Within minutes she was standing in front of the door to Hudson’s suite. She slid the card in the lock and stepped into the room. A sliver of moonlight streamed in through the partially drawn curtains, casting a cool glow across her skin, but other than that the room was engulfed in near-total darkness.

“Strip for me,” Hudson ordered from somewhere in the shadows. His voice held that hard authoritative edge that never failed to send a jolt of pleasure straight to her core. “I want to see what’s mine.”

Her mouth went dry as she reached for the zipper that ran the side of her gown. The fitted bodice was tightly ruched from breast to hip, but when she lowered the zipper it fell away easily, the silver fabric gently billowing to a puddle at her feet. Beneath the gown she wore nothing but a white lace thong.

In the distance she heard Hudson’s sharp intake of air. “Everything but the shoes,” he said.

Slowly she peeled the scrap of material down her thighs. Her breathing grew shallow as she stood waiting for his next command. Knowing he was watching her, his eyes raking over every inch of her bare skin, made her feel beautiful and sexy and wanton. In moments like these his hold on her went far beyond the physical. She was his, body and soul.

The stillness in the room seemed to stretch on for an eternity until the sound of a chair skidding across the marble floor finally broke the silence. Hudson was on her in a heartbeat, shoving his hands into her hair and tilting her head to the angle he wanted. His mouth covered hers, his skilled tongue invading, exploring, dominating. But instead of stating his claim on her, he offered the reverse.

“You own me,” he said. The roughly spoken words caused everything below her waist to tense with need. “Just because I’m not wearing my ring tonight doesn’t make it any less true.”

He stepped back and she heard the faint sound of a zipper. “I’m going to fuck you now for as long as it takes to remind you of that, and I don’t give a shit who notices we’re gone.”

Grasping the back of her thighs, Hudson lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist.

He took her mouth again, his tongue thrusting between her lips. Allie kissed him back, one hand fisted his shirt while the other tangled in his thick, wavy hair. The fact that she was naked while he was still fully dressed ratcheted her desire to an almost debilitating level, the rough fabric of his tuxedo brushing against her bare skin in testament to their unquenchable desire.

With a flex of his hips he pressed her against the wall, the head of his cock laying hard and hot at her entrance. Allie whimpered, her body moving of its own volition as she tried to get more of him inside her.

“Are you ready for me?” he said. His voice was low and hoarse. “Because I can’t wait any longer.”

“Yes,” she panted, needing the connection as much as he did. “Now, Hudson. Please.”

He surged forward, and in one lithe movement thrust inside her with the full force of his body. Allie’s head fell back against the wall on a loud moan. He pulled back, and with a shift of his hips pushed even deeper. “So good,” he growled.

Then he was fucking her, pounding into her with slick, relentless drives until all thoughts of the party below them left her. All that mattered was this man, this moment, and how perfectly they fit together.

“Oh, God.” Her breath caught on a particularly skillful stroke and her eyes closed, relishing the feel of him as a white-hot rush began to consume her.

“Look at me,” he ground out.

Her hazel eyes met his fiery blues. The intensity that burned in his gaze as he moved inside her was too much. Her fingers clutched the shoulders of his jacket as she spiraled into an orgasm that had her entire body quaking in his arms. Hudson drove to the hilt once more and stilled, emptying himself deep inside her.

“Forever, Allie.” He let his forehead rest against hers as he struggled to catch his breath. “Forever.”

*   *   *

Allie stepped off the elevator and right into the Irish Inquisition.

“For a minute there I thought you were going to skip dinner,” Harper said. “Can’t say I would blame you, really. If I saw the man I loved with that viper, I’d drag him off for a quickie, too.”

Allie tried her best to keep her face impassive. Harper was fishing. Maintaining an air of indifference was her only hope. “Don’t you have work to do?” she asked.

“There you are.” Colin rounded the corner as if on cue, and immediately began giving Harper the run down. “The entrees are being served, the manager found the extra case of Bollinger, and the band is ready to roll as soon as they begin serving dessert,” he said, ticking the items off on his fingers. “Do you want to go over the thank-you speech now?”

“Sure.” Harper’s gaze shifted to Allie. “Unless you or Hudson would rather say a few words?”

Allie smiled at her friend. For as much as the woman could talk, Harper was still so uncomfortable with public speaking. “You got this,” she told her as they made their way back to the entrance of the ballroom.

She waited until Colin and Harper had disappeared into the crowd before scanning the room for Hudson. He was seated at one of the round tables near the bandstand. Melanie had resumed her post at his side, chatting away about God knew what, but Hudson only had eyes for Allie. He kept his gaze locked on hers as the waiter poured a sample of cabernet into his glass. Allie stood transfixed, watching as he swirled the liquid in the glass before bringing it to his nose. Satisfied, he took a small sip, then his tongue darted out to lick his lips. The gesture was small, but the look in his eyes told her it was her taste he was imagining on his tongue.

A warm blush spread across Allie’s face and a small gasp escaped her lips. Needing a moment to gather her composure, Allie looked away. When she turned back, Julian was standing directly in front of her.

“Good evening, Alessandra.” A sneer curled his lips.

“Julian, what are you doing here?

“Dining on a meal that should have been served to inmates.”

“I mean . . . I thought,” she stammered. “Didn’t you say you were flying to Chicago on the first?”

“And yet here I am, a week early.” He smirked. “Have you forgotten who is in control? I set the timetable, Alessandra. It’s mine to adjust as I see fit. Now give me an update, and do try to keep it brief.”

“Haven’t your lackeys been keeping you apprised of my every move?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “It seems we have some training to do after the ceremony.” He stepped closer, and the cloying scent of his cologne invaded her senses. She could practically taste it. “You will speak to me with respect. Always.”

Bile rose in her throat and her heart rate accelerated. “I need to get back to the guests. If you’ll excuse me . . .” She stepped to the side but he caught her arm.

“Not so fast.”

“Don’t make a scene, Julian.”

He dropped his hand. “Then answer my directive. Have you presented the ultimatum?”

“Not yet.

He stiffened. “What the hell are you waiting for? He’s been following you around like you’re a bitch in heat, just as I knew he would. It’s time for you to . . . what is that expression you Americans love? Ah yes, lay your cards on the table. Do it, Alessandra.” Julian nodded toward Hudson and Melanie. “And I’d hurry if I were you, before he loses interest.” His eyes narrowed as he watched them. “I wonder how Melanie feels about conjugal visits?”

“I’ll invite him to dinner and lay everything out then.”

“Soon. I’m growing impatient, and you know the impulsive decisions I tend to make when I get this way.” His veiled threat was less than subtle. She was out of time.

“I’ll set it up for tomorrow night.”

He gave a tight nod. “See that you do.” His expression changed as his eyes roamed over her in a long, leering glance. “You’re flushed, Alessandra. If I didn’t know better I’d think you found my proximity arousing.” Julian raised his hand and she flinched. His eyes flared at her defensive move. The sick bastard was getting turned on. She hated herself for reacting almost as much as she hated the satisfied smirk that curved his lips. Of course he wouldn’t strike her, not with so many witnesses, especially not ones he deemed America’s “faux nobility.” No, Marquis Julian Laurent was far too concerned with his image to hit a woman in public. He was more the type to beat a woman in the privacy of her own home.