The Rogue Is Back in Town

by Anna Bennett

  Making short work of the laces at her back, he loosened her gown and pushed the delicate puffed sleeves off her shoulders. Her dress fell to her waist, and then—with a little help from Sam—skimmed past her hips and billowed around her feet like frothy blue waves.

  Before she could step out of the satin, he placed his hands on her shoulders and gently kneaded them. “No rushing.”

  She leaned into him as his warm fingers eased the tension from her body, moaned as he kissed the column of her neck. Either her corset was growing tighter, or her breasts had swollen, for it seemed she couldn’t catch her breath.

  With a tortured groan, he spun her to face him and traced the dipping neckline of her shift with a fingertip … then followed the same path with his mouth. As the light stubble on his chin grazed her skin, her legs turned to jelly.

  When at last he unlaced her corset, she wriggled it over her head and delighted in tossing it aside. Wearing only her fine, thin shift and silk stockings, she smiled shyly at Sam—and resisted the instinct to cross her arms. He’d said no hiding, and she didn’t want to hide from him.

  “Come.” He led her by the hand to the armchair, sat, and pulled her onto his lap. “I can’t believe you’re truly here with me.”

  Julie wound her arms around his neck and touched her forehead to his. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

  Slowly, deliberately, he pushed the hem of her shift above her knees and tugged one stocking down. Inch by inch, the silk slid lower, until one leg was bared … and the other followed suit.

  “I must see you,” he rasped. “All of you.”

  Beneath the transparent fabric of her shift, her nipples puckered. She nodded, sat back, and pulled off the garment, leaving her completely naked. She felt no shame or regret—only desire.

  “Juliette.” He uttered her name reverently. Humbly. As though she’d given him a gift so great he could barely comprehend it. He dipped his head to her breast and took the tip in his mouth. His hand stroked the inside of her thigh, teasing the supple flesh there and sliding higher, closer to the center of her desire.

  She splayed her palm over the hard wall of his chest, letting her palm graze his flat nipple. He moaned in response, and the vibrations pulsed through her body. Her head fell back as he laved attention on one breast … and then the other. All the while, his wicked fingers drifted closer to her entrance. Circling. Stroking. Awakening.

  When he touched her, she whimpered, unsure. The ache spiraling inside her was sweet and fierce, dizzying in its intensity.

  “Do you like this, temptress?” he murmured, his voice throaty.

  “Yes, but…” It wasn’t enough. She was wound tight as a spring. Her back arched, her skin tingled, her core pulsed.

  He slid a finger inside her, and she clutched his shoulders, breathless with need. “Oh, Sam.”

  “You’re perfect—do you know that?” The words drifted over her skin like a thousand kisses. His finger thrust in a rhythm that made her hips buck. “I will ease the ache. All you have to do is trust me.”

  “I do.” Her body was his—as was her heart.

  His thumb circled the center of her pleasure, winding her tighter, taking her higher.

  She was on the brink of something glorious, she could feel it. And just when she might have soared over the edge, he uttered a curse and withdrew his hand. “Not yet. Not here,” he said.

  He scooped her in his arms, strode to the bed, and laid her across the soft counterpane. Bracing himself above her, he said, “It’s your first time. I want to make it special.”

  She swallowed, touched. He might be London’s greatest rogue, but tonight he was hers—thoughtful, considerate, and utterly determined to give her pleasure. “How do you propose to do that?” she asked, amazed her lips could form the words.

  “One kiss at a time,” he said.

  With knee-melting tenderness, he kissed the tip of her nose, her cheeks, her lips.

  He traced the shell of her ear with his tongue, then trailed more kisses along her collarbone and in the hollow at the base of her throat. He nuzzled the soft undersides of her breasts and the valley between them. When she thought she’d die of pleasure, he blazed a trail south, lingering near her navel and cruising around her hip bones.

  Positioning his shoulders between her legs, he nudged her thighs apart … and flicked his tongue … there. Her body bucked. His assault was exquisite and relentless, giving her no quarter. His fingers spread her flesh and entered her, his mouth sucked and moaned.

  She fisted the counterpane and cried out softly as she hurtled over the edge … and time stopped.

  She was floating, shimmering from within, awed by the intensity of her release. The world outside the bedchamber door had ceased to exist. All that mattered was here and now.

  Julie and Sam.

  When the delicious tremors subsided and her body turned limp, he crawled beside her, propped himself on an elbow, and gazed at her with something akin to adoration. “You are amazing,” he whispered.

  “Me?” She’d simply lain there while he’d worked magic. “This is all your doing.”

  “Is it, vixen?” He arched a wicked brow. “Because I’ve only just begun.”

  Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

  The sight of Juliette lying naked beside him, her expression dreamy and sated, was the most beautiful, awe-inspiring thing Sam had ever seen. No spectacular sunset could compare. No scenic ocean view could come close to moving him the way she did.

  Her beauty transcended the physical. She was unapologetically loyal and fiercely protective of the people she loved. She was passionate and funny and courageous.

  And damn it all if he wasn’t falling in love with her.

  He shouldn’t. He knew it without a doubt.

  He could give her pleasure and amuse her for a while, but she was destined for bigger things … and for a better man than he. Her sisters had married well—an earl and a duke who each possessed vast fortunes. Before long, Juliette would have scores of men vying for her hand in marriage too, not the least of which could be his brother.

  But dwelling on that would be a clear violation of his third rule—the mandate that tonight was to be about them, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else.

  If Sam only had one evening with Juliette, he refused to spoil it with thoughts of her other suitors or her promising future—which held no room for the likes of him.

  As she snuggled into the crook of his arm, he savored the feel of her soft breasts pressed against his chest, her warm skin touching his. His arousal strained against his trousers, but he would not rush this, would not pressure her to give him more than she wished.

  As he kissed her temple and smoothed a strand of hair away from her face, his hand trembled.

  Good God. He couldn’t be nervous—the very idea was ridiculous. He hadn’t even been nervous his first time.

  It was as if his body knew what his head didn’t want to admit. He wasn’t just bedding Juliette. This was more. She was more.

  More than he deserved.

  She blinked up at him and lazily swirled a fingertip over his chest and down his arm. “You say you’ve only just begun,” she said shyly. “I can’t wait to see what the rest of the evening holds.”

  “I can’t either,” he said honestly.

  She rolled her eyes and swatted him playfully. “Surely, you already know.”

  “No.” He laced his fingers through hers and brought the back of her hand to his lips. “That is, I have some idea. But it’s all different with you. It feels new … special.”

  Her eyes softened and pleaded with his. “Make me yours, Sam,” she breathed. “I want to lay with you. I want us to be as close as two people possibly can.”

  Her words were a torch, setting fire to his blood. He closed his eyes for a moment—a valiant but probably futile attempt to remind himself to go slowly.

  And then he crushed his mouth to hers.

  Jesus, she tasted sweet—like ripe berrie
s and cream. She bowed her body toward him, her hips pressing against his, and he murmured a curse. Damn if he could resist her another moment.

  He sat up, stripped off his boots and trousers, and returned to the bed. He wanted to pounce on her, fill her, and pleasure her until neither of them knew their own name. But she was sitting up now, letting her gaze rake over him from head to toe, her unabashed curiosity making him even harder.

  “May I touch you?” she asked.

  Holy hell. “You may do anything you like, Juliette. Anything.”

  Smiling like a satisfied cat, she skimmed her fingers over the ridges of his abdomen, down the hard length of him. Jesus.

  “You like that,” she said.

  “You have no idea.”

  Emboldened, she explored further, curling her fingers around him and stroking in a rhythm that drove him mad. On the brink of exploding, he let out a groan and pushed her back on the bed, positioning himself between her legs.

  Poised to bury himself in her, he cupped her cheek in his hand and searched her face. Saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. “Are you frightened? We don’t need to do this.” But heaven help him, he wanted to. More than anything.

  “I’m a little nervous I suppose. Now that I’ve seen you—all of you, that is. But I don’t want to stop now.”

  “It might hurt at first,” he admitted. He’d had no experience with virgins, so he couldn’t say for certain. “But I swear I’ll make it good for you.” Or God help him, he’d die trying.

  “I know you will. You already have.” She tilted her hips upward, eliciting another groan from him. “I think it will help if you kiss me.”

  “Damn it, Juliette.” He slanted his mouth across hers and slowly entered her, inch by inch, filling her until he was slick with perspiration and trembling with restraint.

  Mewling sounds in her throat—that could have come from pain or pleasure—made him freeze. But she speared her fingers through his hair and wound her legs around his hips, urging him on.

  God, she was hot, tight, and perfect. So perfect. He rocked into her, searching for a rhythm she liked. Felt her body contract around him.

  He wanted her to come with him. No, he needed her to. And just when he thought he couldn’t wait a moment longer—she did.

  And he was gone. The world went black for two seconds before a hundred stars streaked across his vision. His head buried in her neck, he moaned her name.

  Expending his last shred of self-control, he rolled off her and spilled his seed onto the bed. Christ. Heart pounding and breathing ragged, he slung an arm over her and pulled her body flush with his. They fit perfectly together—as though they’d been made for each other.

  Her limbs were limp, her eyes closed. Her lips curled into a satisfied smile. “That was heavenly,” she whispered. “I’m suddenly very tired.”

  After covering her with a corner of the counterpane, he massaged her scalp lightly and kissed the top of her head. “Sleep for a while.”

  “Will you do the same?” She wriggled closer, tugging at the darkest corners of his heart.

  “Yes,” he replied—because he sensed that was what she wished.

  But he had no intention of sleeping this night.

  The hours with her were far too precious to waste. Instead, he stared at the thick lashes fanned across her cheeks. He wondered at the luminescence of her skin and the comforting weight of her leg flung over his. He lost himself in the citrusy fragrance of her hair.

  He committed every detail to memory so that in the cold and lonely days to come he’d remember how it felt to be one with her—to bask in the glow of her light and goodness.

  So he’d remember what it felt like to love.

  As she slipped into a sweet, sound sleep, he shook his head at the irony of it all.

  He’d barged into her house, upended her life, and taken her innocence—and yet, he was the one who’d changed. Deeply, irrevocably.

  Because after spending a few days with Juliette, his heart was hers.

  And he’d never be the same again.

  * * *

  When Julie woke, the candle was out and the bedchamber was dark, but Sam was all around her. His chest was pressed to her back, his knees were bent behind hers, and his hand rested on her hip.

  “Are you awake?” she whispered.

  He responded with a low chuckle that vibrated through her in the most delicious way. “Yes, vixen.”

  “This feels lovely.” Sighing, she shimmied closer to his warm, solid body—and felt the evidence of his desire pressing against her leg. She delighted in the knowledge that she did that to him. That he wanted her. “I wish we could stay like this.”

  “So do I,” he murmured against her neck. He skimmed his palm over the curve of her hip and playfully squeezed her bottom, instantly igniting her blood. A steady, insistent pulsing began at her core, and now she knew precisely what would satisfy her hunger. Moaning, she started to turn toward him, but he slipped his arm around her waist, halting her. “Relax,” he ordered. “Let me pleasure you.”

  Her nipples tightened at the promise of his words. As if he knew, he reached for one bud, lightly pinching it while he planted hot kisses at the base of her neck. Heaven help her, he turned her body to liquid. She arched her back and pressed her bottom against his erection, pleased to hear him groan in response.

  But if they were engaged in a game where the goal was to arouse each other, Sam had the distinct advantage. He nibbled on the lobe of her ear while he slipped his hand between her legs and stroked the folds at her entrance. “Are you sore?”

  “No,” she breathed. Though her flesh was tender, she couldn’t bear it if he stopped.

  She saw nothing in the darkness of the bedchamber, but her other senses were heightened. His masculine, musky scent surrounded her. The hair on his chest tickled her back. The sound of his raspy breathing filled her head.

  He slid a finger inside her and nipped at her shoulder, making her whimper with need. “Sam.”

  As though he were hers to command, his wicked fingertips moved to the center of her pleasure, circled it, and stroked. “How’s this?”

  Her head lolled back. Oh God. But she wanted him inside her. Wanted that intimacy again. Now. “I need you.”

  “I need you too, love.” For some reason, the endearment—clearly spoken in the heat of passion—brought tears to her eyes, and she was grateful that he couldn’t see. He entered her from behind, filling her as he had before, but deeper.

  He whispered her name like a prayer—soft, sacred, and true. There was no room for doubt or loneliness or fear when she was with Sam, no time for worry. All she could feel was the joining of their bodies and souls. His hand on her breast, his breath in her ear, his heart pounding in time with hers.

  When, at last, her release blossomed, it was slow, full, and impossibly sweet. Tendrils of pleasure unfurled inside her, radiating from her core all the way through her fingers and toes.

  She clung to him as bliss overtook them both in waves that lasted forever.

  But not nearly long enough.

  Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT

  The soft glow behind the faded velvet curtains told Julie dawn had broken.

  The cool, empty mattress beside her told her Sam wasn’t there.

  She blinked, expecting to look up and find him stuffing the few things his valet had brought him into a valise, preparing to leave her uncle’s house.

  But she wasn’t in Sam’s room. Rather, she was in her own familiar bedchamber, in her bed—still naked but covered with a soft quilt.

  She bolted upright, wondering momentarily if the whole night had been a dream. But the tenderness between her legs and soreness of her muscles were evidence enough that her night with Sam had been real. Indeed, she vaguely remembered him carrying her to her bed and kissing her lips sometime in the wee hours of the morning.

  Scanning the room, she found her gown and underclothes were folded and hung over the back of a chair; her slippers were tucked ne
atly beneath it. A small envelope rested on the chair’s threadbare seat. Her belly lurched at the sight.

  Sam couldn’t be gone already.

  Heart pounding, she tossed back the coverlet, sprang out of bed, and shoved her arms into her dressing gown. She cinched the sash as she dashed out of her room and headed for Sam’s.

  At the threshold, she halted.

  The door was ajar.

  But Sam was gone—and so were his things.

  His shaving kit had disappeared from the top of the bureau; his boots no longer stood guard at the foot of the bed.

  Her gaze lingered on the empty armchair where he’d removed her stockings and shift, where he’d worshipped her body with his hands and his mouth. She stared at the neatly made bed where they’d become one, where he’d given her bone-melting pleasure.

  His faint scent was the only trace of him that remained.

  She reminded herself that she’d asked him to leave—and that it was surely for the best. Why, then, did she have a painful lump in her throat?

  Remembering the envelope he’d left, she hurried back to her room, lifted it from the chair, and opened it.

  Juliette,

  If you should ever need me, send word and I will be there in a heartbeat. I would gladly move mountains for you, but I will also step aside, since that is what you wish.

  I regret any pain I have caused you or your uncle and wish you both every happiness.

  Sam

  Julie pressed the note to her chest, willing her pulse to slow. Her heart pleaded for her to run after Sam right now—but her head knew she should not.

  The problems she had to face—possible eviction, her uncle’s faltering mental state, and Nigel’s indecent proposal—were all best dealt with on her own. As long as Sam had been living under her roof, she’d been unable to think clearly, and the risk to her reputation hung over her, a constant threat.

  She believed that Sam wanted to help her, but how could she ask him to, when his own brother was the source of her distress?

  Last night, Sam had said that if he had to choose between her and Nigel, he would choose her … but it wasn’t fair of her to demand that of him. No one should have to forsake a sibling for someone else. Julie could scarcely imagine it, for she’d never betray her sisters.