Wicked Pleasures

by Rhonda Lee Carver

“I didn’t ask if I know her, Roark.” She lowered her gaze to her clasped hands. When she looked back at him, sincerity had her eyes moist. “You want me to know the truth. That’s why you took me to the witch’s shack. Why can’t you just fill in the voids?”

  “You know the truth, Bronte. You just have to be ready to accept it. And fact is, I don’t even know some myself.”

  “Why are you always cryptic? Is it that you can’t tell me the secret?”

  “No.” He got up and moved away from the table. “You’d call me a liar.”

  “Did you say I’d call you a liar?” she asked.

  “Did I stutter?”

  “No, Roark, stuttering is not the trouble you have with communication.”

  He sighed, hoping to release some tension in his muscles. “What do you know about your ancestors?” he asked.

  Her expression remained blank as she answered, “Not much. They’re all deceased, except my father. He lives in England with his new wife and daughter.” She bit her bottom lip. “I’m sure you already know that.”

  “The woman you learned about at Azelda’s, Jillian, she was your father’s great aunt. She died soon after her father.” His voice sounded eerie even to his own ears. He didn’t like the past. He swallowed the ache in his chest.

  “What did she die of?”

  “She died at the hand of an enemy.” He saw a glimpse of recognition cross her eyes. “Do you understand?”

  “Jillian, my relative, your lover, right?”

  He nodded. “Yes, she was. She carried the same birthmark.”

  “Who is the enemy?” she asked.

  Bronte got up and came to stand beside him—so close that he could smell her scent and it gave him an instant hard on. He didn’t want to talk, only feel—after all of these years, he wanted to feel anything but anger and solitude. Without thought, he reached out, took her by her shoulders and dragged her against him. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly, as if she knew what was coming. Waiting for her rejection, it never came. He lowered his mouth to hers and his desires awakened. He’d never wanted anyone like he wanted her.

  A moan escaped her, and when her arms looped around his neck and her breasts pressed against his chest, he knew without a doubt that his heart still belonged to her. When a wolf found a partner, they mated for life.

  The kiss deepened as their tongues touched and coupled. She tasted like mint and promise, and he was losing control. Her willing body made every muscle come alive, but his cock had already been bone hard, and grew painful as it stretched his zipper.

  He’d allow himself one touch…only one touch.

  Dipping one hand inside the top of her dress, with the other he tugged the material to her waist, exposing her bare breasts. He palmed the firm mounds and flicked her nipples until she dropped her head back onto one shoulder. Lifting his head enough to see her lovely nakedness, his breath caught. “You’re beautiful.”

  Her eyes closed and her bottom lip trembled. A vision of Jillian flashed in his mind. He pulled back so quick that she lost her balance and he caught her, stabilized her, but quickly removed his hand. Her questioning glare shot straight through him. He’d almost permitted himself to fall back into vulnerability.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He rubbed the back of his knuckles across his moist mouth, wishing he could wipe away the memory of her kiss. “We will make love, Bronte. In good time…”

  As if she realized for the first time what had just occurred, she took a step back, rage lit her eyes. “Who do you think you are? Do you believe that you have all of the control? I’ll never allow a man, or anyone for that matter, have power over me! You can keep me hostage, but you can’t make me want you.”

  Her cold words drilled him with reality. He didn’t have to tell her the truth, and she didn’t have to remember. “You’re right, sweetheart. I can’t make you want me. That’s why you’re free to leave.” He turned on heel and stomped toward the door.

  Before his hand made it on the knob, she said, “What? What did you say?”

  He looked at her over his shoulder. “You heard me. I’ll let Miss Deveraux know so she can arrange for your transportation.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m leaving. No worries. You’ll never have to see me again.” And he stormed out of the room before he changed his mind.

  He burst out of the house and into a fast run. The need to get away overcame him and he didn’t stop until he came to the family cemetery where his parents were buried. He hadn’t visited in a while. Tired and frustrated, he dropped to his knees. His mind ached and he was at a loss.

  Not sure how long he’d knelt by his father’s tombstone, he heard a noise and started to turn when he felt the dull thump against the side of his head. A pain ripped through him, and before he knew he was in danger, he couldn’t do anything to defend himself…

  Chapter 9

  BRONTE AWOKE WITH a start. Her heart was racing and her palms were sweaty as she quickly scanned her surroundings. She was home!

  Wiping moisture from her brow, she paced her heavy breathing. Her sleep had been restless and packed with images of Roark. He had come to her clearly; he’d been standing in the middle of a field dotted with red wildflowers. As she’d drifted away from him in her dream, he’d watched her, and the further she got, the faster the flowers melted until they formed a puddle of blood. He’d reached out to her and she realized that he needed her. She’d started toward him, but no matter how fast, or how hard she moved, she couldn’t get close. Finally, he’d disappeared.

  Climbing from bed, she went to her closet and blindly grabbed the first thing her hand touched. Pulling on the thin sundress, she went into the bathroom to brush her hair and teeth.

  Nothing felt the same and silence loomed over her like a dark cloud of loneliness.

  Why wasn’t she happy being home? The feeling of sadness washed over her.

  She had arrived at two A.M. Miss Deveraux had arranged for transportation, just as Roark had promised. Bronte had blindfolded her eyes, as requested, and was brought home.

  Last night, she’d debated whether she should call Gage and speak to him about the events, but all she’d wanted to do was fall asleep. She knew he’d demand that she call the police, and he wouldn’t understand when she’d refuse. Who’d believe her story?

  Making her way into the kitchen, she placed a kettle of water on the stove and went to the window, peering outside into the sunlight. On most weekdays, she’d already be in the office, sitting at her desk, head hung over a manuscript. She guessed she’d have to face work again. Why didn’t it feel as important?

  Laughter grabbed her attention. Young boys played football in the yard across the lot. One of them had short blonde hair, the other, the younger of the two, had longer black hair and olive complexion. He reminded her of what Roark’s child would look like.

  She swallowed the bitter taste in the back of her throat. How could she even think about such nonsense? A baby with Roark? She wasn’t even sure she hadn’t dreamt the last few days. Yet, that couldn’t be possible.

  Her time with Roark was over. She had to push him out of her mind.

  Opening the cabinet door, she reached for the box of tea bags from the top shelf.

  “Bronte.”

  She paused.

  Had she heard someone say her name? Turning, she jumped in alarm, the box dropped from her hand and the tea bags scattered all over the floor. “Miss Deveraux! What are you doing here?

  The woman’s flushed cheeks were swollen. She didn’t answer.

  “How did you get in here?”

  “It’s not that difficult, my dear.”

  Fear swept through Bronte. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?” She moved toward the other woman.

  “It’s Roark. He’s been hurt.”

  Bronte sucked in a breath. “Hurt? How? Is he okay?”

  Miss Deveraux’s bottom lip puckered. “I…I don’t know.”


  Afraid the other woman would collapse, Bronte tucked her hand on Miss Deveraux’s elbow. “Come and sit.” She didn’t argue as Bronte led her to the table and helped her sit. “Now, tell me what happened.”

  “He’d been attacked sometime after you’d left. Caleb found him when he came back from dropping you off.”

  “Attacked? By who?”

  “Or, by what…” Miss Deveraux shook her head.

  “Okay, by what?” Bronte asked.

  “A wolf. It must have been. Of course, he’s growing weaker by the minute.”

  Bronte’s knees trembled and she thought she may crumple as well. She dropped into the closest seat. “What was he doing?”

  Miss Deveraux shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know.” Miss Deveraux nodded and her double chin shook. “I think he’s given up.”

  “Roark is a fighter. He’d never give up.” Bronte knew Roark well enough.

  “He’s a prideful man, but even men full of pride can step back and admit defeat.”

  “Defeat in what?”

  “In you, my dear. You were our last chance for survival and…”

  Sliding her fingertips over her temples, Bronte wondered if she’d wake up from this madness. “Me? Your only chance? That’s crazy. I’m just an average woman. I’m not a half wolf, or half of anything. Only human! If I were so important, why would Roark not tell me long ago? Good question, right? Why didn’t he tell me himself?”

  “Definitely a good question, but one you should ask him. A better question, and one for you to ask yourself, why do you refuse to remember the truth?” Miss Deveraux got up and said, “Time is wasting. Mr. Roark is hurt and I have to get back. I won’t force you to come with me. It’s your decision.”

  “Come with you? I just left.” Bronte stared at the other woman. “How do I know this isn’t a ruse just to get me back to Roark?”

  “You don’t know. You’ll have to trust your heart.”

  Miss Deveraux left the kitchen and Bronte dropped her head to the table. She wasn’t good at putting puzzles together, but she did understand that Roark had come to her in her sleep. There was no denying that truth. He needed her.

  Jumping up from the table, she ran to the door. She had to catch Miss Deveraux—

  “Are we ready, dear?”

  Bronte swiveled and found Miss Deveraux sitting on the couch, a magazine open on her lap. “You knew I’d come along didn’t you, Miss Deveraux?”

  The older woman closed the book and stood up. “You did dream of him last night, didn’t you?”

  “You people have to quit reading my thoughts. It’s driving me batty,” Bronte said with an exasperated sigh.

  “It’s just as frustrating for me. You must learn to control them,” Miss Deveraux said.

  “I’ll work on that. Let me grab a few things and I’ll be ready.”

  An hour later, Bronte and Miss Deveraux pulled in front of the stone house located in an isolated area where Roark lived. Seeing it in the daylight for the first time Bronte was in awe at its size and beauty. The man named Caleb opened the passenger side door. Bronte looked up at him and her breath caught. He looked a lot like Roark, except he was younger and slightly shorter. She climbed out of the Prius and gave him a smile. “Thank you,” she said. The man didn’t respond. However, his deep blue gaze penetrated her, sending a chill straight into her bones.

  Miss Deveraux came up beside her. “My dear, are you okay? You’ve met Caleb.” Miss Deveraux chuckled as she touched the man’s shoulder. “He’s part of the family.”

  He was a wolf! She could have guessed that. “Hi Caleb,” Bronte said. The man didn’t even blink. Although he was a bit intimidating, Bronte knew he wouldn’t hurt her—at least not while Roark was leader. Silence seemed to continue for minutes until he finally nodded and stomped away. “He’s not a very friendly man, is he?’

  “Caleb’s a bit shy. Come along, Bronte dear. Time is ticking.” Miss Deveraux motioned for her to follow.

  Another mention of time ticking. Bronte realized how important time was to these people.

  She joined Miss Deveraux on the porch. “I’d say Caleb is more than shy. I think he doesn’t like me,” Bronte whispered, glancing over her shoulder for listeners.

  “Trust me, he likes you just fine. He hasn’t been around many humans, especially beautiful women. I’d say he’s a bit awe-struck. You’re a guest now and are highly respected.”

  Bronte wasn’t sure if Miss Deveraux wanted to make her feel better, but Bronte had her doubts about the woman’s definition of respect. Feeing eyes on her, Bronte searched the distance and found Caleb standing by an outer building, a scowl marring his features. She turned to say something to Miss Deveraux but the woman had disappeared inside. Bronte quickly went along, shutting the door behind her.

  They went up the long staircase, down the darkened hall and to Roark’s room. “Please leave me alone with him, Miss Deveraux. This is something I need to do.”

  Miss Deveraux’s eyes widened. “I think I should—”

  “I understand you watch over him, but I’m here now. Please, just a moment alone.”

  With only a second’s hesitation, Miss Deveraux nodded and gave Bronte a semi-smile. “He is ready to have his bandage changed. Everything you need is on the nightstand. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

  Bronte stood at the threshold, gaining her composure. She wasn’t sure what she’d find, but on the way here Miss Deveraux had explained that he had a deep gash on his left side. Of course she hadn’t taken him to a doctor, but stitched him up herself. Bronte would argue that he needed seen by a doctor, but knew it’d fall on deaf ears.

  Moving into the darkened room, goose bumps spread over Bronte’s skin. The closed curtains left the room gloomy. She shivered as she got closer to the bed. A red sheet covered Roark and all that she could see was his profile. He was sleeping soundly.

  Standing there, staring, she wondered if she should wake him. Not yet. Sitting next to his hip, she waited, overcome with an urge to let him know she’d returned. What would he say?

  Breathing in deeply, she inhaled his masculine scent. How had she allowed her emotions to get involved? Tears welled and they slipped onto her cheeks. She swiped them away with trembling fingers.

  Carefully, she pulled the sheet downward. He moaned and she stopped. “Roark?” she whispered.

  “Come. Please. Bronte.” His words came out in a gruff, tired voice.

  “I’m here,” she said, but wondered if he was only talking in his sleep. Waiting a few minutes, she continued to uncover his side. He was naked, except for the wide bandage covering his torso. Starting at one corner, slowly, she dragged the white gauze off his body. Her breath held as she saw the raw stitched skin. She swallowed another round of tears. How had he lived through this?

  Gathering control of her emotions, she took the bottle from the table, recognizing it as the salve Roark had used on her hand, and dipped her fingers into the clear ointment. With great ease, she spread the thick salve over the wound. Several times he jerked and groaned, but he didn’t fully wake.

  After applying new gauze and making sure it was secure, she crawled into bed with him, snuggling to his body. She wasn’t sure what the future held, but for the moment, she wanted to pretend that everything was normal.

  ****

  Roark came awake and the first thing he smelled was Bronte’s scent. He lifted his upper body but discomfort radiated through his side and down his hip. He remembered that he was at the gravesite when he was struck in the head at the same time he felt the excruciating pain. If it had’t been for Caleb he wouldn’t be alive now…

  Once the ache subsided, he turned. Bronte! His heart pounded and his gut clenched. He blinked twice…and she remained. She came back!

  She was sleeping…and lovely.

  He couldn’t imagine another woman ever being as beautiful as she was. Her long black hair hung in waves over the pillow. Her skin was pale and her cheeks were rosy
. The dress she wore clung to her every sweet curve and his cock came alive.

  Sweeping the back of his knuckles along her jawline, over the line of her neck, he paused at her collarbone. He wondered what it’d be like to wake up to such loveliness every morning. To share his life with her, every day until his end.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled. He thought he’d died and gone to heaven. She’d actually smiled! “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I leave and the first thing you do is go and almost get yourself killed. Did you do this to get me to come back?” Her voice was thick with sleep.

  “I wish I could say yes, but truth is, no. I’m afraid I was caught off guard. My mind was,” he slid his fingers along the thin straps on her shoulders. “preoccupied.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “That you’d gone back and called that bastard you call fiancé.” He knew his words were drenched with jealousy, but he couldn’t control his emotions.

  “I thought you could read my every thought?” Her eyes were on him with warmth and tenderness.

  “Mostly. Sometimes my own frantic thoughts get in the way,” he admitted.

  “Can you read my mind now?” she asked.

  Every nerve ending sparked in alert. “Damn! I sure hope I’m not mistaken, but I do believe we’re on the same page.” He rubbed his cock against her hip.

  “You’re definitely up for it.” She wriggled her brows. “However, I think we should let you rest so you can heal.” Her fingers touched the gauze on his ribs.

  “Sweetheart, I don’t mean to brag, but this ain’t nothing. I’ll heal in hours, and the quickest remedy is a bit of treasure.” He dipped his hand to her flat stomach and lower until his fingers skimmed the apex of her thighs. He got a strong whiff of musky juices and he thought he’d lose every ounce of restraint.

  “Is that what the doctor ordered?” Her eyes twinkled.

  “Of course. Sex is a natural remedy. And if you think this poor boy needs to rest, I’ll gladly lie on my back and let you do all of the work.”

  She laid her hands on his shoulders and pressed him back against the pillows. “What is this connection, Roark? Why do I keep falling and falling deeper into the madness?”