Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns (19 page)

She wanted him to kiss her.

But that would be ill advised. Highly inappropriate and foolhardy.

“Your arm is wrapped,” she said, nearly breathless. “Was the cut very bad?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Might I look at it?” She tried to roll toward him but he held her tight.

“In the morning, perhaps. I am more concerned about you.”

She pursed her lips. Really, he should let her tend to him. Any kind of infection could fester out here in the wilderness. “I’ve dressed my brothers’ wounds more than I care to admit. You should let me look tonight.”

“So commanding,” he teased, nestling against her. His breath was hot on her ear and sent thrills chasing up and down her spine.

She stiffened, needing to wrest control of the situation. Her emotions were a tangled jumble, but Roane was familiar territory. She knew how to manage rogues.

Questions. Lots of boring questions, with endless commentary. Make them forget what they wanted in the first place. She pushed against him, rolled onto her side and looked at him.

Bad idea. He rolled onto his back and propped his hands behind his head. The man was so handsome it made her legs twitch to climb on top of him. She looked over his chest at the fire instead. “Will you tell me about James?”

Best she not start another argument. She’d get the information she wanted in a more roundabout manner.

Roane raised both brows. “Tell
you
about
your
brother?” He turned and glanced at the fire, most likely wondering what she was staring at, then back at her. “What if I told you James was acquainted with the Midnight Rider?”

Her gaze flew to his. “I’d be shocked, though I suppose I shouldn’t be. James did befriend the oddest characters.”

“Yes.” He exhaled, a half laugh. “I suppose he did. Shall I tell you about the night we buried the gold? I believe I mentioned we were not, ah, in the best frame of mind.”

“You were stewed.”

“Something like that, yes. And being followed by any number of men. In our great wisdom, we decided to bury the small fortune.”

She made a sound suspiciously like a snort. But it was truly just air passing through her nose, for she did not
snort
.

Roane smiled, and she looked at him and was warm everywhere. “After burying the money, James and I roughed each other up a bit. We were feeling wild and didn’t hold our punches. When we stumbled back into Cromford, we were bruised and bloody, and everyone believed our claim that we’d been set upon by thieves.”

“You had a row with my brother?”

He smiled again, a warm smile that drew her gaze to his lips. “What do you suppose men do together, knit? Of course we fought. More than once, in fact, and not always in jest.”

She rolled away from temptation, settled onto her back and looked up at the pine boughs. “I do not understand men and their penchant for fighting.”

Roane laughed. “It’s in our blood. It’s how we talk.”

“It’s unrefined.”

“It’s honest. What a body says, it means.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” He paused until she looked at him again. “For example, the set of your shoulders, the tilt of your lips just here.” He motioned with his fingertip, and she licked her upper lip as if he’d touched her, her skin flaming hot. “You are exhausted and holding yourself together by sheer will.”

“Anybody could tell you that.”

“
And
you liked my kiss.” He smiled wickedly, daring her to deny it.

Her gaze dropped to his lips again. Then slowly traveled up his face, back to his eyes. She took a breath that stuttered through her lungs. This conversation was not helping. “Are you going to kiss me?”

His eyes darkened and he brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “Is that a request?”

She blushed, tingling all over. This was not working. She needed to try harder. She rolled over, all pointy, pokey elbows until he backed away. She lay on her belly and rested on her arms. “I am curious about your plan. How does one go about seducing a woman, exactly? Is there a prescribed number of steps to follow? A general set of rules passed from one rake to another?”

He shrugged. She could not look away from the muscles of his arms and shoulders. “Who says I am going to seduce you?”

She felt a moment’s disappointment.

“Perhaps I have made a vow not to touch you.”

“And you are good at keeping your vows?” she asked.

He caught her gaze. “Hell no.”

She didn’t mean to smile, it just happened.

“I am no saint, Helen. Especially when you are pressed up against me.” He scooted toward her so the sides of their bodies were molded together from ankle to shoulder. “We are alone with only the woodland creatures about.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

“I am not going to pretend to be someone I am not. I’ll give you pleasure, enough to carve a line in your life. Enough that you will never forget me.”

“My.” She swallowed. She knew she had started this conversation, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember why.

Roane wrapped his calloused hand around the back of her neck and pulled her face down to his. “Kiss me, Helen.”

Fear froze her in place. He was too handsome. Too charming. He would break her heart, if she let him.

But what if she didn’t let him? What was the harm if they just kissed? There was no one about to see them, just the raindrops and squirrels.

She’d keep his brand of trouble boxed up and at arm’s distance. Already she’d survived far worse than she thought she could. Perhaps she was stronger than she realized.

Let the storms come, she would stand up and yell into the wind.

She leaned down and pressed her lips against his. He made a sound, something between a sigh and a growl, and it snaked down to her belly, down between her legs, and made her squirm.

“God, yes,” Roane muttered between deep, breathless kisses. “I’ve been thinking of this all day. I’m going to taste you everywhere.”

Somehow, whether he moved her or she straddled him of her own will, she ended up atop him.

“You are so beautiful.” He cupped her face and kissed the corner of her lips, the edge of her jaw, her eyelid. “Looking at you makes me ache.”

His words settled deep inside her and she tried to laugh them off. “You hardly need to compliment me now. You have me where you want me.”

He slid his mouth across hers in soft, achingly tender kisses that were more powerful than any thunderstorm. “Do you doubt I mean it?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I can’t think.”

“Never let a man kiss you if he doesn’t compliment you first, buttercup.”

She nodded, not wanting to think about other kisses, other men. She just wanted to be here, with Roane, for as long as she had him. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pressed her lips to his.

I
F KISSES WERE RAINDROPS, THIS WAS A DELUGE.

Helen was drowning in him, in her sense of him and the things he made her feel. Roane slid his hands inside her woolen shirt, covered her naked breasts, and touched her nipples so that she fell to her elbows, shaking.

Mindless, she arched and grabbed and nipped. Ground against him, seeking more, seeking harder, seeking
him
.

He rolled her onto her back, on to the hot bed of rocks beneath the pines, and pulled off her shirt. She couldn’t think of being cold with his lips on her breasts, his mouth licking and biting and
oh God
.

“I want to make you feel good. Yes, let me.” His hand was stroking her thighs, pressing them open. She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him against her, flesh against flesh. The pleasure of it, the intimacy, was dizzying.

Roane
.

She caressed his bare back, his ribs, his chest.

“Yes, touch me.” His voice shook, and she could feel him, that
part
of him, thick and hard against her leg.

She must have tensed, for he lifted his head to hers and kissed her with long, drugging, breathless kisses. “I’ll not enter you. Just pleasure.”

Trusting him, she closed her eyes and sank into the warm rocks, into his touch, and let him caress her there, between her legs. Let him draw long, arching cries from her. Let him kiss her breasts, her mouth, her ears, until she was whirling. His hand moved with a rhythm that scared her and pleasured her and rooted her until she was soaring and bursting and falling apart.

Undone.

She curled into him, this man she should not want. Curled into his strength and warmth. He held her tight, murmuring sweet words into her ear. And her heart beat and beat his name.

***

R
OANE WOKE UP STIFF AND HARD.

His cock, that was. The rest of him was pleasantly relaxed.

At some point in the night, he must have rolled onto his back. Helen, as well, had rolled toward him. At present, her head rested on his shoulder and her naked thigh was thrown across his.

Good Lord, she felt good.

Too good.

Gently, he touched her thigh and was relieved to find it warm. Then he laid his palm over her forehead. It, too, was warm but not feverish. He wanted to touch her more places. Dangerous places. He contented himself with stroking back her silken hair. He’d much rather be stroking her breasts, and the curve or her hip where it pressed against his, then deeper, where he knew she would be wet.

Yes, definitely there.

He exhaled sharply and Helen sighed in her sleep, such a provocative little sound.

She’d made similar noises last night, sensual and throaty and totally honest little noises that drove him wild. The woman was erotic as hell.

Unable to stand her so close another moment more, he extricated himself from the long delight of her limbs and rolled over.

Didn’t help.

She was so lovely in her sleep, he ached just looking at her. He traced her jaw and pale cheek, wondering at her delicate beauty and his fierce reaction to it. He wanted to wrap her up and hie her off to his cave like some creature from the dark. Wanted only to keep her safe and protected and happy. He’d known women before, almost loved a few, but he’d never felt like this. He was ready to dig through mountains with his bare hands, change the course of rivers, anything to keep her from harm.

She was so vulnerable and honest and
brave
. The way she fought for her family. The way she rode headlong into the wilderness. And the way she had honored her own desire and allowed him to pleasure her last night.

He buried his nose in her hair, picturing her spread open to him, her head thrown back and her thighs wide apart.

Christ
.

He pulled back and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was
not
going to spread her thighs again. He was
not
going to sink his hard cock into all her wet softness and take her with long, deep thrusts. He was
not
going to make her cry out his name in throaty ecstasy.

Muttering a curse, he rose to sitting and stretched his back. Mittens swatted his feet and launched onto his big toe.

His day, it seemed, had begun.

And not entirely the way he wished it to.

Roane stumbled through the dark to check on the horses. They were quiet and restful in their tight copse of trees. The night had passed peacefully for all but him.

He fetched the kettle, walked to the cold stream and splashed water on his face. He was trying to move slowly with Helen, let her set the pace, but it was killing him.

Shaking off thoughts of her as best he could, he picked his way downstream, investigating the water crossing. The stream was truly raging now, the rough waters still impossible to cross. If the men tried to follow them down Wildboar Clough, they would be stuck on the other side for days.

Roane continued another half mile downstream, wanting to assure himself there truly was no other possible crossing. The waters grew angrier as the stream narrowed into a canyon of sharp cliffs. No horse could cross; neither could a man on foot. But something caught his attention and he looked up. A small campfire burned high on the hill, near Torside Clough. His heart slammed against his ribs, and his muscles tensed, ready to fight.

Only someone with much to gain would camp on the edge of Bleaklow in a storm, with little shelter from the elements and no food for their horses.

Whoever they were, they risked their very lives to follow him.

Money was a great motivator, to be sure. But there was something else, something more dangerous, that pushed a man to the edge of danger like this.

Revenge.

Had that tall figure been Harrington?

If so, they were in worse trouble than Roane had assumed. Harrington was evil. He’d been the magistrate in charge of capturing the Midnight Rider, and had struck Roane’s sister with a violent blow to the face. Had Mazie’s future husband not stepped in, Harrington would have done worse, much worse.

It was part of the reason Roane had been certain to ruin the man. To take away his power, his reputation, even his home.

In retaliation, Roane couldn’t even think what Harrington would do to Helen. The thought made bile rise in his throat.