by Lois Greiman
She pursed her lips, watching him but seeing something else. “Yes.”
“Did she look like you?”
“She was but a child when last I saw her.”
“’Tis safe to guess that she lacked your enchanting curves, then,” he said.
She came back to the present, and he smiled, lost in her eyes. But he couldn’t afford to be such a fool.
“I have no idea if you’re telling the truth,” he admitted.
Her lips twisted the slightest degree. They were very close to his. “I know.”
“And you don’t care?”
“In truth, I quite prefer it that way.”
“You’re a complicated woman,” he said, and couldn’t help but lean toward her.
“Yes.”
He felt his body tighten. “A complicated woman who needs to produce a child.”
“Not your child.” He could feel her breath against his lips. It felt hopelessly erotic.
“Maybe we could simply practice then, lass.”
Her lips twitched again, as though an actual smile might break the careful facade she had built around her. “You forget my former occupation.”
Prostitution. Ah yes. But was it all a lie? he wondered, and found, oddly, that he could not quite care. “One can never get too much practice,” he said, and kissed her.
Chapter 12
His lips felt like lightning against hers, burning on contact, muddling her senses. Perhaps she had immersed herself too deeply in her role, for it was no longer clear who she was. Sinner? Saint? Courtesan? Gypsy?
Hot kisses slipped to her throat, unraveling a skein of tangled desires, and suddenly it didn’t matter who she was. The confusing identities blurred to nothingness. All she knew was that they were alone, and that he was temptation itself.
Reaching for his shirt, she yanked it out of his trousers. He didn’t stall her, didn’t detain her. Indeed, he drew back, allowing her full access to him, to his clothing. She pulled the shirt up over his head, easily baring smooth dark skin over layers of taut muscle. Beneath his steel buttons his erection pressed eagerly against his leather breeches, but his chest distracted her.
“Holy hell,” she said, and rising to her knees, pushed him onto the mattress. He went without complaint. She kissed his chest, his nipples, the hard hillocks of his belly, and moaned as she worked her way lower.
“Fook!” She heard his groan like a swell of agony, and suddenly his hands were on her arms, pushing her up. “Merciful saints, woman, slow down or—”
She kissed his mouth. He had the sexiest mouth in all of Christendom. He kissed her back, but in a second he was pushing her away.
“Just…just give me a moment to…”
“To what?” He was holding her hands in a tight grip. How had he gotten her hands? She needed them to touch him, to stroke him, to…Hell, if she knew what she had planned, but it was going to feel good. She skimmed his chest and licked her lips.
“For the love of God…” He shuddered. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” she asked, and dropped her gaze to the swell in his pants.
He swore quietly, reverently. “Slow down,” he warned, “or I’ll be no good to you whatsoever.”
She had no idea what that meant. “Remove your breeches.” Her voice sounded odd. Low. Husky.
His was similar. “Is that an order, lass?”
“Yes.” Too strong, probably. Too bossy. But if so, why did the bulge beneath the leather swell even larger?
“Very well, then.” A dark shock of hair had fallen across his brow. His eyes were half closed and his jaw clenched, as if he kept himself in careful check. “But you’ll be keeping your hands to yourself for a wee bit.”
She felt her lips twitch up. He swallowed. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and the chiseled strength of his biceps flexed.
“I mean it, lass. Do I have your word?”
She managed a nod, even leaned back against her heels on the mattress, maybe to help him feel secure, maybe to give herself a better look.
He stepped from the bed. His fingers looked long and brown and powerful as they undid the steel dome buttons. She waited, breath held, and then he was pushing the garment downward. His hips were as lean and firm as a thoroughbred’s. And when his cock sprang from confinement, she actually gasped. Her lips opened of their own accord, and when she spoke, her voice sounded raspy. Purred low and possessive.
“Come here.” Bossy again. But he came, stepping out of his clothing to move toward her.
She curled her hand around him and squeezed gently. A droplet oozed from the swollen tip.
He groaned something inarticulate. She glanced up to watch him tilt his head back, and when she gripped his balls with her other hand, he sucked air through his teeth and tightened every fascinating muscle. He was a god. A revered statue made of flesh and bone.
Still watching him, she bent to lick off that one solitary drop. His thighs bunched with power, his hips arched forward, inviting her, begging her. Leaning in, she took him into her mouth. He cupped the back of her head in one hand and pulled her nearer, moaning as he did so. But no one had ever accused her of being the selfless sort. She was certain of that, and eased away from him. His fingers loosened, skimming through her hair as she watched him through lowered lashes.
He stepped back a pace, chest rising and falling with each hard breath, muscles clenched tight and lovely.
“Well?” Her voice was little more than a growl now. “Do you plan to take me or not?”
“Since the day I found you,” he said, and dipping his head, came to her.
She could feel the motion in the pit of her stomach, in the arch of her feet, and scooted back onto the bed, so ready, so willing, so—
The lantern shattered, bursting onto the hardwood. Savaana jerked wildly in that direction. A tabby cat was just skittering to a halt on the walnut secretary. But oil had already spattered onto the carpet. Flames licked at it. She gasped. Gallagher cursed.
And then they were both scrambling toward the fire, he naked, she breathless as they beat at the flames with various articles of clothing.
The fire sputtered out, but not before they heard footsteps on the stairs.
They froze in tandem horror.
“Get dressed!” she hissed, but he was already ripping his shirt over his head, already struggling with the charred breeches she’d tossed at him. He’d nearly managed to pull them over his hard-packed hips when someone rapped on the door.
“Madam!”
“Gregors!”
They mouthed the name in unison, eyes wide with terror.
“My lady! Is something amiss?”
“No,” she said, but then a little tongue of flame sparked near her foot. She loosed a small shriek and jerked sideways.
Gallagher stomped it out.
“I’m coming in,” Gregors announced.
She spun toward the doorway as the old man lurched inside, lantern held high.
“This isn’t what it seems!” she rasped, but the butler only stared, brows high and expression haughty as he took in the scene before him.
“So the cat did not cause the lantern to fall?” he asked.
“Yes, but…” she began, and glanced to the left. Gallagher was gone. Completely absent. Vanished. It took all her willpower to resist peering under the bed. “Yes.” She drew in a tight breath and pressed her fingertips together in front of her body. “Yes, it did.”
He was watching her with a strange expression. “You should not leave your window open at night, my lady. Who knows what might come through?”
She managed a nod, but nothing more.
“I shall send Emily to clear away the mess posthaste,” he said, and turned toward the door.
She nodded again, then froze, sense scrambling for a foothold in her discombobulated brain. Had she just been squeezing the Irishman’s…Holy hell! She wasn’t really the jaded baroness. Didn’t really seduce laborers in her bedchamber while her husband was absent.
But she’d been intent on rushing back to Darlington to ascertain her grandfather’s well being when she saw Gallagher ascend the chestnut tree. Thus, she’d hurried through the house, back to her rooms, while gathering her borrowed persona around her like a too-quickly spun web. By the time she stepped through her door, her mind was torn between what she was and what she might be. The Irishman’s hot presence had only confused her more. Like too much warm brandy on a chilly night, he had fired up her body and—
“No!” she gasped, coming fully to her senses with a jolt. “Don’t bother her!”
Gregors pivoted stiffly back. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve no wish to wake…” she began, and remembering herself, pursed her snooty lips. “I’ve no wish to be bothered by her bumbling efforts this time of night. I need my sleep.”
Gregors narrowed suspicious eyes. “Certainly, my lady, but there are other beds where you might reside for a short while.”
And leave Gallagher hiding under the…wherever the hell he was hiding under? “I don’t want another bed,” she said. Her voice was appropriately haughty, but her hands were unsteady. She clasped them together. “I want my own.”
For a moment she thought the old man would argue, but finally he nodded stiffly. “As you wish,” he said, and placed his own lantern on the desk where the other had stood only minutes before. “Until morning, then,” he added, and turned away.
She snapped her gaze rabidly to the left, searching wildly for the Irishman, but Gregors was already turning to close the door behind him, his expression as solemn as death.
She schooled her face and nodded. “Until morning.”
He was gone in a moment. The flame flickered slightly in the whispering breeze.
Savaana turned like one in a dream, searching, then saw the Irishman squeeze out of her wardrobe and rise to his full height. His pants were firmly in place, but his shirt was open, exposing most of his well-muscled chest and belly, like a banquet after a long fast.
She closed her eyes and wondered what the hell was wrong with her. “Get out,” she said softly.
But he shook his head and stepped toward her.
Gregors’s footsteps were already inaudible.
“What if he watches the balcony?” Gallagher whispered.
“What?” The word was nearly soundless.
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Your balcony’s visible from the window in the library.”
“How do you know that?”
“Shhh,” he hissed, but continued quietly. “I can’t leave yet. He might see me.”
Panic soared through her at the memory of what she’d been like just minutes before. What she’d been about to do. And do happily. “You don’t expect to stay here.”
His brows rose in conjunction with his lips. “I thought you wanted to—”
“That was before.” She hissed the words, cutting him off abruptly.
“Before what?”
“Before—” she rasped, then glancing at the bed, snatched a blanket from it and shoved it up against the bottom of the door, even though it would be all but impossible for anyone to hear from the hallway. Knollcrest’s walls were a solid foot thick, its doors made of hardy walnut. “Before I came to my senses.”
He scowled. “I think I liked you better nonsensical.”
She gave him a look. He grinned and took a hopeful step forward, but she placed a hand firmly to his chest. It stopped him in his tracks, but did nothing to calm the raging sensations that skittered up her arm to every tittering nerve-ending. Still, she managed to give him a stern scowl, even though his skin felt like sun-warmed marble beneath her fingers. His nostrils flared a little. She shook her head and pointed to the opposite side of the room.
He raised his brows. “What are you thinking? That I’ll stand there like a good little soldier until you decide it’s time for me to take my leave?”
“Exactly.”
He grinned a little at her tone, and though her boggled mind had no idea why, it almost seemed that he enjoyed her brassy nature. Then again, it wasn’t really her nature. Was it? Holy hell, she needed time alone, to think, to figure things out without him there to confuse…everything.
He leaned into her palm, increasing the heat that steamed between them. “But that might be hours,” he said, and smiled when she swallowed weakly.
“What kind of soldier are you?” she asked. Her voice sounded pale.
He grinned a little. “A randy one?”
She tightened her lips as if she were doing the same with her self-control. “Against the wall.”
“I can’t remain standing all night,” he said. “I’ll need to rest. The climb is difficult.”
She snorted softly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just—” she began, but stopped herself abruptly, horrified that she nearly admitted she’d tried the climb herself only a short time before. He watched her, but she only shrugged and frowned. “Standing is too taxing?”
“I fear so.”
“Yet you didn’t think…” She paused, trying to come up with a word that wouldn’t make her want to throw him on the floor and rip off his clothes with her teeth. There was no such word. “You didn’t think copulating would be overly arduous?”
He thought about that for a second, then shrugged simply. “I was willing to make the effort.” He reached up, touching her cheek. “For you.”
For a moment she almost melted, but she caught herself. “Oh for God’s sake. Fine! You take the bed. But only until the moon goes under,” she said, and turned toward the chair.
He caught her arm before she’d swung completely away. “Not without you.”
She swiveled back, breath held, scowling a question, and he stared at her, looking ridiculously sincere.
“I’ll not get a bit of rest knowing you’re uncomfortable, lass.”
“Are you serious?”
Something sparked in his devilish eyes. “Me da raised me better.”
She stared at him. He grinned. His expression looked foolishly boyish juxtaposed against his granite-hard body. But she resisted…everything.
“Very well,” she snapped. “But you’ll remain on your side of the bed.”
“Of course,” he agreed, and almost controlled his grin.
Chapter 13
Sean stared up at the ceiling, fingers linked behind his head, shirt open down the front. And why not? He seemed to be perfectly safe from her lusty nature now. Indeed, she had not so much as glanced his way since they’d reclined on the bed. And why was that? He rolled toward her, but she was lying on her side, facing away, fully clothed but for those tiny, titillating toes.
“Where’d she go?” he whispered. His lips were inches from her ear, and despite everything he knew of her, he found that he wanted quite desperately to kiss her, to bring her alive once again.
She rolled to her back, looking peeved, even in the darkness. “What are you talking about?”
“The umm…enthusiastic lass what wrestled me out of me clothes,” he said. “I but wondered what might have happened to her.”
“She came to her senses.”
He almost laughed, but even with the servants stowed some distance belowstairs, he dared not chance the noise. “’Tis a pity.”
She stared at him, all somberness, then cleared her throat, pursed her lips and lowered her eyes. “Perhaps I owe you an apology.”
Nothing could have surprised him more. Actually, he’d been considering thanking her. Turned out, there wasn’t much that was more flattering than seeing a strong woman weaken just because of a few discarded articles of clothing. Well, actually, it had been all his clothing, he thought, and almost grinned at the memory. “An apology, lass?”
“I wasn’t myself.”
“Truly?”
She flickered her gaze to his, anger already snapping in her ice blue eyes. “Yes.”
“Then might I meet that other woman again?” he asked, and touched her face. Her skin was as smooth as fresh cream.
&nb
sp; “I can’t…” She paused as if desperately searching for the right word. “I can’t lie with you.” They were whispering, though her tone was harsh with angst.
“You seemed quite capable just a few minutes back, lass,” he murmured.
“I said I was sorry.”
She didn’t sound sorry. Indeed, she sounded peeved and impatient, and that truth amused him. But in a moment a new thought accosted him; he sobered abruptly.
“Who is he?” His own voice was soft, but imbued with more feeling than he had intended.
She scowled at him. “What are you talking about?”
“The man you are willing to give up others for? Who might he be?”
She leaned away a little to study him. “Do you forget that I’m married?”
He almost wished he could. Almost wished he could disremember everything he knew of her and start afresh. But she was what she was. And yet he wanted her. Or at least parts of him did. Damn those opinionated parts. “Someone came through your window, lass. It was not your husband.”
She raised one brow at him. “Are all Irishmen so delusional?”
“I saw him leave with me own eyes.” He kept his tone as neutral as possible, but felt dark emotion stir like a sleeping serpent within him. It almost seemed akin to jealousy. Which was ridiculous, of course. For he had not come to win her heart. Hardly that.
“Believe this,” she said, “none came through yonder window while I inhabited this room.”
She was either sincere or an excellent liar. Possibly both. “You think someone ventured here after you left your chambers?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I do not.”
“Then—”
“I believe you created an intruder in your mind so that you might have an excuse to come here yourself.”
“You think me that devious?” he asked, though it was, in fact, something he might do.
“Yes,” she said, and he chuckled softly as he stroked his thumb across her perfect chin.
“How is it that someone as lovely as you has become so jaded?”
“By knowing men as conniving as you.”
He kissed the corner of her mouth. Not because he planned to. Not because he hoped to seduce her. But because he couldn’t stop himself. There was something about her looking so peeved and so lovely at the same time that made her strangely irresistible. He wanted to touch every feather soft inch of her, wanted to kiss every lovely hollow and swell. But she was still fully dressed.
