Rebel Rose

by Debra Glass

  Rose tried to keep her eyes straight ahead.

  “So far, I’ve found the locals friendly.” He grinned. “Very friendly.”

  Hot blood infused her cheeks and she snapped her head in his direction. She parted her lips to speak but his smile stole the words from her mouth.

  “You—” she ground out, unable to think of any retort scathing enough.

  His smile faded slightly. “Don’t think I’m insulting you, Rose. Quite the contrary. I found your hospitality…a welcome respite from the war.”

  Rose stared.

  “Certainly two adults can enjoy the benefits of each other’s company. Do you understand my meaning?” he asked, his voice as low and soft as the leather reins he held in his hands.

  Rose shook. Her thoughts ran wild. “You sound…as if you’ve had experience with this sort of thing before.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  She gasped. “I told you I had not.”

  Mrs. Stewart, one of the staunchest secessionist women in town, stopped sweeping her porch to glare as Rose’s wagon passed.

  Rose nodded curtly to her. Inside, she cringed. “Sir, what happened between us…last night…”

  No lady would ever bring such a subject up but he seemed intent on discussing it so she continued. “I have been without my husband a long time. I threw myself at you.”

  “Yes, I know. For the favors I can provide you.”

  She inhaled sharply. “You know that good and well,” she hissed.

  His gaze dropped to her lips and then lifted once more to her eyes. “But your response was so…amorous that it makes me wonder. Was it favors or sex, Rose? Sex with me?”

  Her channel clenched at the thought. Images of him inside her, behind her, kissing her, claiming her, filled her head. She gripped the edge of the seat to keep from swooning.

  “If that’s what you need to think,” she snapped.

  Again, he let out an infuriating chuckle. “I want to make certain I understand. You’re telling me that you had sex with me because you wanted to, not because you want me to continue issuing you these phony permits?” he asked.

  He’d seen through her. He knew she’d been using the permits as an excuse for her wanton behavior and now he thought she was a…a whore. Rose shuddered but then instantly reprimanded herself. What did it matter what he thought of her? And above all else, why did she care what he thought as long as she got what she wanted and needed?

  Eric flashed a smile at a shopkeeper who was opening his store and then he turned back to Rose. The smile faded from his mouth and eyes. “Answer me.”

  Rose stared, hating him, wanting him. “I don’t care what you think.” She crossed her arms over her chest but when the wagon hit a pothole in the road, she lost her balance and pitched sideways.

  One strong hand caught her arm and he easily prevented her from toppling into the muddy street. His heat scorched her through her mourning black. His fingers dug into her flesh, reminding her painfully of the previous night. He did not let go. Panic welled. People were staring.

  “Answer me, Rose,” he said, his eyes never wavering. “Tell me you want me to come to your bed again. Tonight.”

  Her breath left her lungs in a heated rush. “Yes. Yes, I do. Now, please let me go.”

  Oh God, she’d admitted it and when he finally released his hold on her arm, the tension drained out of her shoulders. What had she done? Why on earth had she admitted she wanted him again? She bit her bottom lip and stared ahead but the thought of opening her bedroom door to him and welcoming him into her bed, her arms and body, filled her with dark, delicious expectation.

  Eric kissed to the horses and snapped the reins, encouraging the animals to quicken their pace.

  In the morning light, her eyes were true green. Clear and honest. But he knew better. She was as practiced at lying as the prostitutes on Smokey Row in Nashville.

  Only this time, he would not be blindsided.

  And tonight, when he joined her in her bed, there would be no illusions between them.

  Chapter Five

  Rueben’s eyes widened as the wagon rolled toward the barn with all six barrels of salt and one bag of flour jostling in the bed. Rose averted her gaze, knowing her face would grow hot with color if she made eye contact with him.

  Eric had practically flaunted their trade at the commissary. Guiding her by the arm, he’d introduced to her to every Yankee in the place and smiled as the rude devils had winked while he walked her around the supply shed asking her what she needed.

  Rose had been so mortified she’d only agreed to take one bag of flour. Now she wished she’d gotten more. They could have used some sugar and cornmeal.

  Eric pulled the reins and dragged the brake into place. In one easy motion, he swung out of the wagon, his black boots kicking up the dust when his feet landed on the ground.

  “We’d better get this salt stored away, Rueben,” Rose said as she stood and began gathering her skirts so she could climb down but her breath caught when she saw Eric’s outstretched arms. She hesitated.

  “Come,” he said motioning to her with his fingers.

  “I can get down myself,” she told him.

  “Nonsense. Why should you risk twisting your ankle when I am offering to assist you?” He snatched her around the waist, half dragging her toward him.

  Rose all but fell into his arms and while a plea hovered on her lips to order him to release her, her body responded differently. Her shoulders softened. Her hands gripped his broad shoulders. Her hips tilted into his body ever so slightly. Wild images of him lifting her and impaling her on his cock the night before roiled in her head. And when he let her slide down his torso until her feet made contact with the ground, Rose’s desire flamed.

  He’d told her in no uncertain terms that he intended to join her in her bed this very night and suddenly, despite everything, she could not wait for that moment to arrive.

  His eyes held her whole before he released her. Rose stumbled a step backward until her spine made contact with the wagon.

  “Careful,” Eric said. The smirk that played on his lips riled Rose but she clenched her fists at her side to keep from lashing out at him.

  He knew exactly what sort of effect he had on her! The hateful bastard.

  Rueben eyed them from where he was busy unhitching the back gate so he could attach the wooden ramp they used to roll the heavy barrels off.

  Eric hopped into the wagon ahead of Rueben. She’d seen both Yankees and Confederate soldiers alike ignore Rueben’s obvious wounds while he labored to complete everyday tasks. Not Eric.

  Rose swallowed, trying to figure out what his ulterior motive could possibly be for helping Rueben and for doing other odd repairs around the house. His kindness stemmed from more than their agreement and Rose could not help but be suspicious.

  Rueben braced himself to climb into the high wagon bed.

  “I’ll get them from up here,” Eric said. “And then we can roll them down together.”

  Rueben’s gaze met Rose’s. She gave him a tiny shrug and gestured with her head toward the barn that doubled as a carriage house.

  As soon as Eric helped put away the first barrel, he would know this had all been a scam. Then what? Would he refuse her any more supplies or would he continue writing her the permits because she allowed him into her bed?

  Despite the chilly October morning, a fresh wave of heat swept up from her loins.

  She couldn’t just stand here gawking and she didn’t want to answer Eric’s questions. Doubtless, he would try to question Rueben about the supplies but Rueben was a damn sight shrewder than anyone knew. He could take care of himself.

  Eric laid the barrel on its side and as the two men rolled it down the ramp, Rose went back inside the house.

  Queenie dried a plate on her apron and slid it into the cupboard. “That colonel sho’ do seem like a nice man.”

  Rose snorted. “He’s the devil and don’t you forget it.”

 
“Bible says the devil was God’s purtiest angel,” Queenie muttered with a grin.

  Rose tilted her head as she watched Eric hop back into the wagon to get a second barrel. “I won’t argue you that, Queenie. Not at all.”

  * * * * *

  Eric dusted his hands on his uniform trousers. “So…Rueben, is it?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Where is all this meat Mrs. O’Kelley wants slaughtered? You don’t have hog one here.” He eyed the bony cow in a stall. “And that old cow doesn’t look fit enough to produce milk, much less eat.”

  Rueben eyed him. “We’d be foolish to keep the livestock where the soldiers could get at it.”

  The man lied without so much as a blink. Rueben was definitely smarter than the average slave. He turned and started out of the barn, limping as he walked. “How’d you get that game leg?” Eric asked.

  “Shiloh.”

  “You were at Pittsburgh Landing?” Eric inquired.

  “Yes Sir,” came Rueben’s short reply.

  “Stray shrapnel?” Eric prodded.

  “Nope.”

  Eric resisted the urge to sigh aloud. Rueben had obviously been instructed to say as little as possible. “An injury? A fall, perhaps?”

  “Nope.” Rueben’s lips clamped shut.

  “Then how?”

  Rueben turned and pinned Eric with a stare that sent an icy shiver up his spine. “When Mr. O’Kelley fell, I took up his weapon and took up killing Yankees where he left off.”

  Eric stared. “I’m certain you were quite fond of your master.”

  “Mr. O’Kelley wasn’t my master. He was my brother.” With that, Rueben turned and walked away.

  * * * * *

  Eric paced. Dinner had been tense. Rose had scarcely said two words to him all evening. Instead, she had sat coiled like a cat ready to pounce. Eric had enjoyed his food and knew that Queenie had prepared an extravagant meal because Rose had shot her a look of disapproval when the succulent fried chicken had been put on the table.

  He’d caught Rose watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking. What was she thinking? He’d give his eyeteeth to know.

  Jezebel.

  He was beginning to think Sherman was right. One moment, Rose was soft and supple, unguarded. The next, she hissed and spat like a cornered feline.

  Eric’s gaze drifted to the doorknob. Just across the hall, she was in her own room. He’d told her he would come to her bed tonight. Would she welcome him or would her door be locked?

  There was only one way to find out.

  And yet, what if he was wrong about her? The fake orders were still in his uniform pocket. He’d carelessly left his jacket in his room, arranging the papers so that he would know if they’d been touched. Although there had been ample opportunity, the papers had not been so much as breathed upon.

  Hoarding supplies was one thing. Spying was something altogether different.

  If he were a gentleman, he would interrogate her about her need to hoard supplies rather than make some sort of sham agreement with her for sex. On the other hand, if she were a lady, she would tell the truth.

  Eric swallowed. He had no illusions. He was no gentleman and Rose O’Kelley was certainly no lady.

  He twisted and looked out the window. A light glowed from the room over the kitchen where Queenie and Rueben lived. There was no one else in the house. Eric inhaled.

  His cock swelled when he recalled how warm and willing she’d been the night before. He wanted that again. He wanted it so badly he was willing to face rejection for it.

  Two strides carried him to the doorway. Two more propelled him across the hallway. Without ceremony, he twisted the doorknob and Rose’s door opened.

  She gasped and Eric stopped short. She stood beside her washstand, washcloth in hand, completely naked with rivulets of water dripping down her legs. There was no mistaking what she wanted.

  A smile pulled at his lips. “You were bathing yourself for me.”

  Her eyes flashed. “What if I was?”

  “Get on the bed.” God, the woman drove him to the edge of reason.

  Her hands shook as she laid her washcloth over the edge of the bowl.

  “Get on the bed, Rose.” This time, it wasn’t a request.

  Avoiding his eyes, she moved to the bed. Eric brushed his hand over his swollen cock as his gaze roamed over every kissable curve of her body. He wanted to bury himself in her sweetness and fuck her into oblivion but somehow, he managed to restrain his impatient libido. It was important that she enjoyed it. He wanted her to enjoy it.

  He wanted to erase every memory of any other man out of her head. He wanted—no, needed—to hear her sigh his name in the dark, to feel her rise to meet his thrusts and to know she thought only of him.

  She climbed onto the bed and sat facing him. How vulnerable she seemed with her jet hair falling over her shoulders to obscure her breasts. He swept it away and admired her.

  Dusky nipples hardened under his gaze. Each breath she took lifted them, enticing him to brush his thumb across one of the succulent peaks. When his hand dropped lower, the soft curve of her tummy tightened. Candlelight illuminated three tiny, silvery marks on her hip. Eric recognized them as the marks of childbearing. He thumbed them and lifted his gaze to hers.

  Had she lost a child? Is that how she knew she was barren? Although he had never known that kind of pain, his heart twisted.

  She shifted and jerked her chin at him. “Get on with it.”

  Holding her gaze, he reached between her legs and explored her folds. Instinctively, she opened her thighs. A tendril of triumph weaved through Eric. He moaned. Get on with it, indeed. Her center was already creamy. Ready. He licked his lips.

  She whimpered when he withdrew his hand but her eyes widened when he brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted her cream.

  The breath left her lungs in a quick rush. “You’re indecent.”

  Ignoring her, he moved closer, parting her knees with his breadth of his thighs. “Spread your legs, Rose.”

  Her legs flew open wide and she dropped back on her elbows as his hand delved again. When he found her opening and pushed inside, her lashes fluttered halfway closed. “How does that feel?” he asked huskily.

  She made a mewling sound.

  “Tell me in words. Tell me how it feels.”

  “Good,” she gasped. “Really good.”

  “You feel like velvet inside. Like warm, wet velvet,” he said.

  Her elbows collapsed so that she lay flat on her back. Her hair framed her face, the balance swirling around her head and meandering in stark contrast over the white coverlet. God in heaven, she was beautiful and voluptuous and Eric knew if he didn’t take her this second, he would explode.

  Still, he waited. He wanted to watch her come undone first. Leaning over her, he tongued one taut nipple and then sucked half her breast into his mouth. She cried out and arched toward him. Fingers threaded into his hair, kneading, pulling, holding his head in place.

  The finger inside her cunny worked in and out and in and out until she was writhing and rocking her hips against his hand. He moved to the other breast and suckled it as well and then she was pushing his head down.

  “Taste me, taste me,” she murmured.

  Eric dropped to his knees and dragged her bottom to the edge of the bed, throwing her legs over his shoulders as he buried his face in the soft sweetness there. She bucked when his tongue circled the hardened nub at her center and then flicked downward between the folds to where his finger slid back into her channel. Spurred on by her reaction, he repeated the motion until he felt the tell-tale flutters around his finger. Her body tensed and her legs stiffened and he latched onto her clit until she breathlessly begged him to stop.

  He wasn’t done yet. He removed his finger and held her thighs in place as he gently kissed her swollen nether lips, wedging his face into her folds so he could lap up every bit of her sweet cream.

  His cock ached and he knew it wou
ldn’t take long to find release. Fighting his own urges, he slowly kissed his way back up her body and then claimed her mouth as he slid inside her.

  She trembled beneath him. One silky calf wrapped around his waist. Eric wanted to plunge into her over and over but he stilled. Her lips nipped at his and her hips rocked up, entreating him without words to continue.

  Jezebel…

  Had she moved like this under another man? The thought repulsed him. Angered him.

  He shifted a hand under her bottom and moved her bodily across the bed, following her with one push of his knees. He wanted her in a way he had never wanted another woman. He wanted to own her. He wanted to master her pleasure, to ruin her for any other man save himself.

  Propping on his elbows, he looked down at her. Was it him she saw or merely the means to an end? He needed to know. When he remained still, her forehead furrowed.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “Move! Move inside me.”

  He searched her eyes.

  “Move!” she cried, striking his arm with her fist.

  Memories of Sally rushed into his head. She had been a practiced whore. She had known just how to look at him, just how to entice him. His pleasure had always come first and she had never sought her own in return. He shook his head to dispel the unwelcome images.

  Rose’s flushed face drifted back into focus and Eric realized she was pushing at his shoulders. With a fierce growl, he dropped to nuzzle and nibble her neck while he ground his groin into hers.

  Wild, animalistic moans emanated from deep inside her as she stopped fighting him and clutched his head to her, opening her legs to his violent thrusts.

  Rose clung in an attempt to withstand the crazy physical sensations rolling through her body. Something fused between where his mouth tantalized her neck and her channel and then exploded, sending riotous ripples of pleasure to her toes, her fingertips, her scalp. Her consciousness sank deep within until there was only this insidious bliss, until the world and the war melted away and there was only the peace of mindless physical release. For what seemed like an eternity, she felt as if she were drowning in desire and then, without warning, she surfaced.