The fact remained, she didn’t want to be here. She wanted to go home.
Finishing, she got out of the water, dried off and dressed.
Glancing at the clock, she remembered he’d given her thirty minutes. She had an urge to take her glorious time and let him simmer. Who was he to give her a time limit? She was an adult for goodness sake. Testing him was an option, but she knew what he’d do, and the last thing she wanted was for him to come into the bedroom. So, reason outweighed retaliation. Leaving the room, she made her way down the stairs, feeling like the kitten walking into the lion’s den.
All of the curtains were closed on the windows and no lights were turned on, making the downstairs dark.
Did Roark know she was wandering his mansion? He’d definitely not like her snooping. That was his problem, not hers.
Like a prowler sneaking through the shadows, she continued her investigation. At turtle pace, she moved into the unknown and found it somewhat exciting. Her heart raced as the hairs on the back of her neck lifted. She expected Roark to sneak up behind her, which made her nervously peek over her shoulder now and again. Not knowing the layout of the bottom floor made her apprehension rise, but she followed the hallway, peeking into several rooms— guest bathroom, workout room—as she passed. The next room brought her excitement. A library! The shelf-lined walls were brimming with books. Interest consumed her and excitement motivated her. She crept in silently, her nostrils filling with the strong odor of mahogany, leather and paper.
As a child, she had dreamt of having her own library where she could pick a book and curl up on a window seat, then fall into fantasy. Being quite the nerd growing up, she’d preferred books over people. Not much had changed, not in the scheme of things. She still spent more time reading than socializing. That’s why she enjoyed her job and was good at publishing.
Sliding her hand along one shelf, she fingered each binding, reading the vintage titles, until one caught her attention. The Two Little Travellers. Pulling it out from its nest, she slipped her hand over the worn hardcover as emotion swathed her. The picture of the boy and girl had faded with time, but she remembered every detail and every line written. When she was a child, her mother had read from the book as Bronte had listened intently. Through blurred vision, she thumbed through the yellowed pages.
“Be careful. That is a treasure.”
Bronte jumped and the book went flying from her hands to land with a loud thump at her feet. She whirled and found Roark sitting in the wing back chair by the window, the same chair that had been empty when she came into the library. “Why do you keep doing that? How the hell do you keep doing that?”
“Your instincts are weak, my dear.” He got up and moved toward her—lean, muscular body, long legs. Sex appeal at its finest.
He’d changed and was cleanly shaven. The ends of his long hair were damp and dripped onto his shirt. A whiff of soap and man invaded her senses as the image of them in the tub together came back. Her insides quivered and she forced the telltale feeling away. Smoothing her tongue over her lips, she was finally able to speak again. “My instincts are just fine. You should worry about the weakness of your brain cells.”
One corner of his mouth cocked. Of course, he’d find humor in her bluntness. He bent, picked up the book, and as he brushed past her to replace it, his body warmth seeped through her clothes and deep into her skin. She stepped back until imprisoned by the shelf and Roark. Gazing up into twinkling eyes surrounded by long, sooty eyelashes, she guessed he could melt any woman within a ten-mile range, including her and she didn’t like it one bit.
Seconds turned into minutes. She wondered if he’d kiss her because his eyes told her that he wanted to. She didn’t want him to…not at all. It didn’t mean anything that she wondered what he tasted like.
“What do you think of my library?” he asked, a crease marred the area between his brows.
“I don’t see you as the reading type.”
He laughed and the sumptuous sound played her nerve endings like a stringed instrument. “Not only do I read, but I am talented and skilled in many things.”
Insufferable , egotistical man! But sexy like a tanned hero.
“I can only imagine what skills you speak of. Burping, ducking low ceilings and combing the swamp for dinner is what comes to my mind.”
“Those weren’t your thoughts, my dear.” His breath swept across her cheek.
He leaned closer and she breathed in and out, but her insides remained unsteady and shaky. She stared at him through her lashes and hoped with all her inner strength that if he kissed her, she wouldn’t be overcome with a disobedient need.
A disappointed moan escaped her trembling lips when he circled her wrists with his long fingers and inspected her wound. Trying to pull away, she wasn’t sure if she didn’t try hard enough or that he held her firmly, but she didn’t move. While he touched her, sparks skipped along her veins and parked with vengeance in her lower belly. Parts of her quivered—ones she never even knew she had until now. Her core pulsated and her panties moistened, and she realized he was more dangerous than she could imagine.
“You didn’t dress the wound. The supplies were in your bathroom.”
Angry at herself, she narrowed her gaze and made him the target. “I’ll be fine! And how dare you stitch me!”
“Maybe next time I’ll have to cut off the hand because infection has settled in.” His crystal eyes met hers as if in challenge.
She gulped air. Damn him! “Cut off any part of my body and I will rid you of your jewels, both of them.”
“And then what fun would you and I have together?” His eyebrow lifted.
“That’s the last thing we’ll ever do,” she forced the words through thin lips.
“But I feel your need.” He skimmed his fingers along her cheek and bottom lip. “I smell your scent and it’s a hypnotic drive, pulling me in.”
“Mark my words. We will never have sex. Are you that crazy to believe I’d sleep with a man who has not only kidnapped me, but has the likeability of a tyrant?”
His charming smile was back. How could he turn on and off his expressions like a faucet? He took a step back. “In good time, my dear. You’ll be begging me to put out the flame in your loins. Imagine what we could do in that tub in the bathroom.” His gaze seemed to smooth across her skin. “We’d both find great satisfaction in coupling.”
Bronte knew her cheeks were red because the searing heat burned her. “Keep dreaming.” Her voice shuddered.
“No, Bronte, you keep dreaming. Your fantasies bring me much pleasure.”
“Good. When you’re behind bars I hope these fantasies you speak of keep you warm.” She jerked her hand and he let it go. “I don’t need you examining my wound.”
“Since you choose not to take care of yourself, I’m obligated. Just as I’d figured, you’d overlook the importance of keeping your stitches clean. Go to the den,” he ordered.
Bile rose in her throat. “Basic manners 101. Say please and thank you.”
His mouth thinned. “So you expect me to say please before I take care of you? You should say thank you that I properly took care of your wound.”
Balling her hands into fists at her sides, she counted to ten, but it didn’t release any of her irritation. “I didn’t ask for your help. Just like I didn’t ask to be kidnapped and brought here. It’s your fault that I was hurt in the first place. The only thank you you’re going to get is if you drop dead.” Her heart slammed against her chest and she wanted to hog-tie him. She’d never been so infuriated in her life to wish someone dead. He didn’t even seem troubled.
“Fine!” He grabbed her up like a sack of potatoes and threw her over his shoulder, holding her securely at her thighs. She kicked her feet and used her balled fists to pound his back. “Let me down, you jackass.” Her hands started to ache from punching him. “You insufferable, pain in the ass, miserable ogre!”
“Settle down before you hurt yourself.” As they we
re moving through the hall, each step he took, her head bounced against his tight ass, like a stick beating a drum. “Don’t act like a spoiled brat.”
“Me? A spoiled brat!” Before she could debate the repercussions of her next action, she chomped down onto his right butt cheek. When he didn’t respond, she pressed her teeth deeper through the material of his jeans, realizing his backside was tighter than she’d first thought. He jerked her upward and her clamp broke.
“Sweetheart, that area of my body only responds to slaps, caresses and kisses. Anything else only pisses me off.” He threw her down, thankfully onto the soft cushions of the couch in the den.
Bronte looked up at him. The corners of his eyes crinkled and she could have sworn his pupils turned red. His jaw was tight and set at a daunting angle. Lifting her leg, she kicked him hard in the gut and he bent over clutching his stomach. She spared no time in jumping up, ready to run, but he recovered and grabbed her waist, knocking her down onto the floor. She wasn’t finished yet and whatever demon she had inside boiled to the surface.
Rolling away from his grip, she brought her fist up and connected a good punch to his eye. It barely fazed him, only long enough for her to bring her foot hard into his knee. Any chance of getting away faded. The couch blocked her on one side and his massive body was in her path on the other. She was doomed. And caged like an animal.
“Enough!” he roared. He took her by the elbow, laid her on top of the couch and pinned her against the cushions.
Bronte attempted to move her legs and arms but she was stuck. She was breathing so rapidly that her lungs ached. “Get off, you bastard!”
His breathing was heavy too and loud in her ear. Their chests brushed against each other. The beating of his heart vibrated her breasts and joined tempo with her own. It was as if their body fed off the other’s, drawing from one another. Pleasant warmth spread over her and consumed her every cell, stealing her logical thought. She’d never experienced such a devastating mixture of hatred and something else…something that scared the life out of her. Her body filled with need as she laid her hand on the corded muscle of his arm.
He stared down at her. He felt it too, she knew by his amazed expression. His large hands were on her skin, his musky scent and the sweat beading on his forehead made her insides throb. She had an uncontrollable urge to taste the dampness from his brow and beyond. The magnetic lure was undeniable while overwhelming. A craving soared through her as she imagined herself ripping off his shirt and licking his toned his body. She’d wished many times that she’d meet a man who’d bed her without inhibition. One that had spirit that matched her own.
Why did she feel like she knew this man, this ogre, who kept her against her will? How could she desire him, yet hate him all at the same time? Before she could stop herself, she lifted her head and kissed him. His lips opened and his tongue darted inside her mouth, dueling with hers. He lifted his chin—both were breathless. “Roark…” his name fell from her.
“I’m a fucking goner,” he whispered.
His hand fell to her waist and he undid the button and zipper of her jean. The next thing she knew, his hand was inside her panties and his finger was knuckle deep inside her aching pussy…thrusting and rubbing while his thumb flicked her clit. She rolled and circled her hips, wanting him like she’d never wanted anything in her life. Burying her nails into his shoulders, she clung to him as tingles spread through her.
He removed his hand and she thought he’d taken her oxygen with him. There was urgency in his gaze as he moved away. Then it struck her…she would have had sex with him, not once, not twice, but as many times as they could have endured.
Shame swept over her.
What was happening to her? She wanted to go home. She wanted safety with—
Bronte’s brain went blank. Who did she want safety with?
No one came to mind but Roark.
****
Roark smoothed his hand through his hair as Bronte’s musk scent tickled his nostrils. His cock was so hard he thought he’d explode into a million pieces. He could have taken her, he knew it, but he wanted it to be different, yet he wasn’t sure how. Damn, he was letting his rough exterior turn soft. Isn’t this why she’s here? To reproduce so they could make right what they’d done wrong?
He lightened his weight slightly off her small frame. He didn’t want to hurt her, nor would he ever, no matter what, yet she had a way of driving him to insanity.
Staring down at her, he thought she seemed calm, but he knew better. He could see the panic in her eyes, assuring him she wasn’t done fighting, especially after she’d succumbed to her longing. He could sense her thoughts, and the longer they were near one another, the capability grew stronger.
Her beauty was growing on him. He’d thought she was skinny, too pale and lacking strong hips for delivering a healthy baby. His body betrayed his first thoughts. Her long hair, flowing like a black satin sheet across the arm of the couch, tempted him. He wondered what it’d feel like to slide his fingers through the strands. The color of her eyes mesmerized him. And for a woman of her size, she sure did pack a wallop. Her strength was unexpected.
She moved under him, pressing her hip into his cock and it stayed hard and ready for pleasure. He found it suitable. A hard on meant he found her sexually attractive. He was a giving lover and he wanted to give her satisfaction. There was another emotion, deeper in the pit of his stomach that he didn’t like.
He pulled himself back emotionally.
There was no room for feeling. The relationship he’d had once upon a time destroyed enough lives and brought on devastation. He had only a matter of time to rectify the damage.
Producing a child would be the only way to save his people. He wasn’t a mean man, yet he must prove to her the important role she’d played in the downfall of loved ones. Unfortunately, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. At the moment, he was sure Bronte would rather see him burned alive than believe the truth.
This wasn’t how their meeting was supposed to transpire…
If only he could tell her the truth and she’d understand…and not push him away.
“Move off me!” Bronte snarled. “You disgust me.”
Damn woman! He just stared at her. She was too much trouble. He had the right mind to say the hell with his lineage and wait out the days in peace until his life ended. Yet as quickly as the thought crossed his mind, he realized that was not an option. He had others to think about and he was the only one, along with Bronte, who could release the spell that had blasphemed his family.
In her defense, she didn’t know what she’d done. She had no memory.
“I’ll move if you agree to conduct yourself without hurting me. No further warnings are in order,” he said.
There was a long second’s hesitation before she finally said, “I’ll agree if you tell me why I’m here.”
The pleading look in her eyes made him weak. “Patience is very important in this. I can tell you some, just not all.” He figured that should placate her for the time being. “Yet first, we have to dress the wound. We can’t have you bleeding everywhere now can we.”
“Fine.” Her muscles relaxed, one by one, underneath his body.
Suddenly, he hated to move. He couldn’t stay in the horizontal position all day, even if it felt enjoyable. He rolled off her and pushed himself off the couch. She sat up, fixing her jeans while giving him the evil eye. He’d have to watch her. The quicker he dressed her hand the better, and the safer his nuts were.
He grabbed the first aid kit off the side table where he’d placed it earlier and gathered the needed items from the container. Taking her hand into his, he pushed away the yearning in the pit of his stomach to touch other places of her body. Her penetrating glare didn’t deter him either. He examined the healing wound and was quite proud of himself. It’d been a while since he’d had to stitch a cut. Infection hadn’t settled in. “I know you’ll disagree, but I did very good work.”
“And s
o could a doctor, a real doctor, not a pretend one.” Her nose wrinkled.
“What are you complaining about? I didn’t charge you a dime and you got one of the best night’s sleep you’ve had since your mother died ten years ago.” He felt her jerk and knew he’d crossed a line. He looked at her and swallowed. This was a new expression marring her delicate features. Heartache was evident in her trembling bottom lip and moist eyes.
“How did you know about my sleep problems? Are you guessing?”
Crashing thunder sounded from outside, rattling the window. He guessed it suited the mood on the inside. He squeezed ointment from the white tube onto the stitches and spread it onto the area, careful not to hurt her. “I know everything about you.”
“My mother’s death was front page news. She’d done a lot of wonderful things for the community. And you could presume that I don’t sleep, unless you have used your freaky way of popping up here and there and snuck into my room at night.” Her voice was husky.
He wrapped her hand with fresh gauze. “Bronte, before I brought you here I was certain this is where you need to be. The decision to have you here wasn’t an easy one. Everything had to be just right. I took great care in planning for your visit.”
“This is not a visit and you didn’t bring me here. Your thugs did the nasty work.”
“I’m sorry that my men were too rough. I’m afraid they don’t know their own strength when it comes to humans. I wanted to come myself, but I haven’t been out of the house for almost six months.” He realized he’d said too much. He couldn’t force her memory.
“Humans…not leaving the house for six months…is this an episode of the Twilight Zone?”
“The Twilight Zone?” He raised an eyebrow.
“The TV show. You’ve never watched it?” she asked.
“I don’t watch TV.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do I feel like I know you? Have we met before? Something seems familiar about you, but I can’t place it.”
“That’s a tricky question. One I can’t answer, at least not now.” He laughed when her mouth fell open. He was glad she didn’t follow through with a string of four-letter words like he knew she’d wanted to. He appreciated the silence as he put the tools away. He finally said, “Come now, I’m starving. You must be too. It’d be a misfortune if you lost any more weight.”
Wicked Pleasures Page 4
