“You’re playing with fire.” His reply was barely a rasp, eyes fixed on the swirling cloth. He couldn’t hide the raw quiver of need in his words, and Bronwyn dropped a bold gaze to the crotch of his trousers that was already crudely jutted. He might be made of ice and able to put on an impassive mien, but he wasn’t immune to her down there.

“But I do so love a good game. Don’t you, sir?”

Eyelashes flickering down, she abandoned the cloth, her hands reaching indelicately between her thighs. Gracious, she was so aroused, her body started to shudder at the faintest brush of contact. The primal growl that rumbled out of the duke’s chest made the paroxysm hovering just below the surface break free. Bronwyn gave into it like the wanton she was, soaking up every undulation of pleasure that came forth.

The slam of the door was the only sign that he had gone.

That round of battle went squarely to her.

Was that disappointment she felt? Bronwyn threw an arm over her face and sank below the water. She hadn’t meant to do what she’d done. She had only hoped to rattle him a bit, but then she’d lost control of the very game she had been playing. She might have won the battle, but him leaving hadn’t meant he’d flown a white flag of surrender.

No, this conflict was just beginning…and all she had succeeded in doing was to provoke her opponent. Bronwyn had no intention of giving in without a fight. She was clever and she was persistent. There had to be a way off this ship once they got closer to London.

She would find it, if it was the last thing she did.

Eleven

Valentine felt no guilt at stroking himself to vicious completion, bathing for the second time today, now that his spend was coated all over him. He’d barely been able to get his excruciatingly hard cock from his trousers. After watching her in that bath, two delirious pumps were all it had taken to feel like his entire insides had shaken loose from their mortal trappings.

Panting, he leaned his head on the porcelain side of the tub, images flowing through his mind of her sprawled in decadent display, breasts bobbing above the water and begging for his mouth. Valentine had no idea how he had remained upright at the door and not crouched at the side pleading for favors. Imploring for a taste…wanting his tongue to be pressed where her fingers were.

Hell! He was growing hard again.