“Yes.” His gaze raked her, from head to toe. “The loser must present the victor with a gift. Better than a favor, no? Hardly something wicked. However, if wicked is what you prefer—”
“I already said I do not,” she interrupted, scowling at him.
If she had been flustered before, she was astonishingly discomfited now. She should have gone to bed and fallen asleep. She would have been far safer there than remaining in his maddening presence.
“Then you agree to the forfeit for the loser?”
Julianna had a terrible feeling that regardless of the outcome, the only loser in their every interaction would be her. But she was not about to admit her vulnerability to him.
“I agree.”
He prepared the balls for the next round, and although Julianna told herself she must look anywhere other than at him, he was all she could see. At some point during the course of their play, he had removed his coat so that he was in shirtsleeves, and even those had been rolled up to the elbows, revealing his forearms.
She had never had occasion to admire that portion of the male anatomy for so long before, and now that she had an unobstructed view of Shelbourne’s, she could not seem to keep herself from ogling him. His hands, his forearms—the strength contrasting with elegance.
The memory of those fingers on her, inside her.Oh…
Too much, Julianna.
She turned on her heel and pretended to admire a picture on the wall as she attempted to stay the heat coursing through her. She counted to ten. Backward from ten. Tried to summon the hurt of that long-ago day when she had chanced by Cagney House at the right—or wrong—moment.
“Ready?”
His deep voice at her ear, so near, had her spinning around, hand to her heart, wielding the cue as if it were a sword. “You startled me.”
“Admiring the picture?”
Her gaze tangled with his as she willed her pounding heart to calm. He was just a man, after all. “It is a lovely picture.”
“I had it commissioned.”
“Oh?” In truth, she had a brief impression of shades of blue. Ocean and sky, she thought.
“The painter is American. I met him in New York City, quite by accident. We were staying in the same hotel.”
The reminder he had been there jolted her. “You never did tell me how long you were there or why you traveled to America.”
A small smile flirted with the corners of his lips. “Long enough. As for why, I went there for you.”
He could not have shocked her more had he sprouted wings from his back and flown out the window. “For me?”
“As I said.” He nodded toward the billiards table. “Ladies first.”
Surely he did not intend to make such a revelation and then play a game of billiards. But a cursory examination of his handsome countenance suggested he did indeed. And what could she do? Everything inside her teemed with the need to know, with questions that wanted answers.
Instead, she turned to the billiards game. Her heart was still bruised and aching from the last time he had trampled it. She could not afford to give him another chance to do so.
This was what he did, she reminded herself. He charmed her. Made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. But he did the same to the other women in his life. That was the way of it with rakes and rogues.
She missed her first shot. Shelbourne did not.
Her hands were trembling as she took aim on her next turn, questions churning in her mind. “What did you mean when you said you came to New York City for me?”
“Just what I said.”
Her cue struck the ball, but once more, she did not manage to force a ball into a pocket. She flicked a glance in his direction, studying him as he took his turn, effortlessly scoring another point.
“Why?” she asked, needing to know.
