Rake Most Likely to Sin

by Bronwyn Scott

  She laughed with him because his laughter was infectious and his stories heartfelt. One couldn’t help but be taken in by his sincerity. He was different than her, his life was different. He’d seen so much of the world while she had seen Kardamyli and the town she’d been born in. To her, the fifteen-mile journey between her town and Dimitri’s had been significant, important.

  He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘If I wanted to see Englishmen, I would have stayed home.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, I haven’t been more than twenty miles from here my entire life,’ Patra said softly. The disparity in their ages seemed to flip. She was thirty-five and yet, in some ways, she lacked his worldly experiences.

  He considered her for a long moment, his eyes quieting, his gaze turning serious. His smile faded to be replaced by a small, almost rueful grin. His hand came up to stroke her hair, to cup her cheek. All she had to do was turn her head and kiss his palm. That was the wine talking. The bottle was nearly empty now and she knew she’d been responsible for a significant portion of it. If she kissed his palm, it would invite other kisses, kisses she’d promised herself to avoid.

  His voice was soft when he spoke, too. ‘That’s a good sign. You mustn’t have anything to run from.’

  How she wanted to argue! It wasn’t true. She had plenty to run from: memories of Dimitri, memories of the war, memories of the man who’d led Dimitri and other patriots to their deaths, who’d coaxed her into believing such sacrifice was worth it. But to argue would mean she’d have to prove it, she’d have to tell her stories, to expose herself.

  Brennan tugged at her hand. ‘Come...lie down, Patra.’ And she did, because it was the lesser of two evils to lie down beside him and stare at the skies than to let the evening be overrun with memories of things she couldn’t change and people she couldn’t save.

  ‘What do you have to run from?’ She stretched out beside him, matching his pose, her head resting on her hand. She had not been this close to a man in ages, certainly not such a virile one.

  ‘Everything. Nothing.’ His blue eyes flirted with her quietly, the night and the stars adding their own layers of intimacy to this impetuous wine picnic. He would be intoxicating even without the drink. She had to be careful. She hadn’t broken her rule...yet, but she was dancing close to the fire. She was recognising in hindsight there were probably other promises she should have made herself. Don’t lie down with a man you don’t know, don’t stare at the stars with him and absolutely don’t drink wine with him.

  ‘There was no reason to stay in England, or Paris, or Venice, or Milan, or Siena.’ Brennan’s hand stroked her hair, pushing a strand behind her ear. It was becoming far too easy to let him touch her. It felt far too good.

  ‘And Kardamyli?’ The words were out of her mouth before she could think better of them. Reasons to stay were dangerous.

  ‘We’ll see. I like it here.’ The implied but hovered in the air. Oh, he was smooth, he knew all the right things to say: If a woman would give me a reason to stay, I might consider it. No wonder Katerina Stefanos had fallen for him. He could certainly bait a hook.

  She decided to give him a dose of reality, and perhaps a dose for herself, too—a reminder that he was not for her...that she was merely looking for an escape from her friends’ well-meaning efforts. ‘There may be conditions placed on your ability to stay.’ Like taking a wife.

  He merely gave one his shrugs, unconcerned about future consequences. ‘You’ve managed to remain unattached. I am sure I will, too. Maybe that’s something we could work on together.’ His hand drifted to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, cradling it as he had done her cheek. His eyes dropped to her lips, his head angled slowly in fair warning, giving her time to choose her response and then he made his move, closing the gap between them with swift confidence, his mouth moving fast and sure over hers.

  Chapter Four

  She let him. She wasn’t technically breaking her promise. He was kissing her, after all, and she couldn’t very well control his actions. It was a hastily done rationalisation, one she was probably going to regret...later. Right now, her lips, her body were too busy sinking into his to regret much of anything.

  Good lord, he could kiss. His mouth was patient, savouring hers, seducing hers with its slow confidence. He was not in doubt about the conclusion of the interlude and in no hurry to get there. His tongue made a languorous perusal of her mouth, his hands running up her back, drawing her close to him on the blanket. Oh, how she wanted to be close, to feel the heat of him, the muscled press of his body. She had not realised how hungry she was for such contact and it had to stop. This could not happen, no matter how enjoyable. If he wasn’t able to see the ramifications of this, she would, for both of them. The village wouldn’t tolerate it, not when he’d been flirting with the eligible girls and doing heaven knew what else with them. Her pride would not stand it either. He couldn’t use her like this and then leave her. There were other reasons, too, but these were the most immediate.

  Brennan’s hand was warm at her leg, sliding beneath her skirt, resting on her knee. She pushed gently at his chest and pulled away with a shake of her head. His blue eyes reflected his puzzlement, his disappointment. She tried to soften her words with a smile, but her voice was stern, leaving no quarter for argument. ‘I think it’s time to go home.’

  ‘Really?’ He wasn’t going to give up easily. His auburn hair, tousled from her fingers, and the smoulder of those blue eyes were nearly irresistible as he formed his one-word rebuttal, challenging her suggestion.

  Distance. She needed distance. Patra stumbled to her feet. If she stayed on the blanket a moment longer, he would win. He had too many advantages on his side and she could not allow that. His victory would be expensive for them both. Patra smoothed her skirts and began to re-pin her hair. ‘Yes, really. It’s late and we don’t want to do this, not truly. In the morning, we’ll regret it.’ Her argument sounded clichéd and her hands shook as she re-pinned her hair.

  He stood and moved into her, covering her hands with his. ‘Let me.’ He took the pins and deftly shoved them into her hair until it somewhat resembled its original self. He stared at her for a long moment, so close she could see the black flecks of his eyes amid the blue. A slow smile spread across his face. ‘You’ll do.’ He leaned close, his voice conspiratorially low. ‘I don’t think anyone will guess you’ve been kissing that rake of an Englishman.’

  He turned away and began to roll up the blanket, leaving no evidence of their presence. There had been self-derision mixed with the teasing lilt of his voice. It was hard to know how to take that remark. She’d accidentally hurt his feelings. ‘I didn’t do it only for me.’ She felt compelled to defend herself. ‘I did it for you, too. A scandal is the quickest way out of town or to the altar for you and it seemed to me that you weren’t ready for either just yet.’

  Brennan faced her, hands on hips, having put the blanket away under its bush. ‘I don’t need you to decide for me. I seldom regret anything in the mornings.’

  The innuendo that she would not regret anything either had they carried their evening to a particular conclusion brought heat to her cheeks. In terms of personal satisfaction, he was most likely right. His dancing, his kissing, had served as very compelling references for his skills elsewhere. But it was the social aspect she was thinking of. Still, he was a young man and his pride in a sensitive area had been hurt.

  Patra stepped forward, wanting to put a consoling hand on his arm, wanting to explain. ‘Brennan, it’s not that.’ What did she say next? It’s not that I don’t think you’d be fabulous in bed. From a purely technical standpoint, you would be phenomenal, I’m sure... She could definitely not say that. She opted for something more platonic. ‘There are many young women in the village who would welcome your attentions, but I am not one of them.’

  Brennan crossed his arms and arched
an auburn brow. ‘Is that because you prefer the attentions of the grey-bearded men that buzz around you like so many bees to honey?’ His tone was blunt and rough, at odds with his earlier smoothness. He was still smarting.

  ‘What I prefer is my business.’ She moved to head down the hill. It was past time to go. She had secrets to protect. By protecting them, she was protecting him even if he couldn’t know or appreciate her efforts. She’d walk home alone if she had to. But Brennan was beside her, a hand at her elbow to help her navigate in the star-spiked darkness despite the tension rising between them. It proved again her earlier intuition that he was kind. Even in the midst of conflict, he remembered his word. Kind he might be, but he wasn’t ready to leave the unpleasantness behind them on the hill.

  ‘It’s why you needed me tonight.’ Brennan helped her over a rocky gap in the trail. ‘You were looking to escape them.’ He was far too perceptive. It would have been easier if he’d simply been a smooth-talking rake, but it appeared he was a bit more than that and it made him trickier to manage.

  ‘My friends believe it’s time for me to marry again, that I’ve mourned my husband long enough. I tell them I don’t plan to wed, but they do not listen.’ They didn’t listen because they didn’t understand the real reasons behind her resistance and she could not tell them.

  ‘Instead, they have pooled their resources and brought to town any eligible relative they can lay their hands on.’ Brennan chuckled as he summed up her predicament, the tension easing between them. Some of the teasing spark returned to the conversation. ‘Is it that you’re opposed to marrying again, or just opposed to marrying a greybeard?’

  ‘Both.’ They had to go slowly down the hill to avoid slipping on loose pebbles and she was too grateful for the support of his hand, steady and firm as he guided her down, to pull away. She envied him his confidence. He was in his prime and full of himself in all the best ways. How long would this strapping young man remain unchallenged, unmarked by the world? There was something appealing in the knowledge he’d never met a trial to which he was not equal.

  ‘Why?’ He persisted with a flirty wink. ‘What if the right man came along, a younger man skilled with women?’ He placed his hands at her waist and swung her over a small hole in the path. They were nearly at the bottom. Perhaps there would be less reason to touch her then, fewer reminders of what she’d given up on the hill, fewer reminders that he was a younger man with some skill with women.

  ‘Marriage takes a lot out of a person, it requires an investment that exceeds anything you’ve ever known and then when you lose it, well, that takes even more from you. I simply don’t think I’m up to it one more time.’ She meant the words to be harsh, sobering, but they didn’t have the desired effect.

  He cocked his brow, again, and stopped long enough to study her, again. She was getting used to that look. ‘Really?’ She was getting used to that rebuttal, too. ‘I didn’t figure you for a quitter.’

  Quitter? He thought she was a quitter? If there was one word to raise her ire, that was it. To hear it from someone who didn’t know her, from an Englishman who hadn’t even been here the last twelve years, bordered on insulting. ‘You are out of line, Mr Carr. You have no idea what I’ve endured. Just because there is a cliff doesn’t mean I have to jump off it.’ She pushed past him—this was as good of an excuse as any to part ways before they reached her home. ‘I can take it from here, Mr Carr. Thank you for the escort.’

  Brennan’s hand closed about her arm as she passed. ‘The thing about cliffs, Patra, is that if you don’t jump, you miss the chance to fly.’ He did not let go. ‘I promised to see you home and I will.’ She could tell from the firmness of his grip there would be no shaking his resolve now.

  They followed a bend in the road, the standard stucco-box shape of a Greek home coming into view beneath the moon and Patra braced herself for the embarrassment. It had never been a large home, but it had once been more neatly kept. Now, there was simply too much work to keep up on by herself and she dared not ask for help.

  ‘Here we are.’ She could hear the veiled disappointment in his tone. He’d expected something better from her than this ramshackle holding.

  She nodded, seeing the place through Brennan’s eyes. Even the moonlight couldn’t soften the ragged edges of her once-proud house. The stucco needed a coat of whitewash, the shutters needed paint, the patio needed weeding, the grounds needed tending. The list was exhausting. All of her time was spent doing the most essential tasks, the ones that kept her fed and clothed. He would see the house and he would be glad she’d stopped things on the hill. He’d know the truth of her. She was the most pathetic of individuals; not just a widow, but a poor one with no family, a woman entirely alone in ways he couldn’t begin to imagine.

  His eyes moved over the house, but to his credit his gaze gave nothing away, and neither did his words. Patra felt a rush of gratitude for his discretion. ‘Thank you,’ she offered, leaving it open as to what she was thanking him for; he could choose to read it as he liked: the dance, the wine, the walk, the escort, for not commenting on her home. She’d not realised there was so much to thank him for.

  Brennan put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Perhaps I should go in and make sure all is well.’ He stepped forward, putting her behind him and drawing a short dagger from his belt. It was his way of registering there were no servants, no hired help minding the house while she was out.

  ‘That’s not necessary, I’ve never had any trouble,’ Patra put in swiftly. The last thing she wanted was the charismatic personality and the hard, potent body of Brennan Carr filling up the tiny space of her home. She didn’t trust herself to not change her mind about what she’d already rejected this evening.

  He seemed to debate the wisdom of this decision with himself before relenting and sliding his dagger back into its sheath. ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘I am sure.’ She smiled to persuade him. ‘I have a pistol and a dagger and I’m more than capable of using them.’

  He gave her one of his disarming grins. ‘I’m sure you can. The point is that you shouldn’t have to. I’ll wait until I see you light a lantern.’ He let her walk away before his words brought her to a halt. ‘Patra, I lied earlier. I’m regretting leaving you already.’

  It was a sweet thing to say, just the right note to end the evening on, a note that recalled the intoxicating energy of the dancing and the rather heated energy of their kiss. A woman of less fortitude would have turned back. But Patra kept walking. She could not afford to give him an inch. She let her words float back to him as she stepped inside. ‘Goodnight, Brennan.’

  Brennan waited until he saw the light flare in the window, another idea flaring as he walked away. He’d deduced correctly she would not want his pity. She had her pride as much as any man. She might not want help, but she needed it. He understood now why she’d been so insistent on seeing herself home after a point. She’d requested twice that she go on alone. Did she think he would judge her? Did she think he hadn’t been here on the peninsula long enough to appreciate the rugged nature of life beneath the hot sun and the toll it took? She would be wrong on both of those accounts. His own home wasn’t much better, only larger.

  She needed him whether she wanted to admit it or not and he needed her. He’d not been entirely joking up on the hill. Why not form an alliance? After seeing her home, there was even more reason for it. He was handy with tools and repairs. He’d done enough of them on his family’s home, his father too distracted to see to the hiring of that work himself. Brennan would gladly trade his services for hers. If they could convince the village he was genuinely interested in her, even sincerely courting her, it would save them both the hassle of fending off unwanted suitors. Then, at the last moment, whenever that was, six more months from now, a year from now, a few weeks from now, he’d cry off, claiming an emergency that required his attentions in England.

 
; The village could rage at him, could support her in her sorrow over being deserted. They’d vilify him for using one of their own so poorly, but he’d be too many miles away to care. It seemed like an ideal solution. Tonight, with Katerina Stefano’s hand on his arm, he’d felt pressured to leave Kardamyli, but he wasn’t ready to go, not just yet.

  Brennan began to whistle in the night. Things were definitely starting to look up. Now, he just had to convince Patra of that. If it was true the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, it was also true that the way to a woman’s heart was through a hammer. He had yet to meet a woman who could resist a man who provided for her needs in bed and out. Patra might have resisted him tonight, but that was just the beginning. She had yet to see Brennan Carr unleashed. This was turning out to be a challenge he was going to enjoy. After all, he didn’t want to win her heart, just her compliance and he knew just how to do it.

  Chapter Five

  Ow! Bright light. Loud noise. Double ow! What was that pounding? Patra groaned and pulled a pillow over her head, jamming it down hard over both ears. Her tongue felt thick, her mouth tasted stale. Her head didn’t exactly hurt, but it was definitely fuzzy, consequences of too much wine right before bed. Patra groaned again, this time in remembrance. The latter part of the evening started to replay itself in her mind: the dancing, the hill, the stars, the kisses. Too much wine and too much Brennan Carr.

  What had she been thinking to have let things get so far out of hand? Oh, never mind. It was a poor rhetorical question. She knew very well what sort of deals she’d made with herself to get what she wanted in the moment last night. Now, she would repent at leisure.