Falling for the Highland Rogue

by Ann Lethbridge

  To the sound of her gasp, he took the glass from her hand and set it down. She looked up at him with a taunting smile. Goading him to do his worst. To prove himself unworthy. And right now he had a very strong urge to do just that. To take her and toss her down on that bed and show her that he was more than man enough to take what he wanted. And wanted badly.

  A barely perceptible flinch halted him in his tracks. A look at her face told him how close she was to breaking. How vulnerable. His brain jolted to life, horrified by where his anger, his loss of control, had been leading.

  With some difficulty, he pulled back from the brink, picked her up and carried her to the chair by the hearth. Sinking down into it, he settled her on his lap and enclosed her gently in his arms, praying she would not insist he release her. Because if she did, he would have no choice but to do it. And he did not want her to leave with such anger between them.

  ‘What fantasy is this, then?’ she said harshly, looking up at him. ‘Shall I straddle you? Maybe suck you?’

  The words twisted like knives in his chest, because of the rage they revealed. And the pain. He clasped her against his chest and stroked her hair back from her face and was shocked to see how his fingers shook as he tried gentle her. Tears stood out in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

  ‘Hush,’ he whispered. ‘Hush. Strike me if you must. Cry if you must. But dinna hurt yourself so.’

  The tears spilled over. Running down her cheeks. Silent sobs shook her body.

  ‘Shhh. It’s all right.’

  ‘It is not all right,’ she gasped. ‘Let me go.’

  Hating to do so, yet knowing he must, he opened his arms.

  And she lay against his chest, gasping for breath as if trying to stem the tide of tears. He remained utterly still beneath her, letting her cry, though it killed him not to hold her. Not to offer comfort. Because he did not know how to mend what was wrong.

  Finally, she put her arms around his neck and wept softly against his shoulder. And then his arms came around her, hands stroking her back until she gradually found peace.

  ‘You must think me such a fool,’ she said finally, sitting up, blotting her eyes with the heel of her hand.

  ‘No. I think you walk on a knife-edge. You are verra brave, lass.’

  Her grimace said she did not believe him. ‘You should not have taken me to your brother’s house,’ she said stiffly. ‘I am not at all a suitable woman for decent company. Don’t you know that?’

  He sighed. ‘If you are good enough for me, you are good enough for my brother.’

  ‘But we crept out of the back door. What must they think?’

  ‘Niall wasna’ best pleased, I must say, but he knows the kind of people I have to deal with. And O’Banyon’s men know we left. I made sure they saw us in the alley before we gave them the slip.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Is that your plan? To drive a wedge between me and Jack?’

  Startled by her accusation, he swallowed and tried not to look at her breasts inches from his face, a hairsbreadth from his lips. ‘I wasna’ thinking much beyond what might happen here, this evening, but now you mention it, do you think it would work?’ He raised his brows in question and tried a charming smile.

  ‘Men,’ she said. She pushed away from him and stood up.

  And he was done for. His shaft was as hard as granite, his body chilled by her sudden departure, and her so beautiful standing naked before him. She gave his erection a glare, as if his reaction was all his fault, and stomped to the bed, her luscious breasts bouncing as she walked, her soft round bottom and long legs a symphony of motion. She wrapped herself in the red-and-white counterpane from the bed. It covered her from her shoulders to her heels.

  Disappointed, he cursed softly and moved behind her to snatch up a sheet and wrap it around his waist. It seemed there wasn’t going to be any more loving. He returned to his seat and she perched on the wooden chair at the table, looking worried.

  ‘Jack likes to keep an eye on me.’

  ‘Dinna fash yourself. He knows I have you safe. And now he knows I’ll not let his men follow me around.’

  She stared down her nose. ‘You think this is some sort of game. Well, it is not. Take me back to my hotel.’

  ‘It is no game, lass. My family’s livelihood depends on it.’

  She stared at the carpet, hiding her thoughts from him, then lifted her head and met his gaze square on. ‘You are using me to get to O’Banyon.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he admitted. ‘But you came at O’Banyon’s bidding, did you not?’ he asked, trying to lighten the mood, yet knowing he sounded just a little bitter. ‘You were using me, too.’

  ‘That is different.’

  ‘How is it?’

  She spun around. ‘You know I work for Jack. What did you expect?’

  The walls were back up. Women. A man never knew where he stood from one minute to the next. From tears to anger in a matter of moments. And this one, while she always gave the appearance of being as strong and bright and hard as a steel blade was far more vulnerable than he had suspected.

  He could kill O’Banyon for putting her in such a position. There was no fondness between her and Jack. He would have sensed it if there was. If she would just let him help her. He stilled at the implication. There were several ways he could do that and only one way was certain. Marriage.

  His chest tightened. His heart gave an odd sort of jolt that wasn’t all that unpleasant. Still, there was no reason to think she would accept. And to say anything right now would jeopardise his negotiations with O’Banyon. If it made her more comfortable to keep him at a distance, to pretend nothing significant had happened between them, he would play along. For now.

  He shook his head at her with an rueful look. ‘I expected nothing and got far more.’ He went over to her, bringing her to her feet, ‘Let us not argue. The evening has been a pleasant one for us both, has it not?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling, though her eyes were still misty. ‘It has. Thank you,’ she said and rose up on her toes and kissed him on the mouth.

  A sweet kiss. Lips to lips. Their heads tipping to just the right angle as if they had been kissing all their lives. Her arms snaked up around his neck and the coverlet fell to the floor. The soft swell of her breasts pressed against his chest and blood headed south. Again he was hard. Never had he experienced one arousal after another as if it was she who had command over his body.

  He growled low in his throat and backed her up towards the bed. He lifted his head for a second looking down into her face, her lips rosy from his kiss, her eyes closed, her expression slumberous. Not the sensual pout with which she faced the world, but a soft, almost innocent, expression.

  ‘You had better tell me now if you dinna want this again,’ he managed to say, while cursing himself.

  Her eyes opened. And he could see the longing within them. She gave her head a small shake as if she did not quite believe it, but she also smiled. There was regret in that smile. Something he had not expected to see. ‘I want this,’ she whispered. ‘Before I go.’

  He did not like the word go, but he pushed the feeling aside. He would deal with it later. ‘What do you want?’

  She blinked, looking puzzled even as her hands stroked his face and her fingers slid through his hair, and her gaze fixed on his mouth, encouraging him to kiss her again.

  ‘What do you like?’ he asked, feeling just a little self-conscious. ‘You gave me great pleasure, you deserve the same.’

  Her gaze shot to his face, her lips parted in surprise. ‘Not all men like what I like,’ she said, half in laughter, half in warning.

  He swallowed. Nothing he had heard about had seemed like something he wouldn’t want to experience for himself. ‘How will I know if I don’t try?’

  A pleased and secretive smile cr
ossed her lips. ‘Indeed. Lie down on the bed on your back.’

  He did as bid, aware of his shaft pulsing and standing stiff and straight from his balls. Getting harder by the moment as she looked him over. Her tongue flicked over her lips. And he wondered if she was going to taste him.

  But, no, when she climbed up on the bed she threw one leg over his body and sat facing him, her damp quim resting on his chest. Shudders rippled through his body. Anticipation. Need. His hips lifted of their own accord.

  ‘You must not move. Not a muscle.’

  He frowned. If he did not move, then...

  She reached around behind her and cupped his ballocks in her hand, watching his face as she rolled them in her palm. They grew heavy and hard and ached like the very devil. Unendurable pleasurable pain. When she released him, he squeezed his eyes shut with the strain of not tossing her on her back and thrusting his aching shaft inside her heat.

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured softly. ‘That’s my brave lad. Hold very still.’ She rose up on her knees and shifted backwards. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, reaching for the control that had kept him secure from women’s wiles all these years as he lifted his head to watch her hover over him.

  She stopped, looking at him with raised brows. He let his head fall back on the pillow with a groan. ‘It is not so easy, lass.’

  ‘If it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth it,’ she said with a sly grin. But there was something else on her face. A considering expression, as if this was a test. Of his manhood? If he failed, would she use it as an excuse to push him away? Then he would not fail.

  Her fingers circled the base of his shaft. Unlike his own hand, her fingers arrived unexpectedly, firm and cool. Oh, this was not going to be the least bit easy.

  Vigorously, she stroked him from head to base, over and over. Light flashed behind his eyes and his ballocks tightened. He could not contain his gasp of surprise or the groan as he tried to remain still. Every muscle in his body became rigid with the effort. Even so he found his hands clenching the bed sheets either side of him.

  But when he looked up into her face and saw the smile on her lips, the torture was worth every moment of agony of maintaining control.

  And then she guided him inside her. Her hand was nothing compared to this encompassing heat and tightness. Slowly she slid down his length and rose again. He shuddered at the pleasure she gave him and the urge to rise up to meet her, but somehow he held himself utterly still, his body a bundle of shivering nerves.

  Inner muscles clenched tight around him, pulled at him. He lost his grip.

  ‘Mercy,’ he yelled. He’d lost the battle. He beat at the bed like a wrestler admitting defeat. ‘Charity, please.’

  She leaned over him, raising him by the shoulders to bring his mouth to her breast. He suckled at first one, then the other, and she made those sweet cries he’d heard earlier, little sounds of pleasure while she continued to ride his shaft, moving her hips to her own rhythm, angling him deep into her body, deeper and deeper, tighter and so damned hot, his mind spinning out of control. And then she was upright again, circling her hips in a wild rhythm, and he wanted, he wanted to join her in the dance, but he had given his word he would not.

  He had granted her control of this wild joining. Control. That was what she sought. He must not take it back... Must not move...

  And then...her high keening cry of pleasure ripped through the sound of their gasps and moans. The pull and pulse of silken wet heat around his shaft finished him off. His ballocks pulled up tight and he was spilling and spilling and falling into a void of hot sweet pleasure.

  She collapsed against his chest. And she was still voicing those cries, softly now, but still as if it was too great a pleasure to bear. And there was nothing he could do but hold her close to his thundering heart and breathe as if every breath would be his last.

  * * *

  Banging.

  Someone knocking. ‘Logan,’ a male Scottish voice shouted.

  Charity rolled off the warm body beneath her and hunted around for the sheet, while prodding Logan in one massive shoulder. ‘Someone is at the door,’ she hissed in a whisper.

  Logan cracked an eye and sat up.

  ‘Logan,’ the voice shouted again.

  ‘Tammy,’ Logan muttered. ‘Whist, man, you’ll wake the whole house.’ He slid out of bed and walked to the door and Charity could not help watching him cross the room. Long legs, muscled thighs, slender flanks and tight buttocks. The male grace of him stopped her breath. He didn’t open the door. ‘Is it done?’ he asked in a murmur.

  ‘Aye,’ the lowered voice came back. ‘All safely away.’

  ‘Go then and take your ease, man. You made sure you were not seen?’

  ‘Aye. I came over the roof.’

  Charity felt her eyes widen. And a sneaking cold suspicion spread up from her belly. When Logan turned from the door and saw her watching him, his grin was a little shamefaced.

  ‘What did you do?’ she asked.

  ‘What could I have done? I was with you.’

  The question, along with the roguish smile, gave him away. ‘You used me as a decoy.’

  He strode back to the bed and kissed her on the nose. ‘All’s fair in love and war.’

  Didn’t he realise how dangerous Jack was? ‘What did you do, Logan?’

  ‘I delivered some whisky to a customer who doesn’t like dealing with McKenzie.’

  The effrontery of the man. He didn’t have a fearful bone in his body. Unlike her. She almost laughed out loud despite knowing how angry Jack would be when he realised what had happened. As long as he didn’t think she was part of it. ‘I think it is time I went back to my hotel.’

  His face tightened. ‘Are you sure you want to?’

  She stilled. Then chuckled and patted his cheek. ‘Nice as it has been, Logan, I have to go.’

  With somewhat bad grace, he helped her tie her stays and her gown, and while she put her hair into some sort of order, he dressed. He was still pulling on his boots when she lifted one edge of the curtains to look out into the street. ‘Where exactly are we?’

  He didn’t hesitate. ‘Ten York Place.’

  She spun around to face him. ‘Jack will have to know.’ Blast it, now why did she sound as if she was sorry? She was, but to let him see even that much was folly.

  His expression remained calm, if a little resigned. ‘Tell him what you must.’

  She felt like a traitor. The grime of it clung to her skin. But hadn’t she given him something in return? Something small, to be sure. But something. But she couldn’t help feeling as if the scales all tipped her way. The inner cold that usually kept guilt at bay seemed out of reach. She took a breath. ‘Thank you for a pleasant evening. May I give you some advice before you entertain another woman in your bed?’

  ‘There isn’t going to be another woman,’ he said with irritatingly quiet assurance.

  A small ache tugged at her heart. Relief. Happiness. She pushed the emotions away. It did not matter to her what he did. Could not matter. Her future was tied to Jack O’Banyon. ‘Then it is back to living like a monk for you.’

  He bowed. ‘I will see you on Friday, for the ball. But tell O’Banyon he has until Saturday to make up his mind, or the Gilvrys will be taking their business elsewhere.’

  ‘You still intend on taking me to the ball?’ She could not keep the surprise out of her voice, or the welling joy out of her heart at knowing she would see him again.

  ‘We had a bargain.’

  Of course. His bargain with Jack. But even with that thought the joy remained. A joy that she must quell or it might eat her alive. ‘I’m not sure Jack will care to let the bargain stand after tonight.’

  She had the dubious satisfaction of seeing anger flare in his eyes. And she couldn’t quite help
wondering what he would do if Jack said they would not go.

  * * *

  Dressed in all her finery, Charity waited in her parlour for word that Logan had arrived to carry her off to her very first ball.

  Jack had laughed when she had told him how Logan had fooled his men to get her alone. He had twitted Growler about it in front of her, making her most uncomfortable. Growler had remained stoically silent under Jack’s mockery, but since then his eyes had been harder than usual when they rested on her. As if he would love the chance to pay her back. Or Logan.

  She’d relayed every last detail Logan had told her, even the part about the mysterious pirate. Jack’s eyes had narrowed at that, but he denied knowing who the man might be. Not every last detail, she thought with a twinge. Some things Jack didn’t need to know. Such as being Logan’s first woman. And how he had touched her heart.

  Nor had she told him that Logan knew she was acting as his spy.

  For years, her dream of earning enough to set her free had kept her from sinking into the midden of her life. She would not throw it away because of her own wanton desires. Her longings for a man who would throw her away like so much rubbish when he was done with her. She would not let it happen again.

  Once free of his allure, she had come to her senses. Or tried to, at least. She had tried to convince Jack that they were done with the Gilvrys. Then he announced there was something new he needed to discover. He needed to know where they stored their whisky in barrels. She had tried to refuse and made him furious, but in the end he’d promised her that after tonight, she would never have to see Logan again. And that made her feel sad. And more alone than usual.

  Jack hadn’t said why he needed this additional information. And she hadn’t dared ask. He’d been too close to the edge of his temper.

  A knock at the door heralded her maid. ‘The gentlemen are waiting for you, miss,’ the girl said.

  Mentally, Charity braced herself. It would have been so much easier if she could have met Logan alone. Used her wiles to elicit the final piece of information, but Jack thought Logan would suspect something if they did not attend the ball. And afterwards, when she took him to her bed, she was to ply him with drink to loosen his tongue. And if that didn’t work, at a signal from her, Jack would send Growler.