“Very well,” she murmured. “Love should bring pleasure.”
His mouth curved wickedly as his eyes raked over her. “You don’t sound completely certain. It seems I do need to convince you.”
The book thudded against the wood as his other arm closed around her. His tongue traced a scalding line from the hollow at the base of her throat to her lips. He framed her face with his hands, teasing her lips with tiny kisses until she whispered her surrender.
And then, he upped the stakes. His hands cupped her bottom, possessive and scandalous and tempting. Her body cradled the rigid length of his arousal, instinctively yielding to the gentle pressure at the crux of her thighs.
“Shouldn’t love bring pleasure?” Each word pulsed with raw desire. “Tell me, Emma.”
“Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “Such pleasure.”
Cole’s hands wove through her long mane as his mouth laid claim to hers, sweeping Emma away on a wave of intoxicating need. The rough texture of his tongue teased hers in a sensual duel as he plundered her senses, the gentle demands of his caress and his heady masculine essence maddening her with a hunger only he could sate. If only she could think of something other than the pleasure of being held by him. Kissed by him. Possessed by him.
He brushed a kiss over the bridge of her nose. His arms loosened around her, and he took a step back, his eyes hooded and dark. The longing reflected in their depths seared her heart.
“You don’t have any idea how beautiful you are, do you? Only a damn fool would ever let you go.”
She pressed her palm to his cheek, savoring the prickle of new beard against her skin. How she wanted him to kiss her again. She craved his touch as she’d never yearned for anything in her life.
The realization terrified her, even as it thrilled her. He’d made no promises. He’d offered no words of love. Had she grown so wanton, then, that she longed for him to claim her?
The wicked smile he’d displayed before he kissed her settled into a solemn line. Had her eyes betrayed her flickering doubt?
“I’m sorry, Emma. So damn sorry.” He turned and stepped from the porch to the ground. “I need to treat you like a lady. But when I’m near you, I can’t forget you’re a woman.”
“But Cole—”
“Take your book inside and get some sleep. It’s not safe out here.”
Something in his voice—regret, perhaps—touched her in a way his passion had not. He’d wanted her fiercely. And yet, once again he’d walked away.
And he’d done it for her.
“Cole, I’m not afraid as long as you’re here.”
He shook his head, a slow, rueful motion. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. But who’s going to protect you from me?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
He’d done it again. Kissed her senseless, stirred her feelings for him to a feverish peak—and walked away.
He desired her. He’d made no effort to deny it. Not that she would have believed him if he had. His words and his touch and his body’s primal response betrayed the strength of his need.
And yet, he’d left her.
Again.
Emma grasped the porch railing. Thorny vines encased her heart, tightening with each beat, piercing deeper with each breath.
Damn the man and his ability to leave her wobble-kneed and aching—over him, no less. He was arrogant and stubborn and infuriating. After all he’d done—abducting her at gunpoint, imprisoning her in the wilderness, kissing her until she possessed neither breath nor common sense—he had the audacity to gild his motives with a noble sheen.
He wanted to protect her.
From himself.
Well, wasn’t that rich? He hadn’t given a fig about her reputation or her happiness or her dignity when he crushed her plans beneath the heels of his boots.
Or had he? He’d shielded her with his body, putting himself in the line of fire. He’d defended her against brutal men. He’d caressed her with tenderness and passion and desire, searing her with pleasure while restraining his own hunger, his own need.
The thought of his touch left her parched, thirsting for more.
This longing was a sweet, desperate madness from which she might never recover. Cole had marked her as surely as if he’d taken her innocence, and in the process, he’d claimed something far more precious than her blasted maidenhead.
He’d etched her soul with a need she couldn’t deny, a need she’d never fully sate.
And now, he intended to simply walk away. As if the thorns piercing her heart would wither and die when he was no longer a part of every morning and every night. As if he hadn’t left his mark on her heart and her soul.
She dragged in a breath. Then another. So, he thought to protect her by leaving her without so much as the memory of a night in his arms.
Soon enough, she’d be imprisoned in an elegantly appointed Georgetown cell. She’d have day upon day to erect a sensible, rational shield around her life, with only her books and the company of a tight-lipped spinster to ease the lonely hours between dusk and dawn.
And she’d have memories of this night—this one night she’d spend in Cole’s arms.
Tonight, she wanted him.
* * *
Cole walked slowly from the house. Only the sound of his own footsteps broke through the steady hum permeating the night. He whipped a glance over his shoulder. Shadowed beneath the porch roof, she watched him. He couldn’t make out her expression, but he could feel the heat in her gaze.
Turn around, Emma.
Now.
Just turn around and go inside and tuck yourself into bed.
Away from me.
She stepped off the porch and came toward him. What the hell did she think she was doing?
“I told you it wasn’t safe out here,” he said, trying to ignore the sway of her hips.
Emma planted her hands at her waist and cocked her head, her sweet mouth settling into an alluring bow. She was enough to make a saint hard. And he was no saint.
“Do you really think me such a dull ninny that I’d fear you?” Her lips pursed into a line, not quite a pout, not quite a scowl.
“Get in the house. I’ve got enough to worry about without you roaming around, stepping on snakes or waltzing into bears. I wouldn’t be surprised if you managed to find a dragon lurking about, waiting to get its claws on you.”
“You aren’t talking about snakes and bears and dragons.” Her long, dark waves gleamed beneath the moon’s rays. She tucked a chestnut strand behind one ear. “You’re talking about yourself.”
“Emma, why are you here?”
Her lips curved as she studied him. What the hell was she up to?
“I’m here because I choose to be.” The corners of her mouth hitched up. “Besides, we’ve already discussed the fact that you aren’t very menacing. It’s not as though you’re some black-hearted villain, a man with deep, dark secrets waiting to ravish me in some dungeon.”
Ravish. What a ridiculous goddamn word.
A vision of Emma, bared to his eyes, awaiting his carnal attentions flashed in his mind. Long, silky waves veiled her breasts. A soft smile of invitation played on her lips.
He blinked to banish the tempting picture to the back of his mind, but it was too little, too late.
He was hard as a rock.
Damn.
Her sweet mouth beckoned his attention. He dragged in a breath.
Another regiment of hags charged to the rescue, dousing the desire she’d not only kindled, but coaxed to flame. A toothless banshee flaunted assets a mummy might have envied. Another floated in his mind’s eye, baring flesh as gray and wrinkled as an elephant’s flank.
He shook his head as if that could sweep away the grotesque images and plowed a hand through his hair.
Despite his common sense’s protests, he moved closer. “I do have secrets. They’re not deep, and they’re not very dark. And I have to admit it’s a damn shame I don’t have a dungeon.�
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She retreated. An inch, maybe two. But the widening of her eyes told him all he needed to know.
Her lips slid into a proper line. “Such a pity.”
She was baiting him. What had gotten into her?
The few grains of common sense he still possessed urged restraint.
But his head wasn’t the only part of his body doing the goddamn talking.
“You’re playing with fire, Emma.”
Her eyes went wider. “I suppose I should fear a man like you.”
“Men like me aren’t a problem. Most men like me would have had more goddamn sense.”
Moonbeams brought a soft, muted tone to her emerald gaze. “Most men wouldn’t do the things you’ve done.”
“Ain’t that the damn truth.” He turned away. “Goodnight, Miss Davenport.”
“At what point did you become a coward?”
Her words plowed into him like a bullet to the back. He faced her. “Call it what you want.”
“I’d taken you for a man with guts. It seems I was mistaken. But then again, I’ve been wrong about so many things of late.”
If she intended to rile him, she was going to be disappointed. Damned if he’d take whatever bait she threw his way. But still, he couldn’t fathom what had come over her. He watched her, biting back a smile as her top teeth grazed her lip. Whatever the hell she was up to, she wasn’t as worldly as she wanted to pretend.
“Emma, this isn’t a game.”
“Of course it’s not. If this were, I wouldn’t be traipsing about at night, chasing a man who can’t decide if he’s an outlaw or a knight errant. I’d be inside a warm bedchamber, learning the rules of engagement in warfare such as ours.”
“Warfare?”
She sauntered closer, near enough to splay her fingers over his chest.
“This is a battle, a clash of the most elemental kind. You are a man and I am a woman, and as such, you view me as an inferior adversary. You believe I should fear you—or what you might do. But I don’t. You may possess superior physical strength and you may pride yourself on your cunning, but I possess something you do not.”
“And what might that be?”
“The courage to seek out a life that’s more than an existence.”
Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. More blood careened from his brain to his groin. Did she have any idea what that tiny gesture did to him?
He summoned another imaginary hag to tamp down his cock’s overly enthusiastic response.
“After tomorrow night, your quest won’t have a damn thing to do with me.”
She arched a feathered brow. “That may well be the case. There will be other trains and other destinations, but I doubt you’d be inclined to dress up like a bandit just to steal me away again.”
If she had any idea how damn bad he wanted to steal her away to his room, she wouldn’t tempt fate. If she was playing a game, she was too adept at it for her own good.
She swept a fingertip along the ridge of his jaw. “It’s a shame you were in such a hurry to shave. The look of an outlaw suited you.”
“Is that so?”
Her green eyes flashed in the moonlight. “Tell me, when you’re not abducting women, are you a clean-cut, boot-polishing soldier?”
“If I was, I wouldn’t have been on that train.”
“Do you enjoy playing the villain?”
“Obviously not as much as I should have. If I had, you might have felt a hell of a lot more menaced.”
She offered a thoughtful nod. “Quite true. So, do you ever plan to tell me your name?”
“You didn’t snoop around enough to figure it out? You had days when I was laid up to pry whatever you wanted to know out of Miranda.”
“She would never betray your confidence. Whatever there is for me to know, you’ll have to be the one to tell me.”
Emma’s clean, feminine essence washed over him. Did she have any idea how good she smelled? A light blend of scents, lavender and lemon and Emma.
His gut clenched. This was goddamn ridiculous. She was a woman. Nothing more. Nothing less. How was it possible to want her so badly? Dunham was right. If it was a simple matter of taking her to bed, he could find other ways to ease his hunger. But no other woman would fill the gaping need in his soul.
Only Emma would do.
Was this her idea of revenge? If she meant to torment him, she’d succeeded in fine style.
Her fingertips grazed his cheek. “I don’t need you to protect me…not from yourself.”
His breath hovered in his lungs. As her fingers trailed to his earlobe, he expelled the air, slowly and deliberately.
He willed himself not to touch her. “What do you want, Emma? You want me to take you to bed, is that it?”
That sweet tongue of hers darted out again, moistening her lips and drawing him in.
“I don’t know.” Her fingertips slid along his neck, lower, to rest against his chest. His heartbeat throbbed against her touch. “All I know is there’s more between us…”
When she looked at him like that, he could barely think, let alone resist her. He ached with desire, but she was right. This wasn’t lust. There was more—more than a stolen kiss or a covert caress.
And whatever it was, it scared the hell out of him.
He couldn’t give in. Not to his groin’s hungry urgings. Not to the luminous gleam in her eyes that spoke of desire and passion and all the ways he could make love to her lush, beautiful body.
Not to the demands of his own damn-fool heart.
He set his mouth in an impassive line and infused his voice with cold, hard steel.
“You think there’s something between us?” He took a step in retreat, then two more. “Something more. What happens in a day, a week, a month? What happens when I have to leave you? No matter what happens once you’re back home, I’ll be gone. I don’t have any desire to be a boot polisher, as you so sweetly put it. I’m a soldier. I belong in the field.”
“So I was right—you are a military man. This was nothing more than a mission.”
He shook his head. “It would be a hell of a lot easier to take you home if that were true. It started that way, but that’s not how it’s gone.”
“Then why—why leave things unfinished between us?”
“What happens when you wake up one morning and realize I’m gone and never coming back. What then?”
“I’m not afraid.”
He cupped her face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over skin as soft and supple as a freshly ripened peach. He glided the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip.
“But I am, Emma. There’s too much at stake.”
She stood on the balls of her feet, her mouth not quite level with his. She tipped up her chin. “I don’t want to spend my life wondering what…what could have been.”
He bit back a smile. “I can tell you what might come to be—a court martial for dereliction of duty, and you cloistered in some town out west, raising a baby and pretending to be a widow.”
Her top teeth grazed that lush lower lip. “And if I told you I didn’t care?”
“I’d believe you. But I’d still tell you the risk is too damn high.”
He drank in her essence, the intoxicating fragrance that was hers and hers alone. He wanted her. In his arms. Not only for this night.
For every night of his life.
Emma had guts, more guts than he did. She’d fought this battle with courage and honesty.
And what had he offered her?
Christ, he hadn’t even told her his name.
“You said I hadn’t told you my name. It’s Travis. Cole Travis, United States Army.”
“Just as I thought. But that’s not all of it. You’re still hiding something.”
She was a force to be reckoned with. No doubt about it. “H. Coleman Travis,” he supplied like a peace offering.
“And the H stands for?”
He drew the line at that bit of intelligence. “That’s classifi
ed.”
Her eyes flashed with an emotion that was definitely not anger. “I will uncover the truth.”
“You can try, but it’s a well-guarded secret.”
Her arms wound around his neck. “Oh, I have my ways.”
“You certainly do, Miss Davenport.”
If she was bluffing, it was time to call it.
He ducked his head to claim her lips. She was decadence and sweetness and passion, her kiss a delicacy beyond the reach of royals. And for the moment, she was his.
When he had her thoroughly breathless, clinging to him as a drowning soul seeks a hunk of driftwood, he released her mouth. Her warm, sweet breath brushed his collar, each wisp of air like a caress against his throat.
He took her hands in his and put enough distance between them so he could think again.
“I’ve got to finish patrolling the grounds. Later, Daniel will take over the watch, and I’ll head to my room.” He brushed a fleeting kiss over her lips. “I won’t try to convince you to share my bed. But if you come to me at midnight, I won’t settle for one night.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cole stripped off his shirt, washed in the basin, and sank onto the bed. Propping his back against the headboard, his long legs stretched over the mattress, he wove his fingers together and leaned his head back on his hands. Kissing Emma had been reckless and foolish. They were on a dangerous brink. Desire did not begin to describe the hunger in his soul.
The silken texture of Emma’s lips imprinted on his brain, the memory of the night he’d loved her proved a relentless torment. Desire was new to her, but she’d been so responsive, so receptive to his touch. She’d met his kiss with a passion the well-versed ladies he’d known along the way couldn’t begin to pretend.
If she’d recoiled from him, if she’d met his touch with contempt, he’d tell himself he kissed her because it had been too damn long since he’d had a woman. Pure and simple. But nothing was pure and simple with Emma. Whether in the bedroom or in the parlor, she’d challenge a man. He’d never grow tired of the way her eyes flashed when she hurled another villainous title at him, the spirit in her eyes when she cocked her chin to make her point, the genuine joy in her smile.
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