The Trouble with Love (The Mason Siblings Series Book 2)

by Cheri Champagne

  He bent to take one of her dusky rose nipples into his mouth. He nipped, suckled, and licked until he had her gasping and writhing, then he did the same to the other.

  Simply the taste of her full breasts nearly sent him over the edge. He did his best to keep himself under control; it would not do to spill his seed before he had even been touched.

  One shaking arm held him hovering above her while his other hand reverently traced the curves of her delectable body. “Your skin is so smooth.” He continued tracing her skin until he reached the thatch of curls that he longed to touch.

  Still lavishing his attention on her breasts, Charles dipped a finger between her slick folds.

  Bridget’s keening moan rang in his ears and her nails dug into his back as she arched against him.

  “God save me…” Just the feel of her dampness had him pulsing and throbbing…and beyond ready to be inside her. “I cannot wait any longer.”

  He positioned himself between her thighs and pushed inside with one deep thrust. Bridget’s legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close against her body.

  “Oh, Charles,” she moaned.

  Charles took her mouth with his as he began to pump frantically into her. Their breaths escaped in rapid puffs until Bridget broke their passionate kiss to arch her neck, her head pressing deeply into her pillow. Her cry of pleasure echoed through the room, and reverberated through Charles’ chest, pushing him over the edge.

  He pumped into her once more, then prudently pulled himself out and spilled his seed on her belly, clutching her close against him as he shuddered in his release.

  As his breathing and heart rate slowed to normal, Charles rolled off of Bridget, giving her a quick kiss to the lips before slipping from the bed.

  “Where are you going?” She languidly rolled to her uninjured side and brought her arm up to prop her head upon one hand.

  He turned to look over his shoulder at her. “Getting a cloth.” He went to her washbasin, dipped a nearby cloth into the tepid water and cleaned his groin and stomach. He dipped it in again to rinse it off, then rung it out and went to clean Bridget’s body.

  “Thank you.”

  Charles’ lips quirked upward in a crooked grin. “Thank you.”

  “Will you stay?”

  “If you wish it.” His grin grew into a pleased smile, his heart flipping over at the hope in her gaze.

  “I do.”

  He tossed the cloth toward the basin, then slid back onto the bed, pulling the covers over the both of them and wrapping an arm around Bridget.

  He had wanted to do that for a long time. He had fantasized about making love to Bridget again…and again. There had been no end to his lustful fancies over the past five years. And finally he had gotten the opportunity to make love to her again.

  “Good night, Charles,” she mumbled, snuggling back against him.

  The fact that his lovemaking had exhausted her so had him veritably bursting with pride.

  He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Good night, dearling.”

  A purely satisfied sigh escaped him.

  This bout had been rather swift, and done with little finesse, but if this was an indication that Bridget wished to accept his proposition to become lovers, then he was certain that he would have an opportunity to improve in the future. Although, if Bridget’s reaction was to be believed, she had gained satisfaction from the interlude as well, so all hope for his abilities in bed was not lost.

  A sense of peace stole over him as he lay there with her encircled in his arms. This was precisely where he belonged; not with his dangerous vocation of intelligence agent, but here. With Bridget. Bridget, his boyhood love, his first lover, the woman he would have called wife…

  He closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of their sex with a contented smile on his lips, and let sleep overtake him.

  Chapter 15

  Bridget smiled and lazily—and gingerly—stretched her arms above her head, careful not to aggravate her injury. What a wonderful sleep. She felt languid and completely at ease.

  A deep rumble sounded beside her and her eyes snapped open. A sliver of pre-dawn light poked through the slit in her curtains, giving the room a small amount of illumination.

  All at once, three things became clear to her. One, she was nude. Two, she lay next to Charles who was also nude. And three, she had a pleasant, dull throb between her thighs.

  With a groan Bridget brought her hands down to cover her face. How could she have done such a foolish thing? How could she have let Charles into her bed and into her body when she had been determined to close herself off to him?

  She knew how. It was that blasted dose of laudanum that she had taken before bed.

  She supposed that the laudanum could have been the push that she needed to make her decision with regards to becoming his mistress. Although, she had not been certain that she wished to be his mistress! She enjoyed making love to him, yes, but could she keep her heart protected from further hurt?

  What would happen if she decided to accept this new development? Charles had been rather pleasing in town and had cared for her well enough last eve. What if he intended to continue on that mien? Besides, women had needs and desires, did they not? What harm would come of it if she decided to allow Charles to fill that void?

  She frowned. But then, Charles had been horrid once more by accusing Bridget of lifting her skirts for fencing lessons.

  Another loud rumble came from beside her and she turned to look at him. His mouth hung slightly open and his expression was of blissful relaxation.

  Bridget smiled despite herself. There was something endearing about him like this.

  She shook her head to clear it, and stared back up at her bedchamber ceiling. She may not have been completely in her right mind last evening, but the memories were clear to her this morning. Her cheeks heated as she recalled Charles’ ministrations, then his quick possession of her.

  Images floated through her vision of the previous night and Bridget raised one arm over her eyes.

  A sudden shock of pain shot through her and she looked down at the bandage. Her questions of last evening rushed back to her. Questions that Charles had not answered.

  Another frown touched her brow. Charles had kissed her just as she had questioned him about the villain that had shot her. Had he kissed her and made love to her with the purpose of distracting her from her line of questioning? The thought did not sit well with her. Despite her not wishing to enter into a situation in which she could become hurt, Bridget would have preferred that Charles had decided to make love to her simply because he could not resist, not because he wished to distract her from a few reasonable questions.

  Charles’ deep rumbling snore sounded again beside her and another thought occurred to her. If Charles could employ that tactic, then she most certainly could, as well.

  The thought turned around and settled itself within her. Yes, that was precisely what she would do. A smile settled itself on her lips.

  * * *

  Charles was pulled from his deep sleep by the hot swirl of arousal teasing its way down his spine and straight to his rapidly stiffening member.

  “I have a surprise for you.” Bridget’s sultry whisper heated his ear before she licked and nipped its rim.

  Charles opened his eyes to see Bridget’s stunning nude form above him, her shapely thighs straddling his hips, her glorious breasts hovering above his chest, and her white-blonde hair creating a curtain around the both of them.

  His eyes widened and his heart rate pick up speed.

  “This is certainly a superior way to greet the morning.” He grinned openly at her.

  “I trust you slept well?”

  He brought his hands up to stroke the smooth skin at her waist. “Exceedingly well, and you?”

  She returned his smile with a flirtatious one of her own, then bent to press a kiss to the side of his neck. The combination of her lips on his neck and her breas
ts pressed to his chest was nearly enough to drive him mad.

  “I will assume, then,” Charles said, his voice deep and rough as though he’d swallowed gravel, “that your sleep was pleasant, shall I?”

  She pulled his hands from her waist and raised them above his head. Before he knew what she was about, she had wrapped a length of fabric snuggly around his wrists. Surprised, he looked up to see that she had strung a bolt of material between the two posts at the head of the bed, and tied the fabric binding his wrists in its centre.

  “What the devil?” He looked questioningly into her calculating green eyes. “What are you about, Bridget?”

  He began to raise his knees, but realized quickly that his ankles were bound to each foot post, his legs spread wide.

  Anger began to replace his arousal as he tugged again on his bindings.

  “Shh…” Bridget bent to spread kisses along his jaw then down his neck and to his chest. “I had something special in mind for this morning.”

  Charles began to suspect that what Bridget had in mind would be beneficial to them both, so he allowed his muscles to relax as she continued to spread kisses down the length of his body.

  He groaned as she neared his returning erection, placing kisses along his hips and down onto his thighs.

  A frustrated sigh escaped him as she sat up and looked him in the eyes. “Tell me, Charles,” she placed a hand on his erection and it jumped as she slowly wrapped her fingers around its girth, “do you know who it was that shot me?”

  A swift frown crossed his brow. “What? I do n—” his eyes closed and he hissed out a breath between his clenched teeth as she bent to lick the tip of his member. It twitched eagerly in response. “Oh God, Bridget. Do that again.”

  “Do you know who it was that shot me?”

  Bridget’s purpose immediately became clear and Charles scowled. “You Machiavellian minx.”

  Her lips curved up in a coquettish smile. “If my plan works, I will have my questions answered, and you will have great pleasure.”

  His cock leapt eagerly again, the treacherous thing. “You are indeed a clever woman. But I shall not submit.” He was trained to withstand torture, damn it. He should be able to withstand her machinations.

  “I think you will.” She bent again and took him into her mouth, pulling a low, feral growl from deep within him.

  She replaced her mouth with her hand, holding him still. “Who shot me, Charles?”

  “I can’t tell you.” Be quiet, Charles, his inner voice warned him.

  “Why?”

  “I made a vow.” Damn it, remain silent!

  God, he wished he could tell her and get this exquisite torture over with. But you can’t.

  “Then tell me why. Why did this person shoot me?”

  “To hurt…” he gasped as she stroked his flesh, “me.” Hush!

  “You?” She frowned, puzzled. “Why would someone wish to hurt you?”

  “I cannot tell you.” But why is that again?

  Bridget rose above him, straddling his hips and poising for entry. Sweet mercy, he could feel the heat coming off of her. He took a swift intake of breath, the muscles and tendons pulling in his arms and shoulders as his ribs expanded.

  “I think you can tell me,” she insisted.

  I think I can, too. Why the devil did he think that it was fine for Lane to know, but not for Bridget? Why had he not told her immediately upon returning from the continent? The outcome had been the same had he been seen with her; she had been targeted and was in danger despite his determination to distance himself from her. Why did he believe that she was better off being ignorant? Why was he spending this moment in thought when he could have her riding him to release?

  With one hand guiding him inside, Bridget slowly dipped the tip of him inside her. His eyes rolled backward. Every muscle in his body was taut.

  “Why would someone wish to hurt you, Charles?” Dip… Dip…

  Without further thought, Charles blurted, “I’m a spy.”

  He took a quivering breath of relief as she sank down on him, completely engulfing him in her damp, velvet heat.

  Chapter 16

  Astounded, Bridget sat motionless atop Charles. I’m a spy. Of all the things she had imagined him saying, it had most definitely not been that.

  Charles bucked his hips below her, in an attempt to get her to move. “Please, Bridget,” he moaned in his aroused, gravelly voice. “Move.”

  Right. Move. As if the realization just dawned on her that she sat astride a handsome, bound man, she reached over to her bedside table drawer and withdrew a knife. She quickly slit the material binding Charles to the bed, then replaced the blade in her drawer.

  Charles wrapped his arms around her body and rolled her underneath him, his manhood still fully sheathed within her. Unbidden, a gasp of surprise escaped her.

  He quirked an eyebrow at her questioning gaze. “You were taking too long.”

  Bridget smiled, then pushed her head deeper into the pillow, her mouth dropped open on a moan as he began to move. He moved slowly at first, the leisurely tempo driving her nigh into madness. She silently urged him on with short thrusts of her pelvis, until he was pumping into her, bringing her closer to ecstasy with every thrust.

  He bent to take one nipple into his mouth and she let out a small cry of pleasure.

  “You like that, sweetheart?”

  “You…know I do…Charles.” She dug her nails into his back and brought her knees up higher, linking her ankles over his hips.

  “God, Bridget…you don’t know what…you do to me.”

  Her climax hit her suddenly, a throbbing explosion spreading through her body straight to her toes and fingers and putting spots in her vision. She rode wave after wave, allowing it to overtake her.

  Charles grunted. He pumped hard into her, then pulled himself free to spill his hot seed on her belly, his deep growl echoing through the large room.

  Bridget lay back with her eyes closed, enjoying the rapid beat of her heart and the echoing throb in her loins.

  She was vaguely aware of Charles leaving the bed and returning with a cloth to wipe his cooling seed from her body. A moment later, she felt his weight press on the mattress beside her and she curled into his warmth.

  Then his confession came back to her.

  “You are a spy.”

  He pulled her head down onto his chest and wrapped one arm around her shoulders with a sigh. “I am a spy.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Shortly after the battle of Salamanca.”

  “Tell me. Tell me how it came to pass.”

  Bridget lay in Charles’ embrace and listened to the pleasing rumble of his voice as he spoke. “I was injured in the battle. When I awoke after the fever, I felt…broken. Desolate, purposeless. I hadn’t spoken in weeks.”

  His throat bobbed and Bridget rubbed a hand in circles over his chest, her own heart constricted.

  “Then Wellington found me. He offered me a position and I accepted it gratefully. I cannot—” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I cannot tell you how relieved I felt upon receiving that first assignment. Soon after, I met my comrades, Ares, Hades, and Hermes. Working with and befriending them changed me for the better.”

  Bridget tipped her head upward to see Charles’ face. “What are you called?”

  “I am named for the many-headed serpent, Hydra, because I excelled at disguises and reconnaissance work.” Charles took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I must tell you, Bridget, that I feel liberated in telling you this.”

  She lifted herself onto her elbow and looked down at him. “I am not certain, yet, how I feel about hearing it,” she said truthfully. And she wasn’t. It was rather difficult to absorb the thought that Charles had lied to her. Had been lying to her.

  Her gaze travelled over his body, and for the first time really noticed his many scars. She pointed to the large puckered scar on his upper left arm, “How did this happen?

&
nbsp; “That was what I earned while in the battle of Salamanca.”

  Her heart gave a flip and she pointed to a long, jagged scar along his side. “And this one?”

  “I was stabbed by a man named Francois Tessier. He was one of my first assignments.”

  “I am very pleased that you were not killed, Charles.”

  “As am I.”

  She ran a finger along another scar on his shoulder. “What happened with this one?”

  Bridget watched Charles’ throat bob before he cleared his throat. “That one brought me home.”

  She leaned down to give him a comforting kiss on the lips. While this might be a difficult conversation for him, she still needed answers.

  “Are you able to tell me now who it was that shot me?”

  He nodded. “The assumption is that it was a French spy.” His blue gaze met hers. “I received a letter a few weeks ago informing me that you were…a target of sorts.”

  Alarm spread through her chest. “A target!” She sat up on the bed, shifting so she sat beside him, her breasts bared as the sheet fell to her waist. “You mean that this person wishes to kill me?” A strand of hair fell across her face and she absently brushed it away.

  He nodded. “I am afraid so.”

  Awareness dawned. “That is why you are here…why you showed up at Mr. Stevens’ castle. You are here to protect me.”

  “Er… Yes.” He sat up as well, using the pillow as a backrest against the headboard. “About that, Bridget…”

  “Just a moment, Charles.” She tapped her bottom lip in thought. “Why would someone write you a letter to warn you that I am a ‘target’? Why would they not just murder me and have it done with? Why give you the chance to protect me?”

  Charles paled at her mention of murder. “You’re right, Bridget. It makes little sense. The only reasoning I could conjure would be if they wished to draw me out; to use you as bait to either have me surrender myself to them with the information they desire, or to break me down. To guilt me. To torture me.”