by Debra Glass
Rose’s gaze clashed with Rueben’s. “I don’t need reminding of that either.” She whirled and went back into the house.
* * * * *
Greasing the pump was something Rueben could have easily done but Eric was out to disarm the surly Southerners. He knew from his experience here that if he could win over the servants, they would win Rose over for him—not that it mattered. She had made an agreement with him. An agreement he intended to keep—soon.
There was one thing he did understand. There was a difference between a willing woman and an eager woman. Before he was done with her, Rosalie O’Kelley would be the latter.
Besides, Rueben was right. There were several odd jobs that needed the attention of an able man and Eric liked staying busy.
He’d noticed the tell-tale circles on the ceiling in his bedroom. Given that, he’d been surprised when she seemed angry that he’d done the much-needed repairs to the roof—until he’d overheard her comments to Rueben about her deceased husband.
Eric knew all too well what it was like to have to pick up and keep going when someone who’d taken care of you had died. When his father had passed away, Eric had been forced to mature before his years. He’d been obligated to take on responsibilities for which he hadn’t been ready.
Here Rose was—a woman with two incapable servants—and a bevy of chores only someone with skill and brawn could accomplish.
It was no wonder Southerners resorted to plying their wares to get their hands on otherwise unobtainable goods.
His thoughts hearkened back to Rose standing on the back porch in her dressing gown. He wondered if she realized there was the tiniest gap just under the fist she held against her heart. He wet his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. Even through that gap, he’d seen the luscious swell of one of her breasts. He’d love a mouthful of that succulent flesh.
Even though spite had flashed in her eyes, Eric had not missed the fact that she could not look him directly in the eye. He would have thought her bashfulness was a result of the fact she’d been dressed in a robe but she had been just as coy at supper the night before.
“Hmm,” he voiced, unable to quell a grin. What could the lovely widow be thinking?
* * * * *
Rose could not sleep. Instead, she stared into the shadows, her thoughts consumed with the man who slept in the next room.
When she had gone to him to request the permit, he had shown about as much interest in her as a stalk of corn. But he’d come here to her house and made mention of her offer. Last evening, his eyes had roamed all over her body. And this morning…
Before he’d gone to attend army matters at the college, he’d done all sorts of odd repairs that she and Rueben hadn’t been able to see to since Billy’s death.
The sight of the colonel with his shirt sleeves pushed up, his clothes straining against the taut muscles in his back and thighs welled in her mind’s eye. Rose dragged in a rough breath.
He’d even brought meat for their supper tonight and fresh eggs for tomorrow’s breakfast.
When they’d first met, he’d been entirely too quarrelsome. What had changed? His current demeanor did not make sense. That first day, he’d hardly looked at her. Now his gaze caught hers at every chance, his eyes holding hers as if in a lover’s embrace.
Rose grappled to make sense of it all.
In fact, he hadn’t shown any interest in her at all until he’d seen her after a long day of cleaning, exactly when she looked her worst.
He’d touched her that day.
Filling her lungs with air, she rubbed her wrist where his fingers had brushed her skin. When he had made contact with her, a jolt of liquid fire had shot through her limbs and pooled between her legs. Rose knew something sinister and perilous lurked in that touch but she didn’t have the power to resist him. For a moment, she’d thought he might drag her against him and press a kiss to her lips. Even now, as she imagined him doing just that, she knew she wouldn’t have stopped him, even if she hadn’t made him a scandalous offer.
Rose drew in a long, slow breath. Tendrils of desire snaked lazily through her. What would it feel like to have his mouth hard and hot and hungry on hers? To have him inside her?
She’d never known any man other than her husband in the Biblical sense. But she knew her own touch and she knew how wonderful she could make herself feel when she was alone and hidden under the covers.
Rose dragged up her nightgown and circled her fingertips over her clitoris. The handsome colonel looked capable of touching her this same way, of bringing her to the same ecstasy to which she brought herself.
Her heart beat in her throat as she opened her legs just slightly, just far enough to slide her fingertips through her already damp folds. Rose thought about all the things Billy had done to her. Unspeakable things.
Since Billy’s death, Rose had fantasized about a faceless, nameless stranger doing such things to her.
Now the stranger had a face. And a name.
At first Rose had thought it was shameful to enjoy having a man kiss her between the legs. But now…
Oh, now Rose imagined looking down to see the colonel’s wealth of blonde hair between her legs as his mouth brushed her there. Desire rushed over her and her lashes fluttered closed as she pretended her fingers were the colonel’s tongue.
A rough breath left her lungs. Oh yes, you Yankee bastard. Taste my cunny.
Her fingers worked faster and faster and—
Without warning, a knock sounded on the front door downstairs. Rose jolted onto her elbows and listened in the darkness.
The doorknob rattled.
Someone’s trying to get in the house! Rose’s heart thundered. She eased out of the bed and pulled on her dressing gown. Who could be trying to get in at this hour? She hoped to God it was not a Confederate refugee trying to hide from the Yankees.
The pounding shook the house again. Adrenaline raced through her veins as she twisted her doorknob. She winced when the hinges emitted a high-pitched squeak. On shaky legs, she moved to the top of the stairs.
The colonel’s door was closed. She debated awakening him but the consideration that it might indeed be a Confederate on the run at her door prevented her. Clinging to the banister, she stole down the stairs, craning to see who was at her door.
Was there no moon out at all? It was pitch black outside and in.
When Rose reached the bottom step, an unfamiliar face suddenly pressed against the sidelight window. A scream tore from Rose’s throat.
“Open up, missy!” an obviously inebriated Yankee demanded.
Rose shrank against the wall while her brain raced for something she could use as a weapon if he were to gain entrance into her house.
“Open up!” he yelled again and at that instant, light appeared from the top of the stairs.
Rose’s gaze shot to the colonel who stood holding a lamp aloft and wearing nothing but a pair of barely fastened trousers. As he descended the stairs, Rose saw he carried his pistol in his other hand.
“Go to your room,” he ordered as he swept past her on the stairs.
Rose hesitated but only for a second. If the drunken Yankee also had a weapon, she didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire. Gathering up her nightgown and robe, she rushed up the stairs and pulled Billy’s pistol out from under her bed.
Rueben had taught her how to shoot it and she did not doubt she could and would do so if she needed to. Her hands shook as she ventured back toward her bedroom door.
“What’s your name, soldier?” Skaarsberg demanded.
The soldier said something Rose could not make out through the closed front door.
“You’re at the wrong house. Be off or I’ll have you court-martialed,” Skaarsberg ordered. “Don’t show your face back here. Do you understand?”
Rose blew out the breath she had not realized she’d been holding. She slipped Billy’s pistol in her dresser drawer as she heard Skaarsberg start up the stairs.
The knowled
ge he was coming to her room swamped her with terror. Minutes earlier, she had been in her bed with her hand between her legs imagining him doing the most disgraceful things to her and now she was about to face him. Shame heated her cheeks. She shook, not so much from the fear of the man who had tried to get in her house, but at her own dark desires.
Skaarsberg appeared in the doorway and Rose stifled a gasp.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded, unable to prevent her gaze from riveting to his bare chest. Illuminated by the light of the lamp, he looked sculpted by one of the masters. Perfect. Hard. Strong. Capable.
Her mouth went dry.
He placed the lamp and his pistol on her dresser. “I don’t think he’ll be back.”
Rose nodded again. Why couldn’t she speak? And why, oh why couldn’t she take her eyes off him. She hugged her arms to try to stop herself from trembling.
In two steps, he had her in an embrace. Rose stiffened as awareness of him threatened to overwhelm her.
“You’re shivering,” he said.
Everything inside Rose urged her to open her arms, to return his embrace, to feel his warm skin under her palms. Somehow, she resisted.
His hand swept her hair back from her cheek and Rose tilted her head back to look into his eyes.
“Has he bothered you before?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.
Rose shook her head.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “He won’t trouble you again.”
Rose swallowed. Her gaze fell to his lips—the same lips she had envisioned giving her the greatest pleasure in the world when she’d touched herself just moments earlier. Instinct took over and she uncurled her fist and brushed his chest with the back of her fingers.
It was the merest touch. Any other time it might have been construed as an accidental touch.
Not now.
The colonel sucked in a breath and then all at once, his mouth was on hers, his lips bruising hers in their intensity. Rose melted against him, opening to admit his tongue. One of his hands swept down her back and the other held her head in place as he ravaged her mouth.
Rose could hardly believe it was happening. She’d thought about this. She’d wanted it and now he was kissing her and she did not want him stop. He was a hateful bastard and she despised everything for which he stood but in sharp contrast, she felt that her passion was somehow safe with this man.
All rational thought fled and was replaced with desperate yearning.
Take me. Take me now. Her hands explored his chest, his shoulders, his back. She arched against him, wanting, needing him to assuage this wildfire between her legs.
The hand at the base of her spine ventured lower to cup her bottom and lift and pull her against him. Rose whimpered into his mouth when she felt the sharp stab of his arousal against her abdomen. Now. Oh yes. Don’t stop.
The hand in her hair skimmed down her arm. His fingers flirted with hers and then he took her hand and pushed it between their bodies and into the fly of his trousers.
He groaned. Rose gasped.
His phallus was ramrod hard. Rose’s insides clenched around their own emptiness, aching for him to fill her. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she realized this was wrong. He was her enemy and yet if she committed this most intimate of acts with him, she was not simply doing it because she needed favors from him. She truly wanted him. She more than wanted him. She needed him to fill this hole of loneliness and despair in her soul. She wanted to take comfort and pleasure in the feel and scent of a man’s body—in her own release.
A shudder tore through his back and shoulders. “Rose,” he gasped against her lips. The sound of her name only heightened her desire. She moved restlessly in his arms and lifted her chin to seek his mouth again but he drew away. His hand caught hers, holding it still.
“Rose,” he said again.
Something had shifted. The moment was lost.
He released her and turned away, raking his hand through his hair. “Forgive me.”
“No, I—”
“My behavior has been…ungentlemanly…to say the least. Please forgive me, madam,” he said without looking back.
“But our…our agreement—” she stammered.
Averting his eyes, he left the room and softly closed the door behind him.
Unsatisfied lust raged through Rose’s veins. She couldn’t believe this. He’d brought her to a fever pitch and then walked away. She wanted to scream or to throw something. How dare he!
She backed up until she felt her bed at the back of her legs. Trembling, she sat, her eyes fixed on her closed door. Part of her wanted to go in his room and finish what he’d started. Another part wanted to retrieve the pistol he’d left on the dresser and blow his damn head off.
* * * * *
Eric poured water from the pitcher into the bowl and then splashed it in his face. The cool liquid did little, however, to alleviate the throbbing between his legs. His ball sac felt as if it were about to explode.
Worst of all, every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Rose’s kiss-swollen lips, her nipples, dark and hardened under her thin cotton nightgown and the outline of her thighs. His hands recalled the feel of her heat, of her softness.
He groaned.
Her hair had been as long and silky as he had imagined, a thick raven curtain that framed her heart-shaped face and cascaded in wild rivulets over the shoulders of her white cotton nightgown.
Why had he walked away? His cock was hard and ready. She’d been willing.
Hell, she’d agreed to it!
How long had it been since he’d been with a woman? This was more than lust. He ached for release and there was only one way to ease his need. Well, two ways although one of them was not nearly as satisfying as losing himself in the softness of a willing woman. He still wasn’t sure why he’d stopped.
Some crazy sense of a conscience had attacked. He’d felt as if he were taking advantage of her. He’d been given orders to use any means necessary to get evidence that she was a spy. She’d even made it easy for him. But…
“Oh hell, who are you fooling?” he asked his reflection in the oval mirror over the washstand. He had stopped because a woman had used sex with him to gain his confidence, to trick him into divulging information she could use against the Union Army.
He knew all too well what it felt like to have your trust chewed up and spit out.
Eric dried his face and took a deep breath. He’d left his pistol and the lamp in Rose’s room. In spite of his nagging conscience, leaving the pistol not only gave him an excuse to go knocking on her door again, it also instilled a sense of trust he wanted her to have in him. He wanted her to think he wasn’t particularly vigilant. Still, she was probably furious enough with him to use the pistol.
A tap on his own door startled him.
“Colonel?” Rose’s voice beckoned from the other side.
Eric twisted the knob and opened the door to discover Rose holding the lamp in one hand—and his loaded pistol in the other.
Chapter Four
Rose’s heart thumped against her rib cage. She couldn’t believe she’d stooped to…this.
She moved past Skaarsberg and into the room, placed the lamp and pistol on the top of a chest of drawer and then, hands trembling, she shucked her robe and yanked her nightgown off over her head.
Cool air caressed her nude flesh as her gaze locked with the colonel’s. Her nipples pebbled. This was a bold move but she wanted to make her intentions perfectly clear.
“Rose—”
“I owe you…for the permits. And for the roof and the pump and…for everything,” she said before she lost her nerve.
He hesitated. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “That’s not necessary,” he said but his eyes were already scanning down her body, warming, darkening.
Every nerve in Rose’s being grew taut with anticipation. Would he reject her again or would he accept her offer? She wet her
parched lips with the tip of her tongue. “Believe me, Colonel Skaarsberg, I have never gone this far before but I cannot endure another hard winter—not with Queenie expecting a baby and Reuben lame.”
It wasn’t altogether a fabrication to make him feel sorry for her. There was truth in her statement. But she wanted him. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin, his lips on hers, his body connected to hers.
“Do I seem like the sort of man who would take advantage of a woman in need?” he asked, his voice low, husky.
“I am a woman in need,” she said boldly as she took a step toward him. “I need a man’s touch. I need to feel a man’s arms around me. I don’t care if it is a sin.”
“Rose—” he began but she stopped him.
“No. Don’t speak. Don’t justify this. Please, just don’t deny me.”
“I was only going to ask you to call me by my given name,” he said and dropped his trousers.
Rose gulped as her gaze fell to his thick erection. “I don’t…don’t know your…given name,” she stammered.
“Eric,” he said. Then softer, “Eric.”
She inhaled, exhilarated by the tingles racing up and down her body in the wake of Eric’s caressing gaze. He took a step closer and doubt surged. This was foolish. She should never have acted on carnal impulse. She should get her clothes and go back to her room and forget this ever happened. She should—
She gasped when Eric dragged her against him. Sensation flooded her from head to toe. His heat. His scent. His arousal stabbing her in the belly. His fingers threaded into her hair and he tilted her head back so that he could claim her mouth.
A growl tore from his throat and Rose clung, suddenly afraid of him, of his power. He towered over her and somehow, without his clothes on, he seemed even bigger. One hand whispered down her spine, settled on the small of her back and drew her impossibly closer. She arched, inadvertently lifting her hips to press against his phallus.
The hard sinew and muscle of his arms trembled at her motion.
“Rose,” he murmured his voice but a breath. His hand moved around her body, his touch detonating desire within her. She jolted when he reached between her legs.