A Temptress Torments
Music and art had always provided the Duke of Prestwick a safe haven in times of trouble. But tonight he had found no solace in Botticelli or Beethoven. All he could picture was a certain young lady with a volatile temper. And the only sound echoing in his ears was the thrumming of his heated blood as he wondered whether her lips would feel like liquid flames when covered with his own. But this was pure madness! Somewhere in the back of his head a small voice whispered that it was not pure madness, but something else that was causing his fingers to tremble and his knees to buckle. A new wave of raw desire was now shuddering through every fiber of his being. Closing his eyes, he imagined what Miss Greeley would look like with her hair fanned out upon the jewel tones of the oriental carpet, her skirts rucked up to expose her long legs to the glow of the firelight. No doubt she would be more breathtakingly beautiful than Botticelli’s Venus...