flushed anew. “Very well … Dane. But you have not answered my question.”
Dane was stunned by the impact of simply hearing his name on her lips. “What question, sweet?” He was already impatient for the next time, the right time, the time when he would actually make love to her, make her his. His body throbbed its agreement.
“What do you want of me?” she repeated, trying to disengage herself from his embrace.
“I believe that is obvious, Jacqueline.” He refused to release her. “I want you.”
“But I don’t want you,” she said, raising her chin defiantly, knowing, even as she spoke, that, in light of the past five minutes, her statement was absurd.
Dane’s lips twitched. “I am sorry to hear that, love. But I’d like the chance to change your mind.”
Before she could reply, he bent his head and kissed her again. But this kiss was totally unlike the first. Soft, coaxing, teasingly light, it was a butterfly caress against Jacqui’s feverish mouth, over as quickly as it had begun.
Jacqui clutched his arms.
“Let’s finish our coffee, sweet,” Dane suggested mildly, releasing her only when he was certain she could stand by herself. “And our conversation,” he added in a teasing tone.
How could the man turn his passions on and off like that? Jacqui wondered dazedly, lowering herself into her chair.
“Are you all right?” Dane’s gentle question reinforced her observation … and her annoyance. If he could have such blasted self-control, then so could she.
“I am fine, Mr. Westbrooke. Dane,” she amended, seeing the amused lift of his brows. “I assure you, I am not so fragile as to shatter from a single kiss.”
What had happened between them far surpassed a single kiss and they both knew it. But all Dane said was, “I’m glad to hear you’ve recovered, love.”
Jacqui took a gulp of cold coffee. It was time for a much-needed change in conversation.
“You are English,” she blurted out, saying the first thing that came to mind. She recalled the name Westbrooke appearing frequently in the company ledgers, vaguely remembered her father telling her that the owner of the company hailed from England.
Jacqui’s choice of subjects was apparently not to her guest’s liking. Angry sparks flashed in Dane’s eyes, and Jacqui had a glimpse of the predatory man she’d seen that dark night last week. A chill ran up her back.
“I’m American.” Dane’s tone was as forbidding as his expression.
Every one of Jacqui’s instincts warned her to leave it alone, while her curiosity compelled her to investigate further. “But you are English by birth.”
A muscle worked in Dane’s jaw. “By birth … yes.”
“When did you come to America?”
“Over a decade ago.”
The more evasive he grew, the more intrigued she became. “You were educated in England?”
Dane gave her a measured look. “I attended Oxford.”
“Oxford! Your father is a Tory?”
“My father is a marquis.”
It took a moment for Dane’s words to sink in. Then Jacqui sat up straight, a look of stunned horror on her face. “Your father is a marquis?” She might just as well have called him an ax murderer. “That makes you an earl … an English nobleman.”
Dane slammed his fist down on the table, rigid with an anger he fought to control. “I’ve said it once, Jacqueline, and I do not plan to say it again. I am an American … as much an American as you. Who and what my father may be is irrelevant. In case you failed to notice, I am very much my own person. I would appreciate your remembering that in the future, since I do not wish to discuss either my father or his titles again. Am I making myself clear?”
Jacqui considered arguing, saw the furious light in the steel-gray eyes, and thought better of it. “Perfectly clear.”
“Good. Now, do you have any other questions pertaining to my upbringing?”
Jacqui’s own temper flared. “I have no intention of allowing you to bellow at me, Mr.
Dane was stunned by the impact of simply hearing his name on her lips. “What question, sweet?” He was already impatient for the next time, the right time, the time when he would actually make love to her, make her his. His body throbbed its agreement.
“What do you want of me?” she repeated, trying to disengage herself from his embrace.
“I believe that is obvious, Jacqueline.” He refused to release her. “I want you.”
“But I don’t want you,” she said, raising her chin defiantly, knowing, even as she spoke, that, in light of the past five minutes, her statement was absurd.
Dane’s lips twitched. “I am sorry to hear that, love. But I’d like the chance to change your mind.”
Before she could reply, he bent his head and kissed her again. But this kiss was totally unlike the first. Soft, coaxing, teasingly light, it was a butterfly caress against Jacqui’s feverish mouth, over as quickly as it had begun.
Jacqui clutched his arms.
“Let’s finish our coffee, sweet,” Dane suggested mildly, releasing her only when he was certain she could stand by herself. “And our conversation,” he added in a teasing tone.
How could the man turn his passions on and off like that? Jacqui wondered dazedly, lowering herself into her chair.
“Are you all right?” Dane’s gentle question reinforced her observation … and her annoyance. If he could have such blasted self-control, then so could she.
“I am fine, Mr. Westbrooke. Dane,” she amended, seeing the amused lift of his brows. “I assure you, I am not so fragile as to shatter from a single kiss.”
What had happened between them far surpassed a single kiss and they both knew it. But all Dane said was, “I’m glad to hear you’ve recovered, love.”
Jacqui took a gulp of cold coffee. It was time for a much-needed change in conversation.
“You are English,” she blurted out, saying the first thing that came to mind. She recalled the name Westbrooke appearing frequently in the company ledgers, vaguely remembered her father telling her that the owner of the company hailed from England.
Jacqui’s choice of subjects was apparently not to her guest’s liking. Angry sparks flashed in Dane’s eyes, and Jacqui had a glimpse of the predatory man she’d seen that dark night last week. A chill ran up her back.
“I’m American.” Dane’s tone was as forbidding as his expression.
Every one of Jacqui’s instincts warned her to leave it alone, while her curiosity compelled her to investigate further. “But you are English by birth.”
A muscle worked in Dane’s jaw. “By birth … yes.”
“When did you come to America?”
“Over a decade ago.”
The more evasive he grew, the more intrigued she became. “You were educated in England?”
Dane gave her a measured look. “I attended Oxford.”
“Oxford! Your father is a Tory?”
“My father is a marquis.”
It took a moment for Dane’s words to sink in. Then Jacqui sat up straight, a look of stunned horror on her face. “Your father is a marquis?” She might just as well have called him an ax murderer. “That makes you an earl … an English nobleman.”
Dane slammed his fist down on the table, rigid with an anger he fought to control. “I’ve said it once, Jacqueline, and I do not plan to say it again. I am an American … as much an American as you. Who and what my father may be is irrelevant. In case you failed to notice, I am very much my own person. I would appreciate your remembering that in the future, since I do not wish to discuss either my father or his titles again. Am I making myself clear?”
Jacqui considered arguing, saw the furious light in the steel-gray eyes, and thought better of it. “Perfectly clear.”
“Good. Now, do you have any other questions pertaining to my upbringing?”
Jacqui’s own temper flared. “I have no intention of allowing you to bellow at me, Mr.
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