“Need some help?” he asked.
Looking at him over her shoulder, she frowned. His roguish smirk struck a chord in her. “What are you talking about?”
He stepped closer, so close she thought he may kiss her, and she hoped with all her might that he would. Instead, she felt his hand at her backside and a tug on her dress as he pulled the hem down. Embarrassed, she realized she’d just shown her ass. “By the way, red looks good on you.” He laughed as he marched past her.
Bronte stayed behind for a few seconds. It never failed. She was the target of his humor. Could he laugh when he became the aim of embarrassment?
They rounded the corner of a barn and bales of hay were stacked up high. A 3-D target map was hanging from one. The “odd” man was waiting for them with a bow in one hand a bag of arrows in the other. Roark relinquished him of the items and Caleb disappeared, head lowered as if his thoughts consumed him.
“Doesn’t that poor guy have any friends? Family? Anyone he’d rather hang out with than doing your bidding all day?” Bronte asked.
“He’s not here often. And if you haven’t noticed, there aren’t many of “us” around here.” Roark pulled on the string of the bow, as if he were testing its strength.
“Why am I out here? If you wanted to play archery, did I have to be with you?”
“It’s not me who’ll be practicing. It’s you, city girl.” One brow cocked.
“Me? No…I don’t like weapons. I’ll watch.” She started for a seat on the fence when he caught her waist and pulled her back.
“One thing I‘ve noticed is your lack of hand eye coordination. You’d miss an ant with a bazooka. You need training. Every woman needs to know how to protect herself.”
“I don’t need schooling in archery. My father put me through enough self-defense classes. And my coordination is just fine. If I really wanted to hit you I could have.” She lied. She’d meant to hit him, but she wasn’t much of a shooter.
“Some classes. If you’d been trained correctly my men wouldn’t have been able to take you against your will,” he said.
“Do you realize how bizarre that is? I should have been able to “protect” myself against the men you sent to abduct me.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Exactly.” His eyes widened. “No name calling. I did it with good intentions.”
“Can we have at least one conversation where you’re not reading my mind? Like normal people converse?” she asked.
“We’re not normal. And you’re not a good shot. We can change that,” he said.
She almost choked on her saliva. “We could change it if I wanted to. But I don’t.”
“I’m not asking.” His tone turned gruffer.
“And I’m not your child.”
He lowered the bow and sighed. “I can think of something else we can do with our time. Red thong and a bed are involved.”
Hidden nerve endings sparked alive. It wasn’t fair. Her womanly needs didn’t have prejudice. Did he really believe holding sex over her head would change her mind? “You could again? This soon?” she asked.
“Yes. Do you want me again this soon?”
Her palms turned clammy. She couldn’t fib because he’d see straight through her. “Yes.”
“Then practice for a bit and I’ll make all of your fantasies come true.” His eyes sparkled.
And she was a goner.
“Give me this damn thing.” She took the bow from him, along with an arrow. “It can’t be that hard.”
“Easy as pie,” he said.
She’d seen it done a hundred times, the archer loading his bow against the string. As she attempted to do just that, she found it to be impossible. She knew he watched her and he probably waited for her to ask for help. She wasn’t about to request anything but the more she tried, the more painfully aware it became that she needed his assistance. Also, the longer she attempted, the more determined she was to learn. Lowering her pride, she finally asked, “Can you show me?”
“Certainly I can. I’d love to.” He took the bow and arrow from her. “It’s important to hold the bow according to preference of eye. Your right eye is dominant so you should hold it in your left hand and draw the string with your right.”
“How do you know that my right eye is dominant?”
“Obvious by the way you throw. You must also stand the right way. I’ll show you.” He came to her side. “Your body needs to be perpendicular to the target and the line of shooting.” He used one hand to move her, and control her, to where she needed to stand. “Spread your legs wide.”
“What?” She snapped her chin up to look at him. He was serious. She suddenly felt sex-starved because all she could think about was his body between her inner thighs.
“Mind on track, sweetheart. Your feet should be shoulder length apart.” She did as he asked. “You take the bow and arrow. I’ll show you how to load it.”
She liked the way the bow felt in her hands. He pressed his body against hers and she jumped. “And here I thought I was the only turned on, but the arrow isn’t the only thing stiff.”
“Relax, Bronte,” he whispered next to her ear.
Swallowing the constriction in her throat, she attempted to concentrate. How did he expect her to learn anything with him standing so close and his sex poking her backside? She could feel the strong lines of his body through the thin material of her dress and his warmth oozed into her bones. Her heart beat faster and she didn’t doubt for a second that he realized her turmoil.
“Keep the bow pointed toward the ground, tipped ever so slightly. Next we must nock the arrow.”
“Cock the arrow?” She murmured. His large hands held hers; she could smell his masculinity and it made her intoxicated with need.
“Are you paying attention?” he asked.
“I’m trying,” she answered. She moistened her lips and made a good effort to listen.
“The string and arrow should be held with three fingers. You may have to play with it, and try different approaches until you find the one that works for you. I hold it like this.” He demonstrated by showing her how he placed his fingers.
Did he say “play?” She wasn’t sure if it’d been her imagination. It conjured up many naughty thoughts that didn’t include a bow and arrow. She focused on his long fingers. “Like this?” She mimicked the position of his hands.
“Just like that.” His breath slipped into her ear. She sighed. “You’re doing well. Good. Now I want you to lift the bow and arrow, slowly.” His whispered words were hypnotic. She lifted her arm until he touched her elbow in a silent request for her to stop. “Draw the arrow toward your face, smooth and sinuously. Use your back muscles and not your arms.” He rubbed his hand down her shoulder. She almost whimpered from the touch, clouded with a heavenly feeling. “Keep pulling until you hear the click.”
Bronte jumped when she heard the sound. It wasn’t loud, but she had been sheathed in his words, waiting for his next demand. “Okay.” The word slipped off her tongue.
“It’s important to keep this arm still and stiff.”
He pressed his zipper against her ass. She smiled. The verbal foreplay made her juices flow.
“Tsk, tsk, sweetheart,” he said in a hoarse tone.
She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. She concentrated on the bow and the target. “What now?”
“Become one with the bow.” He pushed closer. “Feel it so much that you can almost taste it. It’s hard in your hands, yet wielding to your gentle touch.”
Leaning into him, she blinked at the magnetism. His scent was rich and exciting to her senses. His solid body made a soundless promise that he could take her to new levels of pleasure. “Keep going.”
“Rely on the subconscious mind,” he continued. “We have instincts within us. Follow yours. See the target and make it yours.”
His words flowed like a lazy river. She filtered each one and its meaning. She should rely on her instinct. She should own what was hers. And as
easily as merely relaxing, Bronte let go of the arrow. The sharp tool struck the target, almost dead center. She squealed in delight. “Look at that, Roark. I did it!” She jumped up and down and found herself landing against him and into his secure arms.
“Yes, you did,” he said with a proud smile.
Looking up at him, she didn’t allow fear to keep her from her next victory. She lifted herself on tiptoes, met him halfway as their lips collided in a passionate kiss. His hands were on her and they were tugging at each other. They were animals as they met in feral need, yearning for release like it was their next breath.
He stepped back and practically tore his shirt from his body, followed by his pants. She held her breath as she stared at his beauty. He was a fine specimen of male. From dark hair, broad chest, flat stomach, lean legs, and long steely length. Toned, hard and immense. Her panties turned moist as she anticipated him inside her body.
He came to her. In one swift move, he split her dress from top to bottom. She stood before him in bra and panty, enjoying the way he looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world who could satisfy him.
“Undress the rest, sweetheart.” His voice urged in a spellbinding tone. She undid the front clasp of her bra and it fell to her feet. The brisk breeze swept across her breasts and she felt her nipples tighten. She slid her panties off her hips, down her legs and gave them a toss with her big toe. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
“Will we be safe here from prying eyes?” she asked.
“Caleb is gone and no one else ventures out here.”
She moved to him, wanting to touch his body, and placed her hands on his chest. Slowly sliding her palms along his skin, she rolled her fingertips around his nipples. A soft moan escaped his throat. She could do better than that. She lowered her mouth to one erect bud and licked the salty tip. He brought his hands up to her shoulders and squeezed gently. Wanting to taste all of him, she slid further down him until she came to his cock. She glided her mouth over the smooth, hard muscle and swirled her tongue along the thick head. Pleasure filled groans erupted from his chest and vibrated his body. In faultless rhythm, she sucked as she pumped him.
“Bronte! I can’t wait any longer,” he roared the words as he reached down and lifted her upward.
Wrapping her legs around his waist, he held her back supported with his hands. Roark was a strong man and had no difficulty holding her weight and guiding her where he wanted her. The tip of him entered her and she circled around him. The beginning of pleasure spiraled through her core, loosening her muscles with her natural juices. She rolled her hips, taking him in, inch-by-inch, deeper and deeper. He slid his hands to her buttocks and thrust himself within her as far as she could take him. She couldn’t imagine any other man being her perfect match. It was as flawless as a key made for a lock.
Bronte dug her fingers into his shoulders as he steered her up and down his shaft. Sweat beaded between them, slickening their bodies. The moisture and scent was an aphrodisiac. Their moans grew, entwining and becoming one like howls at the moon. His thrusts grew faster and more urgent and his breathing ragged “You are mine,” he said against her skin.
She wanted nothing more to become his. Her only desire was to give in to the burning need that licked at her insides.
He buried his face into her breasts, suckling her nipples, licking between them, and sliding his tongue along her collarbone. Her release grew closer. She wanted it to last forever, but she couldn’t slow the tingling sensation bursting within her. “I’m so close,” she said breathlessly.
“Come for me, baby.” He supported her with one hand while he brought the other around to her clit, circling the bead with gentle pressure. “I want that tight pussy to throb. I can smell your scent. I can taste you.”
His words were the catalyst that drove her over the edge. Fire burnt her insides with sweet flames of release. “Roark. Roark. Roark.” His name fell from her tingling lips as she bent her head onto one shoulder and had a strong desire to scream. His pumps became short and she knew he was on the border of his own precipice. “Yes, Roark. I want you to leave your seed in me.”
With one last plunge, he stiffened and his body shook.
Chapter 11
ROARK AWOKE FROM a sound sleep. Night had fallen and darkness filled his room. He felt warmth in the crook of his arm and heard the sound of soft breathing. He remembered. Bronte! They’d made love outdoors, then they’d come inside and joined in his bed. They’d eventually slept and it’d been the best sleep he’d gotten in years.
He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs. He peered down at her and could barely make out her delicate features. The turnaround of emotions was much like a jackhammer pounding his stomach. What would come of them now?
Moving his arm out from underneath her, she moaned and rolled onto her other side. He felt guilty for leaving her, but he had no choice. He had an important meeting to attend.
Managing to get out of bed, turning on the closet light and dressing without waking her, he took a long moment to gaze at her and he felt something twist inside his chest. He wasn’t sure what it was. He’d never felt it before.
Her beauty was immeasurable. Her long hair cascaded over the pillow. The satin sheet had fallen away and her naked splendor teased his hungry eyes. There was more to her than her beauty though. He saw into her heart and the kindness and sincerity. He’d also seen the love that she wanted to hide. He was flattered that she could love him. After all, he was an ogre, just as she’d called him numerous times. He’d become one with his anger and hostility over the years, allowing his heartbreak to make him a pitiful mess.
Bronte was opening new windows and doors faster than he could recover.
Overcome with an urge to remove his clothing and crawl back into bed, he wanted to show her again how much he desired her. It took all of his strength to deny himself the pleasure. She’d satisfied him in ways he’d never known possible and his cock ached in mere thought.
“Fuck!” He didn’t want to leave her. But now that they’d joined, he had to protect his plan, more than ever.
Roark left the room and descended the stairs, greeting Shelby who was standing at the bottom. The other man sneered. “It’s about time. I can smell her on you.” He sniffed. “Not bad.”
A strong desire to rip the man’s head off his shoulders soared through Roark. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly had hatred toward his friend.
“How are things going with this man Gage?” Roark finally asked. He knew Bronte carried no love for the man she’d dated. However, jealousy sank deep into his stomach. He realized she’d probably go back to her life eventually and Gage would hope to pick up the pieces. He couldn’t allow himself to engage in sympathetic thoughts of sending her away when the time came. Their fate was sealed and there was no changing it. Their union could fall back into a danger zone…again.
“I’ve managed to appease him for the time being. It’s amazing how I could convince him that it was Bronte that he was speaking to on the phone.”
“Did you convince him she needed more time to herself?” Roark asked.
“He’s not happy, but he’s convinced. I think it’s best if we stage the woman’s murder.”
“No, we won’t destroy her life.” Roark took his gaze off Shelby and glanced up the stairs. “If we do that, she won’t have a life to go back to. Everyone will have moved on.”
Shelby snorted. “She’ll create a new one.”
“And we know how easy that is, don’t we,” Roark said in disgust. He swept past Shelby and stomped inside the den. Shelby followed and closed the door behind him. “Is this fiancé capable of causing problems?”
“I don’t think he’ll be held off much longer. Faking her death is the best way to contain him.”
Roark sat down behind the mahogany desk and sighed. His feelings for Bronte were getting in the way of his logical reasoning. He knew better. He’d learned a severe lesson in emotions a long time ago. His family couldn’t suf
fer again for such a mistake. Feelings only made him weaker. He had to do what was right for others involved. If she were with child she’d still be hidden for another nine months. “Then stage her death.”
“I’ll need fresh blood and the clothes she had on the night we grabbed her,” Shelby said. The other man seemed almost pleased with Roark’s decision.
He nodded. “You’ll find the clothes in the basement. The blood won’t be as easy.”
Shelby sniffed loudly. “It’s very easy. Just take it!”
Roark brought his gaze around to Shelby, barely containing his anger. “She is not a prisoner. She is my—” He stopped himself from continuing.
“So what if she’s your lost wife. She didn’t think twice when she teamed with the witch against us. It’s all for the good, my dear friend.” Shelby showed little concern.
“I know she brought an awful spell down upon us, but Bronte is different. Jillian’s blood may flow through her veins, but Bronte would never allow anger to rule her logic.” Even as the words left him, Roark wasn’t sure. Anyone was capable of betraying another. He got up and started for the door, pausing only long enough to say, “Wait here. I’ll be back.”
Roark went back upstairs and into his bedroom. Bronte was still fast asleep. Going into the bathroom, he took out an empty vial and a razor blade from the cabinet and went back to Bronte. She was lying on her stomach with her arms stretched high above her head. Guilt plagued him as he touched the knife’s edge to the skin on her back.
Swallowing back an ache in his throat, he pulled back. He knew what he needed to do. A few minutes later, he started back down the stairs.
Shelby waited for him by the door. “You have the blood?” he asked when he saw Roark coming.
Roark tossed him the vial. “Take care of business.”
He said goodbye to Shelby then went into his den, arranging his thoughts before he went to Bronte.
An hour later, he went upstairs. He sensed something was wrong before he entered the bedroom. She was sitting at the bottom of the bed, her face was pale and his journal was open on her lap. He looked at the drawer where he kept it locked away. He knew he hadn’t left it unlocked. Bronte had found the key.
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