The Rogue to Ruin EPB

by Lorret, Vivienne

  “An impressive list of skills, to be sure,” she said blandly, but shifted from one foot to the other, unsettled. “Though I can see no reason whatsoever why you should feel the need to tell me this.”

  “Because you’ll need to resign yourself to seeing me more often. Not just out on the pavement either. And I’m going to find you a reliable man-at-the-door.”

  There was that hard-set look again. He believed he knew something she didn’t. Or something that she wasn’t prepared to accept—like the possibility that Nigel might return.

  Her heart hammered against the wall of her ribs, panic setting in. She would much rather believe that Nigel would stay away, especially now that he was aware of her association with Reed Sterling. If she couldn’t convince herself, then how would she sleep at night?

  “No, you most certainly will not,” she said, adopting a false show of bravado as she marched forward. “As I said, I will see to this matter on my own. Now, if you would shake hands with me to accept my gratitude for your assistance, we shall put this entire affair behind us, and you will be on your way.”

  Ainsley didn’t know what compelled her to offer her hand. Shooing him out the door and closing it firmly behind him was what she’d intended. Yet the wrong words tumbled from her lips. Then her body followed the command. And by the time she thought about withdrawing, it was already too late.

  Reed Sterling unfolded his arms and reached out, closing his hand over hers.

  At the first touch, a small tremor escaped through her fingertips, disappearing into his secure grip. Her breath caught. Tantalizing warmth engulfed her, stirring a current of vibrations beneath her skin.

  Was it possible to develop a craving for someone’s touch? Strangely, that’s how it felt—as if she’d had this inexplicable emptiness gnawing at her, and it could only be satisfied in one way.

  Wordless, she looked to him for an answer to this puzzle but noticed that his attention was fixed on their shared grasp, on the tanned blunt fingertips that drifted over her pale skin. Once again, she marveled at how such a large labor-roughened hand could be so gentle, yet exude such power beneath the surface.

  “I almost convinced myself that I’d imagined how soft you are.”

  His words were so quiet, so secret and low, she wondered if he meant for her to hear them at all.

  With infinite care, he turned her hand over, exposing the lines of her palm. Then the pad of his thumb stroked the sensitive flesh. Her fingers curled reflexively, tingles burrowing deep. It tickled a little, too. But she didn’t stop him from tracing a path to the underside of her wrist, to the pulse fluttering beneath the ivory skin.

  Her stomach shifted, clenching sweetly as he circled the tender throb. His touch was maddeningly light, methodical and mesmerizing. And she held her breath, unable to look away.

  Inexplicably, her pulse slowed to match his lazy sweeps. Her quick beats turned sluggish and heavy, radiating to a place in her middle, thudding low and liquid. She’d never felt anything like it.

  A whisper of warning advised her to slip free. And she would, most assuredly. But first, a need for understanding demanded her to indulge for just one more minute.

  Experimentally, she arched her wrist—a subtle shift against his callused flesh. He inhaled raggedly, the stuttered sound surprisingly vulnerable. In that moment, he did not seem like a rogue bent on scandalizing her, but simply a man who was as shaken by the contact of their joined hands as she was. And just when she was anticipating another loop, circling around the tender pulse, he brushed his thumb softly over the center swell instead.

  This time, Ainsley gasped. Unexpected pleasure surged through her, lush and heated. And when he did it again, she pressed her knees together, flooded with foreign sensations. The word desire whispered in her mind but she refused to acknowledge it. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she didn’t possess a passionate nature.

  “I—I think that should settle matters sufficiently,” she stammered, carefully avoiding his gaze.

  She tried to slip free . . . well . . . mostly. Her smallish tug was a feeble effort that didn’t result in her freedom. Her lack of conviction made it far too easy for him to slide their hands together—a twining of fingers, the nudge and stretch of the webbing in between, the intimate press of palm to palm.

  Then suddenly he was closer, standing in her breathable space. Only she couldn’t breathe at all. And worse, she was helpless against the enticing pull of warm pleasure that kept her hand in his.

  “The way I see it,” he drawled, the deep sound tunneling deliciously through her, “using my name was like playing on house credit, and a handshake just isn’t enough to satisfy the debt.”

  “It isn’t?”

  She lifted her face only to find his heated gaze on her lips. Her pulse accelerated again like a clock wound too tightly. A frantic tension coiled in her midriff. She took a step back, but—drat it all—she realized that she was still holding his hand, practically tugging him along.

  “If you’re thinking a . . . a kiss would settle things, then I’m afraid you’re wrong. You won’t find any satisfaction from my lips.”

  “Wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

  Reed crowded her slowly. One boot moved forward, then the other, corralling her. He seemed to be allowing her to get used to him. But that was an impossibility. She could never adjust to the way her pulse reacted when he was near. And he was close enough now that she caught the clean, spiced fragrance of his shaving soap. The delectable, intoxicating scent filled every breath. She might very well suffocate.

  And he shouldn’t look at her that way either. It made her lips feel plump and heavy, far too full to hide between the press of her teeth.

  “It’s true. I’m not a person who is . . . inclined toward such activities.” She tried to sound forbidding, but her voice came out in a rasp, her throat dry.

  “But not everyone has a mouth like yours—a mouth made for kissing.”

  His husky murmur excited that low throbbing pulse. And when he leaned in and grazed his warm lips across her cheek, a strangled sound rose in her throat from the startling pleasure of it.

  “It’s far too wide,” she whispered in a rush.

  He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and lingered, his fingers slipping through the wispy tendrils at her nape to fit perfectly against her skull. Then his mouth skimmed across her other cheek. “You’re wrong about that.”

  “There’s also that plump part in the center of my upper lip that gets in the way.”

  “This part here?” His lips swept lightly over hers and drew her gasp into his mouth.

  She nodded, still unwilling to accept the fact that Reed Sterling’s mouth was on hers, the heat of his breath on her tongue. “I’ve been told it makes the experience quite unpleasant.”

  It was a mortifying admission, but these were desperate circumstances. She didn’t think she’d be able to survive the humiliation if two men professed that kissing her was awkward and unpalatable. Especially not this man.

  “Before you trust anyone’s opinion”—he nipped the tender reprimand against her lips—“consider the source.”

  “I hardly need your advice,” Ainsley scolded him in return, every word pushing her flesh against his. Almost as if . . . as if she had just kissed him.

  But this wasn’t kissing, she assured herself. This was merely a new form of arguing.

  Anticipating his next contradiction, she angled her head for closer contact and Reed growled in response. The low, primal sound sent an unexpected thrill rushing through her.

  “It would be a waste of breath to tell you anything,” he said, fitting his other hand over the curve of her cheek to cradle her face. “Even if I wanted to say that your lips are soft and plump and more luscious than wine-poached pears, I wouldn’t.”

  Then he tilted her head back to cement his argument. Opening her mouth with his own, he nibbled gently into her flesh, tasting the seam of her lips without hurry. The slow, thorough
exploration caused her eyes to drift closed.

  Her senses centered on the firm, enticing pressure of his mouth, the delicious rasp of his tongue. A wanton mewl tore from her throat, hungry and needy and urgent.

  The unguarded sound brought her to an uncomfortable admission . . .

  She might be kissing the enemy.

  And she would take this shamefully wondrous moment to her grave. No one could ever find out. Right now, she just wanted a sip or two more. A last lingering taste of Reed Sterling.

  Rising up on her toes, she gripped his lapels, keeping him close. Reed took a breath. Then he deepened the kiss, nudging into the dewy heat of her mouth. And she was shocked by her own eager welcome of his flesh, tangling her own with his.

  She never knew kissing could feel like this. So basic. So raw. There was no anxiety brimming in her stomach, but only a tightly coiled heat that she was quickly learning to like.

  With Nigel she’d felt as if she were enduring a chore, knowing that he would list his disappointments in her poor performance shortly thereafter. Yet, somehow, Reed made her feel as if kissing her was as essential to him as breathing or eating . . . and that he intended to feast on her lips for hours, days, until there was nothing left of her.

  Ainsley feared she might enjoy being consumed by him. A bit too much. In fact, she was feeling like a cannibal herself, drawing the salty essence of his tongue into her mouth like a woman half-starved. She wondered if she would ever get her fill of him.

  But there wasn’t time to find out, she thought absently. They didn’t have hours, or even minutes. They were standing in her office and apt to be discovered at any moment.

  Unwilling to let her lapse be witnessed by anyone else, she placed her hands over his, preparing to extract herself.

  Regrettably, she became distracted and fascinated by the texture of his skin. The hard knobs of his knuckles. The crisp hairs near his wrist. She had the reckless desire to know what he felt like everywhere, underneath his clothes, her hands coasting over his bare flesh . . .

  That thought shocked her back on her heels. What in heaven’s name made her think of doing that?

  Breaking the kiss, she panted for breath. “We—I mean, you—shouldn’t have done that.”

  Apparently unwilling to let her get too far, he gently wrapped her in his embrace, her folded arms the only barrier between them. He drew her close, his hand drifting up and down her back as if she were a wild creature that needed to be soothed. “I disagree. We should conduct all our arguments this way.”

  A sense of otherworldly euphoria kept her from slipping free. She felt drowsy, as if she’d been fed a sleeping draught, lulled by the hard thump of his heart beneath her palms. She blinked at the Pomona green walls around her in bewilderment. Had she actually kissed Reed Sterling?

  Yes, her lips answered, full and tender skinned as overripe plums. Her mind boggled at this staggering awareness. She never abandoned all self-restraint. Indulgence was not in her nature.

  Confused, she could think only about how her actions had been wrong in countless ways. Lines had been crossed. Rules had been broken.

  “Those rules no longer apply to us,” Reed said, his lips pressing warmly to her temple.

  She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. Or even that, somehow, her fingertips had found the open collar of his shirt, weaving into the dark, fascinatingly springy hairs. She really ought to stop doing that. And she would, of course. In the next minute or so . . .

  His cheekbones were tinged with the burnished flush of exertion. She’d seen him this way many times before, whenever she’d interrupted his boxing exercise to reprimand him. But from this point forward, she would not be able to see this high color without remembering their kiss.

  Ainsley’s gaze drifted to his lips. When his tongue licked a lingering trace of dampness at the corner, her breath caught. He was tasting her, she thought dazedly. And his hungry gaze locked on her mouth as if he intended to devour her in one lusty bite.

  A rush of heady, insupportable delight flooded her. Giddy, she swayed against him, shamefully clinging like muslin to wool stockings.

  What was happening to her?

  Whatever it was, it was his fault! He’d done something to her by breeching a barrier that should have been left alone. And it was vital that things returned back to normal.

  “Of course the rules apply,” she said, her voice raspy and tight as the sensations of pleasure and panic warred within her, her breath coming in ragged gulps. “Even more so now. We need to put everything back the way it was. The way it should be between enemies.”

  “But we have an understanding,” he teased, though his voice was almost too deep to be mocking. And yet, he had to be amused, laughing inwardly at the prim spinster who’d developed a taste for a scoundrel.

  “You know very well that we do not.”

  His hand slid to the tension gathering in her nape, his fingertips working in wonderfully tantalizing circles. Oh, she wished he wouldn’t do that.

  And she wished he’d never stop.

  “Then kissing you again would be . . .”

  “Strictly forbidden,” she admonished, trying to sound firm. To think rationally. And not let her eyes drift closed on a blissful sigh. “This never happened. Is that clear? We’ll both go about our daily business—or nightly, in your case—and never think on this episode again.”

  His lips curled in a slow, wicked grin. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss Bourne. When it comes to kissing you, I hope it happens again and again. And again.”

  A heated shiver tumbled through her, curling her toes in her sensible half boots. “Well, it won’t.”

  “Care to wager on that?”

  No. No she wouldn’t. Right then, she wasn’t sure of herself at all. In fact, she very much wanted to kiss him again, and that thought mortified her. And worse, when she watched him lower his head with clear intent, she was already tilting her face up to his.

  Then chaos erupted.

  It all happened so fast, there wasn’t even time to gasp, let alone utter a word of warning.

  Mrs. Darden charged in, shrieking like a banshee, armed with their largest teapot. Then, all at once, the heavy porcelain came crashing down on Reed Sterling’s head.

  Chapter 11

  “He walked off in more complete self-approbation than he left for her.”

  Jane Austen, Emma

  Part of Reed had always known that kissing Ainsley Bourne would be dangerous. Now he had proof. One minute he’d been wholly immersed in the sweet taste of her lips and the sumptuous give of her scolding mouth. And the next, he’d been waylaid flat.

  He didn’t know what hit him, but whatever—and whoever—it was took him down for the count. His eyes throbbed like they were going to burst out of their sockets, and the back of his head was warm and wet. Blood, likely.

  He was never one to lose all sense of his surroundings, a lesson he’d learned as a lad. But as he lay on the floor, he didn’t detect any threat.

  Then again, it was a bit difficult to concentrate because someone was caressing him. Soothing fingertips sifted gently through his hair, and there was a warm cushion beneath his head. He drew in a contented breath, his nostrils catching the scent of rosehips and almond blossoms.

  A strange sort of wonderment came over him. Was the someone Ainsley Bourne?

  No. It wasn’t possible—at least, not in reality—and yet, he could even hear the quiet reprimand in her voice. Though it was peculiar that it was not aimed at him.

  “Mrs. Darden, for the last time, he was not attacking me.”

  “And what was I to think when I saw his hulking form in your office, hmm? How could I have known the pair of you were in the throes of—”

  “No throes. There were no throes of any kind.”

  The caresser stilled the motions of her hands. And without her tender stroking, the throbbing pain at the back of his head returned tenfold and he fought back a groan.

  “Did you hear tha
t? I believe his breath fractured,” said the slightly raspy voice that sounded suspiciously like Ainsley Bourne’s. “Just look at his coloring. He may very well be a shade paler than before, and there will assuredly be a sizeable lump on the back of his head. Did you have to hit him so hard? I’ve never seen a man roll his eyes into the back of his head before, and I was barely able to slow his fall. What if he never awakens again?”

  Even though his stuttered breath was unintentional, Reed enjoyed the results. Could it be that his prickly neighbor was truly smoothing her hands over his brow and along his temples?

  It seemed so. And her delicate ministrations eased all his aches better than any tonic. Lying in her arms didn’t do any harm to his ego either. In fact, he was already looking forward to reminding her of this moment in the weeks to come—every time she railed at him for not being properly attired or adhering to the strictures of society.

  Apparently, Miss Bourne’s skin wasn’t the only thing soft about her.

  “Pooh,” the cantankerous cook muttered with disbelief. “It was just a tap to get his attention. I had brothers who suffered worse and they weren’t half Mr. Sterling’s size. He’ll be fine in a trice. There’s not a thing wrong with his coloring or his breathing. A fact you should know best considering how close you are to him. Not to mention how there wasn’t a hair’s breadth between the two of you before I—”

  “Ruined our best teapot,” Ainsley hastily interrupted. “How am I ever going to afford a replacement?”

  Felled by a teapot? Reed nearly groaned again for the sake of manly pride.

  The cook’s outraged huff accompanied the clack and scrape of porcelain pieces sliding together. “Changing the subject doesn’t alter the facts. Just what am I to tell Lord Eggleston, hmm? Dear me, I can only imagine how disappointed he will be to know that you’ve taken up with the likes of Mr. Sterling. If you’re so interested in kissing all of a sudden, whyever don’t you take up with a nice gentleman and marry him instead?”

  “Honestly,” Ainsley tsked. “Must you make it sound so sordid? I am not taking up with anyone, least of all a former prizefighter. It was a lapse in judgment. It will not happen again. And I would appreciate it if we kept this matter private. My uncle and sisters need never find out. The . . . event . . . you stumbled upon will never happen again.”