Nicole Jordan - The prince of pleasure

Perhaps his pursuit of her was a mistake. He had launched the first salvo in his game, declaring his intention to win her, but Julienne had proved just as enterprising, catching him off guard with her daring vow to bring him to his knees.

She had already done so once before, Dare reminded himself, setting his jaw. He would have to proceed with caution if he hoped to emerge from this contest with his heart intact.

His only satisfaction was that Julienne appeared to be as agitated as he was. She viewed him with wariness and mistrust, obviously, as if she feared his retribution. But he knew very well that her apprehension hadn't prevented her from remembering the passion that had once burned between them, or kept her from wanting him.

Beside him, Julienne was having similar thoughts. It dismayed her, how helpless she had been against Dare's brazen tactics. After setting her aquiver with longing, purposely kindling her desire with his nearness, he had suddenly doused the flame he'd created and roused her indignation at the same stroke; he had literally swept her off her feet and carried her from the theater to the delight of numerous gawking bystanders.

The nerve of the rogue, causing such a spectacle! He was exasperating, maddening, unsettling-although she had to admire his ingenious determination. Dare was single-minded when it came to getting what he wanted.

And he had won their first skirmish, Julienne had to admit. If he hadn't trapped her by his wager in front of a gleeful London audience, if he hadn't virtually abducted her, she would not be here with him now.

It was one thing to engage in a public battle of wits with Dare; it was another entirely to be secluded with him for the intimacy of a late-night supper. But she could manage to abide his company for an evening, Julienne silently promised herself. They were merely partaking of a meal. She was experienced enough now to keep Dare emotionally distant. And this was her chance to prove to herself that she was over him.

More critically, she could prove to Dare that she had the ability to resist him. The sooner he realized she would never surrender, the sooner he would give up his attempt at revenge.

I won't succumb to him. I won't .

By repeating that mantra over and over again, Julienne was able to restore some measure of her shaken confidence. Yet she couldn't help her heart beating in anticipation as the carriage slowed to a halt.

Her fierce awareness of Dare only increased when he helped her down. And when he pressed a hand to the small of her back, guiding her toward the entrance stairs, she gave a start at the instant warmth that sprang up inside her, deploring how she was affected by the casual contact.

She would have to do better if she hoped to win this encounter.

It was a private gentlemen's club, Julienne noted, not certain whether she should be relieved. She had half expected Dare to take her to one of his notorious dens of iniquity where, according to the scandal sheets that chronicled his wicked deeds, he conducted his orgies and other debauched entertainments.

They were greeted by a majordomo and led upstairs to an even more private chamber, lavishly but tastefully decorated. Candles glittered in gold sconces on the walls, reflecting the sparkle of china and crystal on the small, damask-covered dining table, while a cozy fire burned in the hearth, casting an intimate glow over the entire room.

As she expected, the scene was set for seduction. One wall was partially concealed by a crimson brocade curtain, but Julienne could see an alcove in the shadows, with a bed large enough for two.

Heat spread through her at the thought of sharing that bed with Dare.

The majordomo seated her at the table and then withdrew, to her regret. To her further discomfort, Dare took the chair beside her rather than opposite her.

"I must warn you," Julienne remarked lightly as he inspected the variety of wines on the table. "You are laboring under a misapprehension. Despite whatever machinations you have planned for tonight, you will not succeed."

His smile came easily. "I never anticipate failure before I have even begun."

Julienne felt a spark of dismay flare inside her at his smooth response. The facile charm was automatic, effortless, and highly potent. Dare still had the power to affect her without the least effort. She wondered how she would endure an entire evening in his company, with him so near and so clearly set on prevailing.

His tone remained teasing as he poured a glass of wine. "I think it poor-spirited of you, cherie, not to give me a fighting chance. Or perhaps merely fainthearted. You are afraid I will win."

"Hardly." Julienne managed a laugh. "I am more afraid I will do you an injury when you continue to persecute me."

"Try this vintage," he suggested. "It comes from Languedoc."

Where her late father's estates had been before his execution, she thought, wincing. Julienne did as she was bid, however, and found the wine delicious.

"The food here is excellent," Dare said, observing her approving expression. "You will appreciate it. The chef is Parisian." At her surprised glance, he added, "Did you think I would forget your fondness for French cuisine?"

She returned a smile that was faintly taunting. "Truthfully, I don't think of you at all."

"I cannot say the same of you," he replied lazily.

He leaned back in his chair, exhibiting his usual elegant grace, but Julienne found it difficult to show the same casual ease. She was too conscious of Dare. His gilded hair glimmered in the candlelight, its soft, thick waves threaded riotously with gold and flaxen. Worse, she kept seeing images of her fingers gliding through it, and images of his fingers reciprocating.

Involuntarily she glanced down at his hands, which held a wine goblet, almost caressing the stem, and an inexplicable yearning Filled her. She could almost feel those warm, deft hands on her skin…

"It has been a long time," he murmured, startling her with his perceptiveness.

"Not long enough for my tastes," she rejoined, feigning nonchalance yet glad that the dimness of the room concealed her flush.

She was even more relieved when a discreet knock on the door heralded the entrance of supper, served by two footmen. There were several courses: clear partridge soup with truffles, braised ham, trout in tomato and garlic sauce, peas, creamed artichoke hearts, sweetbreads, prawns, fricassee of veal with Madeira sauce, and finally preserved cherries and plum pudding.

Every dish was delectable, but Julienne barely tasted any of them. Her attention kept straying to her companion… those arresting green eyes, the well-shaped, sensual mouth…

Don't think about his mouth, she ordered herself. Don't think about those firm, warm lips that made you shiver with passion. The seductive lips that had given and had taken so much pleasure. That wicked, heart-stopping smile that could lure a woman's soul from her body.

That smile had always been Dare's greatest asset. Or perhaps it was his remarkable way of looking at a woman. He focused such thrilling intensity on his target that she felt incredibly desirable.

As he was doing now, Julienne realized. He was watching her as if engrossed, despite the presence of the two footmen. She managed to bear his scrutiny until he dismissed the servers at the conclusion of the meal, leaving her alone with him.

"Did no one ever tell you it is ill-mannered to stare?" she asked, invoking a cool smile.

He grinned, his bearing relaxed. "Can I help but be fascinated by someone of your dazzling beauty? You intoxicate me."

"No doubt because the wine has gone to your head."

He measured her in a slow, exacting way, obviously determined to tear holes in the thin facade of her composure. "So what you have been doing with yourself all these years, mademoiselle?"