement, noting how
her lace mitts left the entire length of her slender fingers exposed. No doubt,
like her dress, they were designed for a purpose, bringing to mind thoughts of
bared limbs.
Then,
with a delicate pinch of her thumb and forefinger, she picked up the first
cake.
Anticipation
thundered in his chest, neck, and ears simultaneously. She could still balk.
Still storm off in a flurry. He was prepared for such a response but no longer
assured of it. Perhaps challenging her wasn’t the best idea after all.
His
gaze shifted from the cake to her eyes, over and again. Her gaze, on the other
hand, remained fixed to his as she slowly lifted the cake—
And
popped it into her mouth. Then she closed her eyes, a smile curving her lips,
while emitting a low murmur of sensual delight.
Max
couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move if someone were to set him on
fire. The pulse that had pounded so hard an instant ago abruptly dropped to his
trousers, banging like a drum as blood engorged his flesh.
The
tip of her pert tongue slipped out to tease him further. The taunt transformed
into torture when she licked the pink icing from her fingertip and then her
thumb. When she finished, her eyes opened, the blue a brighter, deeper hue than
the sky overhead. He found himself unable to look away.
“Delicious,”
she purred. “So good in fact that I think I’ll have another.”
She
pinched the second cake, her lips parted. But before she could lift it to her
mouth—before he knew what he was doing—he seized her wrist.
He
was half-tempted, half-wild with the need to kiss her, to lose himself in the
silken texture of her lips once more. To haul her into his arms and feel the
curves of her body with his hands.
It
took every shred of control he possessed not to give in. At least, not
completely.
Watching
her all the while, he lowered his head and took the cake into his mouth.
He
swallowed it without fanfare or appreciation. The dessert he really wanted was
still waiting.
He
slipped her finger into his mouth next, the dainty pad at the tip more silken
and sweet than marzipan. In slow, searching swipes, he laved her flesh, mapping
the route of every fine impression, wicking away every last bit of icing. He
would have stopped if he was frightening her. Hell, he was startled by his own
actions. But when he saw her pupils dilate, her gaze drifting down to his
mouth, and then heard the quickening of her breath, he knew she was not afraid
of him.
She
was one of two things—either wholly, explosively angry or . . . wholly,
explosively aroused. And since he’d
been the recipient of her temper before, he wagered it was the latter.
A
surge of triumph merged with the unleashed desire coursing through him. She
could pretend she was cool-headed and aloof all she wanted, but he knew better.
Five years ago, that same passion had slipped through the cracks in her
composure.
He wanted more.
Greedy, he curled his tongue around her, drawing her flesh deeper, and gently
grazing the delicate furrows of her knuckle with his teeth.
“Max.”
His
name shuddered out of her lungs and past her lips, sending a tremor through
him. Yet the tinge of vulnerability in her passion-laden plea swiftly brought
him to his senses.
With
a quick tug, he pulled her closer. Still holding his walking stick, he touched
the handle beneath her chin and tilted it up. “Perhaps you should reconsider
flirting with your enemy in the future.”
Don't miss the other title's in the Season's Original Series
USA Today bestselling
author, VIVIENNE LORRET loves romance novels, her pink laptop,
her husband, and her two sons (not necessarily in that order … but there are
days). Transforming copious amounts of tea into words, she is an Avon Impulse
author of works including: Tempting Mr. Weatherstone, The Wallflower Wedding
Series, The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series, The Duke’s Christmas Wish, and the
Season’s Original Series.
Thank you for hosting today! ~gaele for Tasty Book Tours
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