Rebels, Rakes & Rogues

by Cheryl Bolen

She moaned deep in her throat, and Christian drew her closer still, nibbling at her throat languidly. Some tortured sound escaped him then, a hiss that sent gooseflesh racing across Jessie’s skin.

  Tears stung her eyes. How could she want this so desperately if she loathed him so much? “Oh, God... I—I d-don’t understand what you d-do to me!”

  Between bold, fiery kisses and shocking caresses, he whispered, “’Tis not... so difficult... to comprehend... my love…

  Her heart cried out at his endearment. But I am not your love. “You... you don’t love me,” she whispered brokenly. “Nor do I you,” she lied.

  Her honesty wrenched his gut.

  “Nay, but I want you,” he said, “and at the moment, wanting is quite enough, I assure you.” But was it the truth? he wondered, even as his hands sought the sweet, tantalizing wetness between her thighs. He thrust a finger within her body, preparing her.

  “Christian,” she sobbed.

  “Don’t talk anymore, Jessamine! Don’t say another bloody word!”

  Lord help her, though his words pierced her heart as surely as a blade, she was powerless to resist him. She wanted this. She wanted this so much...

  Taking his hand, she guided it boldly to her breast, and then reached out to tangle eager fingers into the crisp hair upon his chest.

  Slipping one warm knee between her trembling thighs, he nudged them apart, and then fell upon her, pressing himself slowly into the very depths of her. She was at once swept into a maelstrom of feeling and emotion.

  The heated place where their bodies had fused was now the only place she was fully aware of... there and her temple, where his whiskered jaw pressed against her face. His breath was ragged, and dear God, the explosive joining of their bodies made her mad with wanting.

  Meeting his powerful thrusts with her own eager ones, she allowed instinct to guide her now. Their bodies met, the rhythm almost as violent as the thunder and lightning ringing in her ears.

  Groaning with pleasure, Christian stroked her body with his own, giving her ecstasy in return. And when Jessie’s culmination came suddenly, shattering in its intensity, and she cried out her release, he was shocked to his core by her words.

  “Oh, God—I love you!” she sobbed, and her whispered declaration was followed with a tormented moan of pleasure. Then again, as though she could not quite help herself, she murmured obliviously, “I love you...”

  Christian’s entire body convulsed violently at her words, but he froze above her, the jolt to his heart painful. She tilted her hips and pressed against him, her body seeming to cry out for more, and again his heart leapt against his ribs.

  “Who am I?” He withdrew slightly, and then thrust forward, unable to keep himself from it. The arms that supported his weight trembled and threatened to give. Sweat erupted upon his brow. His voice was strained. “Speak my name—who is it you love?” Her eyes were closed against him.

  “You,” she cried out, still undulating softly beneath him. Tears slipped through her sooty lashes.

  Thunder cracked, drowning out her voice, but he held her crushed to him as she sobbed, losing his control, even his reason. Still, he needed to hear his name upon her lips, and he dared not stir, not wanting to miss her declaration. Amazingly, despite that he had stilled himself within her, he watched as she came to another soul-consuming completion. The incredible look of bewildered passion upon her face was his undoing.

  His hands swept down, seizing her buttocks, and he withdrew almost entirely, thrusting again, almost savagely, burying himself completely into her warmth. His body beset with spasms, he again held fast, needing her sweet words far more than his own release, afraid that she would give them and that he would miss them in the throes of his own white-hot climax.

  “Who?” he demanded, losing what was left of his control. He withdrew slowly, torturously. “Say it, Jessie! Say it!”

  Lightning erupted, its light brilliant white, but it was his oppressive need that blinded him to his surroundings. In the ensuing darkness, his ears strained to hear her words.

  “Christian,” she whispered, and his heart leapt with the booming sound of thunder. Reveling in his victory, he surged forth with such ferocity, such fervor, such glee, that he cried out almost as though in pain. And in that soul-consuming instant, he poured more than his seed into her, he dared to give her everything—God, everything—including his soul.

  Chapter 26

  When the storm abated finally, Christian lay, reverently stroking her cheek with the back of his knuckles. He brushed the hair from her face. Through the balcony doors, he could see the sky brighten in the distance, but the sound of thunder never carried to his ears. He thought perhaps it was because his mind was still ringing with her confession. He listened closely, but could hear only her soft breath. She exhaled and it blew gently across the hairs of his arm, sending a delicious chill across his flesh, making him stir yet again. He ignored the insatiable hunger of his body for the yearnings of his heart.

  Had he imagined her sweet profession of love?

  Ah, Christ—he swallowed, battling the great sweep of emotion that threatened to crush his chest—he hoped not.

  He wanted nothing more than to wake her now and ask her, but he knew she was exhausted and he had no wish for her to sicken from the rain. And then again, he wished she’d never waken, that they could stay thus forever. Because once the morning came, he would have to tell her everything.

  Everything.

  He wanted nothing more between them—not lies, not half-truths, nothing. Yet, for the first time in his life, he feared the truth. His heart rebelled at the thought of telling her his most damning secret, for it might very well destroy the love between them forever...

  Even before it had begun.

  He closed his eyes and fell asleep some time later, holding Jessie close... as though to be certain she’d not leave him whilst he slept.

  God help him, he couldn’t bear to be without her.

  Morning light streamed through the balcony doors, falling short of the massive bed.

  Jessie stirred, stretching lazily, smiling, and then, as she seemed to remember, heat stained her cheeks. She opened her eyes to find Christian gazing down into her face, his eyes searching.

  “No need to feel ashamed,” he assured her, noting the color that bloomed upon her cheeks. He brushed a dark strand of hair from her face, gently, tenderly, wanting nothing more than to ask her now, but he was, by his own admission, afeared of her answer. Perhaps her love words were nothing more than nonsense uttered during the heat of passion?

  And then there was the lie between them.

  He couldn’t bring himself to speak the incriminating truth.

  “You asked me once,” he said, “why I chose to make Shadow Moss my home instead of Rose Park. I’d like to show you today, if you wish?”

  For a moment she said nothing, and then, “I’d like that very much.” Her eyes shone suspiciously.

  “First,” he whispered, giving her his most engaging grin, “there is something else I would show you.” If she would despise him... he wanted this one last time... this one last memory to carry him through.

  One arm encircled her waist and he drew her close against him, kissing the tip of her nose, her cheek, her closed eyelids, and her brow with a fever that could not be denied. She was so beautiful, and the feel of her warm bare flesh beneath him made his heart pound and his breath strangle. He refused to let her feel regret—refused to feel any himself.

  God’s truth, this morning he had not the stamina for foreplay, and when he found her wet and ready for him, it nearly unmanned him where he lay. He needed only to undulate into her softness and she opened to him willingly, wrapping her legs about his hips and closing her eyes.

  Sliding up, he entered her, and no sooner had he done so when she began to undulate softly of her own accord, instinctively, moaning beneath him. He held himself fast, letting her guide his strokes at first, but when her hands moved to his buttocks to
urge him deeper into her sweet warmth, he at once lost his resolve.

  Driving himself into her, he loved her as though there were no tomorrow, as though in truth this were their last joining. Her nails dug painfully into his flesh and he reached back to grasp her hands, unable to bear the sweetness of it, bringing them above her head and holding them fast against the headboard. With a mindless fervor he withdrew and thrust, sweat breaking upon his brow, and still he held his own release until he felt her quiver and moan beneath him. The sweet sound of her release wrenched away the last vestiges of his restraint and he went headlong into his own climax, crying out savagely.

  * * *

  The path that brought them to the stables was wide, with oaks lining both sides of it, their sweeping limbs arcing and meeting above them, forming a leafy underpass of sorts. It was fall, but the weather was so mild that the flora was still inclined to bloom.

  “’Tis lovely,” Jessie said with a sigh. “Truly lovely!”

  “Aye,” he agreed, pride in his tone. “Rose Park cannot begin to compare, though I swear there was a time when I was blind to this splendor. No more. I can see now, quite clearly, that I was not meant to make my home in England. Come now, there is more I would show you.” He took her firmly by the hand, releasing it only when they entered the stable itself.

  A youth came forth from the shadows, a straw broom in hand. “My lord, you wish to ride?” he asked, his brown eyes flashing with obvious admiration.

  “Aye, Peter, aye,” Christian replied. “Fetch my mount, if you would, and then give my lady the finest mare to be had—the bay, I think.”

  “Very well, m’lord.” When the fair-haired youth would have turned away, Christian stopped him with a gentle hand to his shoulder. “On second thought, she’ll ride with me... Leave off with the mare and simply fetch my own.” Turning to Jessie, he said, “The area is still somewhat unknown to me and I would not put you at risk.”

  Jessie nodded, though the thought of sitting so near him made her heart flutter wildly and her breath quicken painfully. Even now, in the full light of day, he affected her so.

  Peter brought forth from the stall a great black beast with a white streak blazing down its forehead. It was a beautiful specimen of a horse with eyes set wide apart and an exquisitely formed muzzle. The lad prepared the mount while they waited, and then led it outside. Its blue-black coat shone brightly in the daylight. Jessie followed them out, and Christian lifted her upon the animal without a word, mounting behind her, bringing her close against him as he urged the steed into a slow canter.

  Instead of taking her back through the tunnel of trees whence they’d come, he chose another path that led briefly through a dense thicket of pines.

  They rode in silence, and after some time, came to a clearing, a meadow so green and lush that it seemed chimerical. In the center of the grove stood the gutted remains of a brick building.

  She turned to him, her brow furrowing. “What is it?”

  He kissed her temple, smiling slightly, but said nothing until they’d circled the ruins, halting abruptly at what appeared to be the front steps. “It is the remains of someone’s home,” he answered at last. “Though whose, I cannot rightly know, but this land before us was the first site of Charlestown. ’Tis private property now, but have no fear, I know the holder.” He winked at her then.

  “Yours?”

  He chuckled softly. “Nay... at least not as yet, though it borders my land and the proprietor is presently weighing my offer for purchase. If he sells to me, it will give me access to Old Town Creek as well as the Ashley.”

  “Does he live here still?” Her curiosity was piqued.

  “Aye.” He pointed out a direction. “His plantation lies beyond that small copse of trees.”

  Jessie nodded, but could see nothing.

  Pointing out the river that glittered like diamonds on the horizon, he continued, “That was once known to us as St. George’s Bay, named so by the Spaniards, for the Indians themselves did not name the waters. They called this land Kayawah—all of it—after their tribe.” He hugged her as he spoke.

  He kissed her neck affectionately and then his gaze lifted to the horizon. The tall grass grazed his boots, tickled the horse’s belly. The breeze riffled through them, lifting her hair into his face. Before them, the remains of the house were only partially visible through the weeds. Most of the masonry lay in ruin. Weeds and moss worked at the rest of the structure. Before long, if not taken into hand, the wilderness would reduce it to little more than piles of mortar and stone.

  “’Tis a beautiful, wild country, still in its birth,” he mused aloud, “and I mean to be a part of it, Jessie.”

  Jessie turned to him, hearing the note of pride in his voice, and saw that his eyes were glittering strangely with his words.

  Christian looked down into her face and smiled warmly, his harsh features softening into a wry grin as he scrutinized her. With his hair so dark and long, falling unbound behind him, Jessie thought he seemed as primitive as the very natives of whom he spoke.

  “’Tis an incredible feeling,” he admitted, “to be involved in the shaping of this wilderness—an experience I might never have known had I clung so stubbornly to Rose Park and to England. And that, mon amour, is the truth of it. I fear I’ve grown to love this savage place, for it suits me better than any I’ve known.”

  “I can well believe it.” Her tone held a smile.

  Unable to keep himself from it, Christian lowered his head and touched his whiskered jaw to her cheek, savoring the feel of her within his arms. He closed his eyes, hugging her, remembering her fire, and felt again that stirring of his blood. If he lived an eternity, he doubted he would ever have his fill of her. She was as beautiful and unmanageable as the wilds before them.

  He savored this moment with her. It was such blissful torment to hold her so close and not be able to love her as he yearned to do. It was just as well... for there was that which needed to be said between them, and he could not bear to delay the inevitable any longer.

  Closing her eyes, Jessie leaned back against him. In his arms she felt so alive, so cherished, so loved. As she recalled what she’d said to him during their lovemaking, a small pang tugged at her heart, for he’d never returned her love words. True, he was kinder now, more attentive, but the fact remained that she loved alone. Unrequited love. And yet, so long as he would give her this incredible tenderness, she told herself she cared not whether he reciprocated ever.

  So long as he held her thus always.

  Christian’s hand slipped down suddenly, pressing at her belly firmly as though he would draw her within himself somehow and never let her go. The moment was excruciating in its tenderness. Breathing deeply, he moved his hand up to rest just beneath her breast. And then, as though he could not help himself, his other hand came around her as well and slid down to the apex of her thighs, caressing her there softly, boldly, kindling her inner fires once more.

  Jessie arched backward against him, moaning at the unexpected assault upon her senses, but he halted suddenly, inhaling a breath, shuddering as though only just recalling their surroundings. He stilled his hands, bringing them about her waist, locking them there to keep them from roaming, though his body remained taut.

  “Jessie, love... I’ve something to tell you... though you might despise me for it after.”

  Jolted by his declaration, Jessie turned to look at him. Though his lips were smiling slightly, his eyes held no mirth at all.

  She smiled sweetly, teasing him. “Are you so certain I do not still?’“

  He stiffened, though his hands never left her middle, and his smile disappeared wholly. “Do you, Jessamine?”

  She shook her head slowly. “How could you think so, after all?”

  He laughed then, the sound hollow, and shook his head. A chill traveled her spine. “How could I think so? ’Tis God’s own truth, you only said so a hundred times,” he reminded her.

  “Aye... but I did not mean
it,” she confessed, her eyes misting. “I truly did not mean it.”

  “Jessamine,” he began again, his tone grave now. “Listen to me, love, and do not speak until I’ve finished... ’Tis a difficult thing I must say.”

  She wanted to tell him that nothing could be so terrible as what they had already endured. “Christian—”

  “Hush, my love, listen... know that I do not wish to lose you, ma belle vie. Yet there is that part of me that would have you know everything, for I wish no more deceit between us—not ever!”

  Christian fought the almost irresistible urge to tell her that he loved her and then to plead with her not to detest him for what he was about to reveal, but he could not find a way past his accursed pride. If she despised him, then he wanted at least that small part of him left intact.

  He sighed then. “It has to do with your father. You see...” There was no gentle way to put it. The truth was damning and there was no way around it. “It may be my fault that your father killed himself.” She stiffened before him suddenly, and he knew his fears had not been unfounded.

  “Aye, I know that he did; ’tis no secret, love.”

  He forced Jessie to look at him then, turning her face gently to his. Her eyes were wide with shock... and then revulsion, he thought, but she remained silent just as he’d asked, and so he knew nothing for certain of her thoughts.

  “I impoverished him Jessamine, thwarted him at every bend in the road, all in the name of vengeance. I drove him to his death,” he admitted bluntly, regretting his retaliation in whole for Jessie’s sake. The silence lengthened between them and her face lost all color.

  “I see,” she said finally, her tone devoid of emotion, her green eyes vacant and unseeing.

  “Jessie...”

  “I don’t think I wish to hear any more.” She turned suddenly away from him, as though she could not bear to look upon him.

  “I... am... sorry,” he said, his voice catching. His apology seeming inadequate.

  Unable to prolong the torture, for her sake, he clicked the reins, urging his mount away from the glade.