Kresley Cole - [MacCarrick Brothers 02] (15 page)

She has no idea what kind of man sits across from her.

“On the job?” She looked as if she was truly curious about him. But it wasn’t genuine interest. She only delved to gather what Hugh refused to give her—and
only
because he’d refused. Jane loved nothing more than fighting for something she wanted.

He took a drink of wine, remembering that he was the fool who’d encouraged that drive.

Once, when she was fifteen, Hugh and a grumbling Court had taken her to a nearby archery tournament. When the other female contestants discovered that she’d entered, none would compete against her.

Hugh had seen the sharp disappointment in her eyes, a glimpse of a vulnerability that was so rarely seen. It had torn at him, and he’d found himself telling her under his breath, “
Challenge the men, lass.
”

She’d brought a bloody medal home.

It hadn’t been her first—there was a reason the women knew they’d be trounced—but Jane had stared at it as though it were, as if with that one came realization. She’d clutched it in two hands and met his gaze. “I want
more
.”

“You’ve the skill for it,” he’d said, hedging, saddened. He’d known there weren’t many more for a young lass to go out and fight for—no matter how badly she
needed
that fight….

“That’s why you don’t want to be married?” she asked. “Your job would prevent it.”

“Jane, why is it that I’m always the one being interrogated?”

“At least tell me where we’re going.”

“If I’d told you this morning, would you have told Bidworth?”

“No,” she said quickly, then admitted, “Well, I might have. But Freddie wouldn’t have told a soul.”

“Then no, I will no’ tell you.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he made his voice like steel. “No more questions.”

She sighed, glancing around the room, visibly restless. She didn’t seem to notice when her wrap slid from her smooth, pale shoulder, while every muscle in his body tensed. The thin nightdress beneath clung to her breast, and he found he couldn’t drag his riveted gaze from it. The material was so stark against her fair skin, and he imagined brushing the silk down her shoulders, letting it whisper over her nipples and slide down her lithe body. He exhaled a breath and hoped it sounded exasperated instead of enthralled. “Put your wrap back on.”

She glanced down with a frown, then studied his reaction. “I need to leave it off. Because it’s warm in here, and I can’t
ask
you to crack a window.”

“Put it back on.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You stared at my breasts so much in the coach today, you should appreciate when more of them is displayed.”

“I admit I take pleasure in looking at you.” He wouldn’t even bother trying to deny that. Even now, her small nipples jutted hard against the fabric, and he imagined taking one between his lips, feeling it swell and throb as he sucked it. He glanced away and said quietly, “You’re a beautiful woman.”

When he turned back, he thought she had blushed at his comment.

“But seeing you like this makes me desire to do more, a desire you doona share and one we canna indulge.”

She tilted her head, seeming to weigh his words very carefully, then said, “What if I told you I did share that desire?”

“I’d answer that you’re a merciless flirt, and then I’d remark on how easily you have forgotten Bidworth.”
In the space of an afternoon. Inconstant woman.

Her eyes narrowed at his words, but she didn’t offer an answer.

Not even a
show
of loyalty. And to think Hugh had worried that he might have to see her pine for the man.

Hugh wouldn’t want a woman like Jane, even if he could have her.

Didn’t matter. He was only here to protect her, and her games would get in the way. In a deadly calm tone, he said, “I’ve given you warning. You know what will happen.”

She made no move to cover herself. This was just another battle of wills with her. Yet another.

But he wasn’t the same compromising lad he’d been. Couldn’t be, even if he wanted to be. The things he’d seen had changed him. The things he’d done had tainted him.

He’d killed with his bare hands.

He shot to his feet and crossed to her, tossing her onto the table. He’d only planned to stand before her and yank her wrap up, yet he found himself grabbing her slender arms, pinning them to her sides. He could still back away; why was he drawing closer?

No good can come of this.
Because he was a hardened killer, obsessed for the last decade with an inconstant woman. One who loved to provoke him. A woman he could not touch, specifically because he’d married her.
No good…

She seemed to wait breathlessly to discover what he would do. Hugh had no idea either. When he eased his hips between her thighs, she began trembling. He was learning that her skin was sensitive, her entire body so damned responsive.
Taking her would be like handling a firebrand.

What if he sought to make love to her, and she
let
him? He swallowed hard, his breaths coming fast from the mere thought.

To finally possess her.

With a defeated groan, he leaned forward to briefly catch her sensitive earlobe between his lips, flicking it with his tongue. She hissed in a breath and shivered. With one hand flat on the small of her back, he tugged at her hair with the other, making her arch till she rested back with her elbows on the table.

Dazed with intent, he leaned down to press his mouth to her silk-covered nipple.

Eighteen

A
s Hugh moved his lips down her breast, he rasped harsh words in Gaelic against her skin, seeming lost, as if he was so absorbed in what he did that he truly had no comprehension of it.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, cradling him to her as she sighed with pleasure.

This
was what she was missing with Freddie. And, no, she could
not
live without it.

It wasn’t only that he’d made her desire him; she sensed he
needed
her, or needed something from her. She was desperate to give him whatever that was.

Thoughts of the future and memories of the past all dimmed before the hunger she’d seen in his eyes.

Still gently tugging her hair to make her arch, he nuzzled her hard nipple, rasping against it, “Damn it, you’re supposed tae tell me tae stop.” After a hesitation, he closed his mouth over the aching peak, then began languidly circling his tongue around it.

“
Oh, my God
,” she whispered in wonder.

He glanced up, eyes dark, measuring her responses, studying her. “You like that?” At her helpless cry, he moved to her other breast. “You think that I’ll react the same way to your teasing as I did years ago.” He repeated the same tender exploration, saying against her breast, “You’re going to push until I finally break.”

“B-but in the past—”

“In the past, I was young and honorable. Now I’m old enough to know what I need and dishonorable enough”—he softly tugged on her nipple with his teeth, making her gasp and arch harder into his mouth—“
to take it.
”

“Hugh,” she murmured, “Hugh, please.”

“Do you want me to take it, lass? Push me more, and you’ll soon feel me sinking into your soft body.” He pulled back, met her eyes. Whatever he saw there made him recoil from her. Stabbing his fingers through his hair, he opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he bit out, “Stay here. Lock the door behind me and doona leave this room.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“I never thought you would be like this,” he grated. “No’ with me.” Then he stalked out and slammed the door behind him.

She wasn’t supposed to be like
what
with him?
How
was she wrong?

He remained outside, leaning against the door. He would have to wait there before going downstairs—she’d seen his thick erection bulging against his trousers and knew he’d have to get his body under control. Hers was just as ungovernable.

As Jane sat panting on the edge of the dinner table, a fork parallel to her thigh and a glass of wine perilously close to the hand she’d thrown back to support her, she realized something dire. The kiss in the carriage hadn’t been an anomaly.

She and Hugh were going to be like this every time they were together.

She’d known Hugh would be a skilled lover—he was accomplished at everything he did, and whenever he’d assisted her from a carriage or into her saddle, he’d handled her as if she were made of glass. But she’d never imagined that the towering Highlander would be so…
erotic
.

He’d made her
burn
for him, made her wet and aching between her thighs. Again.

His kisses were slow and devilish, his lips firm and carnal. Could he guess that his threat to, oh, dear Lord,
sink into her soft body
, made her yearn for him even more? She’d almost cried, “Yes, do it!”

She thought he hit something outside their room, then she heard him finally leave.

She hadn’t wanted to charm and cajole Hugh into staying married, because she knew that he likely would leave her behind again, married in truth or no. And she’d been so angry with him for putting her in the position to be hurt all over again, and had vowed that she would protect her
still
raw emotions.

Now she reasoned that they were both hurting at this moment. Though she didn’t want to
stay
married to him—she hadn’t wavered that much—she didn’t want to be separated from him right now. Not so soon. She half-expected him to disappear for another ten years, and wasn’t nearly ready for that to happen again.

Get him back here…. Give him what he needs.

Decided, she smoothed her gown, pulled her wrapper closed, downed a glass of wine in one unladylike gulp, then made for the door. She glanced out, but he wasn’t on the landing.

Looking both ways, she hurried down the landing and peeked over the railing, down into the boisterous common room. Hugh sat at a table draining some liquid, his hand white from clenching the mug.

She exhaled in relief. She wasn’t alone in this feeling—she’d affected him just as much as he had her.

Perhaps he’d never returned for her because of his dangerous occupation. Her eyes widened. Perhaps he’d always wanted to but couldn’t—

Her lips parted when she saw Lysette saunter up to him, draping her arm around him. The woman drew in close, whispering something in Hugh’s ear as she ran her hand up and down his back.

He pushed her away, but Jane saw to her shock and horror that he did so only to follow Lysette to a back room.

Nineteen

“M
acCarrick, it’s been too long,” Lysette said, closing the door behind them.

“Do you have information about Grey, or no’?” Hugh’s voice was still rough from the pleasure of kissing Jane, his mind still in turmoil.

When Jane had been pleading before, Hugh had looked into her eyes and seen something he’d never expected. She hadn’t been pleading with him…to
stop
. She’d wanted him to take her, had been
asking
him to.

Never. Never was it supposed to be a variable that Jane might desire me back.

He strode to the whiskey decanter and helped himself, then stared down into the liquid. He’d counted on the fact that even if he lost control, Jane would remind him with a stiff-wristed slap that she would not welcome his attentions. Without that check, he was doomed.

“No pleasantries?” Lysette said. When he turned an unbending look on her, she asked blithely, “Why would I have information about Grey?”

Women and their games.
Hugh was sick of them. “Because you slept with him for years. And I know you’ve been keeping tabs on him since he left you.”

Her look turned calculating. “If you want to know anything about Grey, then tell me who
she
is.”

“You owe this to Weyland regardless.” Weyland arranged loans for people like her—information gatherers—to open shops and taverns and inns at crossroads all over Europe, like nets. Lysette was good at her job—she was observant and intuitive—and in exchange for information, she made a good living.

“Doesn’t Weyland have a daughter named Jane? One who is reportedly lovely.”

He swigged, knowing he wouldn’t drink more than a glass. “One and the same.”

“Now it all makes sense. Everyone expects Grey to strike out at Weyland, and you show up here married to his daughter, taking her out of London. You’d do just about anything for the old man. Apparently, you’ll brook a marriage in name only.”

“So sure it’s a marriage of convenience?”

“Yes, when I find you here in
my
room—away from your new bride.” When he only drank again, Lysette said, “Grey told me once that you were in love with her.”

Who
hadn’t
Grey told? How many people pitied him his feelings for Jane Weyland? Christ, Jane
MacCarrick
. Hell, he pitied himself for how much he liked the sound of that. “Grey said a lot of things that were no’ true. You of all people should know that.”

“It’s obvious she’s playing with you. That one cares nothing for you.”

“And why would you say that?” he asked, striving for an uninterested tone.

“When I was flirting with you earlier, she looked at me as if she was amused. The last thing women regard me with is amusement, especially when I’m draped over their husbands.”

“Perhaps she’s confident.”

“Arrogant.”

Possibly.

“You reach too high with that one.”

“Lysette, you are the third person today to express that exact sentiment. It’s ingrained.” Ethan, Bidworth, Lysette. Hell, even Jane’s servants recognized the divide between him and Jane.

Lysette approached him, running her finger down his chest. It left him cold, and he drew her hand away with an expression of distaste, but her other hand was busy easing his shirttail from his trousers. “You should be riding a woman tonight. Even if the arrogant English chit would let you, she still wouldn’t be woman enough for a man like you.”