by C. J. Archer
Her breath released in jagged puffs. She tipped her head back and rested it against his chest. Beneath his palm, her heart fluttered quietly like a small caged bird seeking release. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes. He circled his arms around her and kept her close against him, her head tucked neatly under his chin. Everything felt right, perfect. They were exactly where they were meant to be—together. James would understand.
He had to.
He held her. Just held her. And she let him.
Then everything shattered.
The door smashed back on its hinges. Treece barreled through, sword raised and yelling, his men at his heels. More men banged on the front door, shouting for it to be unlocked.
Bloody hell.
CHAPTER 15
Rafe shoved Lizzy behind him and she stumbled. By the time she recovered, Rafe had drawn his sword and engaged Treece and two others in a duel. She scrambled to her feet, grabbed a knife, then backed out of the kitchen.
But another two men broke through the front door, shattering the wood and sending splinters onto the rushes. She glanced over her shoulder. Rafe had already dispensed with one attacker. He lay bleeding on the kitchen floor.
“Rafe!”
“I see them,” he said, parrying Treece’s blade. “Come close.”
She did, one eye on the other men approaching from the front door.
“Up on the table,” Rafe said.
She climbed up and kicked out as one of the constables lunged for her feet. He reeled back and swore.
Rafe jumped over a blade as it struck at his legs. He landed on one foot and kicked Treece on the side of the head with the other.
Treece fell back and slumped against the wall. The two remaining men hesitated when they saw their leader on the floor, his eyes rolling up into his head.
Rafe dropped and caught Lizzy around the waist. He helped her off the table and together they raced out the back door. Only one man followed, but when he glanced over his shoulder and saw his fellow constables hadn’t joined in the chase, he gave up. Lizzy wasn’t surprised. Only a fool would have hunted a man like Rafe on his own.
She ran as fast as her skirts allowed and followed Rafe through small, crowded alleys, behind houses, over fences. When they reached the river she had to slow down or her heart would have burst through her ribs.
“Where are we going?” she said between gasping breaths.
He shrugged as he scanned the area. She still held his hand and could feel the alertness rippling through him.
“I know where,” she asked. “But it’s best we wait until dark.”
“Can you keep moving until then? It’s too dangerous to stay in one place long.”
She nodded. “It’ll help if I change into men’s clothing.”
They set off along the river until the houses grew fewer and the streets became muddier. It had begun to rain lightly, so there was no washing out to dry. They peeped into windows and finally found an empty kitchen with hose and a jerkin drying near the fire. Rafe crept in, took them, and turned his back to keep watch while Lizzy dressed behind the milk house. They left her women’s clothes behind and set off once again, circling back the way they’d come.
The urge to leave London entirely wasn’t as strong as Lizzy thought it would be. They could do it but she entertained the thought for only a moment before dismissing it. She couldn’t desert her parents, her friends, or James, and she did not want to be running away her entire life, never able to stay in one place long lest the authorities find them. They had to clear their names, once and for all. Rafe never suggested the idea to her.
Night finally came and she led him through darkness lit only by the occasional lamp outside the better taverns or brothels. Most folk had returned home but some revelers remained and the cool evening air was filled with bursts of their laughter and talk.
Soon the Rose loomed like a wide, squat castle tower. Lizzy and Rafe kept to the shadows as they circled the theatre and spotted two men watching each entrance.
“I’ll remove them,” Rafe said but Lizzy held him back.
“I have a better idea.”
She led him to the Bankside, the street running along the south bank of the Thames, an area renowned for its brothels. She chose one with a clean stoop—as good a method of choosing a brothel as any—and hired a girl from the thick-necked, black-toothed man who greeted them. He glanced at Rafe, eyebrows raised, but Rafe merely shrugged and handed him the dagger he kept strapped to his forearm as payment.
“I want it back,” Rafe said.
“Aye,” the man nodded, running his hands over the carved bone handle. “When you pay me in coin.” He filled a small leather pouch with money from a locked coffer and handed it to his whore.
Outside, Lizzy gave the woman her instructions and Rafe asked for her hairpin. She gave it to him and he sent her on her way. Lizzy and Rafe returned to the copse of trees near the theatre and watched as the constable stationed at the back door was led away by an amorous whore with enough money in her purse to get him drunk.
Lizzy and Rafe climbed the steps to the tiring house and Rafe used the hairpin to open the lock. They snuck inside and she led him through the darkness up to the storeroom, where she collapsed onto a stool. She put her head down on the central table and allowed a small sob of exhaustion to escape.
“My wig,” she groaned. “I left it at the prison and Treece’s man must have seen me leave. He must have followed me to the house then collected Treece and the others. I led him straight to us!” What a fool! Perhaps if she hadn’t been so angry with Rafe or worried about James or distracted by Rafe’s touch…No, there was no excuse. She buried her face in the crook of her arm.
“Hush, Lizzy.” Rafe’s cool, steady hand rested against the back of her neck. His fingers teased her hair and loosened it from the pins. It tumbled down her back and across her shoulders. “It’s not your fault. None of this is.”
“But—”
“Shh.” His fingers massaged her scalp, the gentle rhythm lulling her. She was tired and everything ached but she wasn’t ready to sleep. Not with his body pressing into her back, solid and comforting, and his heavenly fingers working like magic.
He knelt down beside her and kissed her shoulder. “Do not worry,” he whispered. “I will end this.”
He said it with such conviction that she would have believed him if the situation weren’t so dire. She turned to face him and could just make out the swirl of desire in his eyes by the moonlight coming through the window. “Oh, Rafe,” she murmured. “It’s all so hopeless.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “It will be all right. I will end this. Trust me.”
She did. With her life, her fears…her heart.
She held his face gently in her hands and kissed him lightly on the lips. He responded with a harder, more urgent kiss that quickly warmed her all the way through to her bones. Her skin tingled with it, every part of her sang an exquisite tune as he dragged her to him and pressed against her. Hard. Fierce. Unashamed.
He kissed her chin, her throat, and that place beneath her ear that made her want to both giggle and sigh at the same time. Heat spiraled down her spine to her inner thighs as he unhooked the fastenings of her jerkin then unlaced her shift and freed her breasts. They ached with fullness. Her nipples tightened. She pushed herself into his hands and he massaged, his thumbs gently strumming the nubs until she could stand it no longer and had to have more of him. Had to see him. Touch him like he was touching her.
She removed his jerkin and snaked her hand inside his shirt. He sucked air between his teeth as she teased his nipple. He tipped his head back and she licked the skin at his throat because she wanted to know what he tasted like there.
Delicious. Spicy. All man.
He groaned low in his throat and his eyelids fluttered closed. “You will be the undoing of me,” he murmured.
She didn’t have the wits to understand what he meant. All she knew was that she had to see
him, have him, possess him. She pulled his shirt over his head and drank in the sight of his bare chest. It was too dark to see him in detail, so she used her fingers to trace every sleek muscle, every hard contour, and commit them to memory. She would always have those.
But it wasn’t enough. She had to taste him there too. She flicked a nipple with the tip of her tongue. His breath hitched. She grinned against his skin.
“Wicked wench,” he growled and scooped her up and planted her on his lap. He nuzzled her breasts and her smile vanished, swallowed by her gasps.
Oh God, she was drowning in sensations. Beneath her, Rafe’s length prodded her thigh. “I want to see you,” she whispered. “All of you.”
He gently placed her on the table and stepped out of the rest of his clothes. He stood before her, the moonlight polishing his right side to a soft glow and throwing his left into shadow. His bandaged wound didn’t seem to bother him. He was a magnificent creature. Powerful and beautiful.
Then she looked down.
She congratulated herself on not gasping, not making a single sound, although she felt herself grow hotter. Thank goodness her face was in darkness and he couldn’t see her. It was on fire, like the rest of her. He was quite the sight to behold.
“You can touch it if you want,” he said, amusement edging his voice. He put his hands on his hips and then his member did a very curious thing. It moved. On its own. Well, she hadn’t expected it to do that.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asked.
“No! Not at all. I wouldn’t. I mean, it’s not a laughing matter. It’s very…serious. Your…um…”
“Cock.”
“Do I have to call it that?”
“You can call it whatever you like as long as it doesn’t include the word small.” His teeth flashed white in the darkness.
She grinned. “Very well. Your very large…rod just moved by itself. And when I held you last night, it grew. Does it always do that?”
He leaned closer and placed his hands flat on the table on either side of her. Trapping her. His lips brushed against hers. “Only for you,” he said huskily.
She snorted. “A pretty sentiment.”
“Trust me,” he murmured with a deep, dark rumble, “there is nothing pretty about what I feel for you. It’s primal. Basic. Fierce.” He drew in a deep breath. “I’ve never felt anything like it.” He spoke with wonder in his voice, as if the sentiment had taken him by surprise.
She cupped his cheek and caressed the curve of his lips with her thumb in a futile attempt to catch that tone, so unlike the sure one he always used. He turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand.
Then he stopped, straightened. “Lizzy.” He released a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his body. “We can’t do this. I can’t take you here like this. You’re an innocent. You must wait until your wedding night.”
He began to turn away before he’d even finished and she caught him by his arms. He didn’t shrug her off but she felt him shudder.
“What if I don’t have a wedding night, Rafe?” She hopped off the table and shook him until he looked at her again. “What if we’re arrested first?”
“Don’t.”
“I don’t want to die without knowing—”
“Stop, Lizzy, you’re not going to die. I won’t allow it.”
“We all die sometime, Rafe, and I don’t want to go to the afterlife without knowing you in that way.”
“Me?”
She nodded and hoped he could see it in the moonlight because she suddenly wasn’t capable of speaking. Her throat had squeezed shut. Tears stung her nose and burned her eyes.
“Me,” he said again.
She reached one hand around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss. It was sweet and tentative until she wrapped her other hand around his penis. He groaned against her mouth and deepened the kiss.
She stroked his length, so smooth despite the ridges, and rubbed the droplet seeping from the tip around the tight head. He gasped.
“Your fingers…” he mumbled, “…are sheer torture.”
She grinned against his mouth.
“Lizzy, I won’t be able to stop soon. Do you understand? If you don’t want—”
“I do want. I want you, Rafe, only you.” She wanted him inside her and beside her. Always. She reached around and grabbed his rear. “I’ve been wanting to do that ever since we met.”
He chuckled. “I think, wench, that you are trying to take advantage of me. I feel vulnerable standing here without clothes on.”
“Is that a subtle attempt to get me to disrobe?”
“Not subtle in the least.” He undid her jerkin and tossed it aside. She removed her men’s hose, then he took his time over her garters and stockings, drawing each one down her leg with frustrating slowness.
He kissed her foot, her knee, and trailed tiny kisses up her thigh to her…Oh my! He laughed. “Like that?” he asked.
“Yesssss.” She braced her bottom against the table and dug her hands through his hair, holding him in place. “Do it again.”
“Whatever my lady wishes.” He licked.
She cried out.
He licked again and she bit back another cry. A few more licks and she turned into a quivering mess, her body no longer in her control. She burned all over, hot liquid swirling through her, swamping her, drowning her.
Then everything tightened. Her skin, her breasts, nipples, and especially her nether region all constricted. It was like she was being wound up by his tongue and might unravel at any moment.
Then she did unravel in an explosive way. And it was like a release she didn’t know she needed, waves of pleasure flooding her inside and out, head to toe. Her heart thundered inside her, slamming against her ribs, its echoes pounding through her. She’d never felt so alive, so aware, her senses heightened to every touch, every breath on her sensitive skin.
He stood and cradled her gently against his chest. His heart beat loudly and erratically too, as if in sympathy with her own. He massaged the back of her neck and kissed her hair.
They stood like that for a long time until she caught her breath and her mind began working again. “Was that supposed to happen? I mean, were you supposed to do it like that?”
She felt him smile against the top of her head. “Did you like it?”
“Yes!”
“Then I was supposed to do it like that. And I will again. Every day, if you’ll let me.”
“Oh, I’ll let you. But now it’s your turn.” She reached down between them and gripped him. “Am I doing it right?”
He sucked in air between his teeth. “I don’t think you’re capable of doing it wrong.”
She tugged and teased and marveled at how big it grew in her hand. He dipped his head to hers for a kiss and gripped her hips. His breathing grew strained and sweat dampened his brow. Lizzy closed her eyes and listened to the thrum of his heart, the rhythm of pleasure through his body. It drove her to distraction, made her nerves jangle.
“I want you inside me.”
He made a small sound in the back of his throat. A protest? “Are you sure?” he rasped.
“Very.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Then don’t think.”
His fingers dug into her hips. “God help me, I can’t say no to you.” He picked her up and lay her down on the table. He rose above her and pressed the tip of his length into her.
“Stop?” he whispered in her ear.
“No!” It was the last thing she wanted to do. She widened her legs and arched her back, pushing her breasts up.
He sucked one until she could stand it no longer. “Now,” she whispered. “Take me now.”
He groaned and pressed the tip of his hard length inside her again. He set a slow, steady rhythm that seemed to be designed to drive her mad. She rocked her hips and he slipped farther in with a moan of pleasure. He quickened his pace. She matched it with another thrust and a sharp pain pierce
d her.
He stopped and covered her cry with his mouth, kissing her until she relaxed again. Gently, gently, he pushed farther in, all the way until he was buried deep inside her. Some distant part of her was amazed that she could take him to the hilt, but that thought was quickly shattered by an intense pressure building inside her. Not like when he’d licked her, not explosive and liquefying, not as intense, but just as powerful in its own way.
Above her, Rafe grunted once, twice, then roared. A great shudder tore through his body and he tipped his head back. She wished they’d lit candles. She wanted to see him in that moment, see what pleasure looked like on his face.
When he finished, he rolled off to the side and lay next to her on the table. She nestled into him, wanting to keep him close. Being together felt so…right. So wonderful. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair. Then his hand stilled. He groaned.
“What is it?” she asked, half-rising so she could look at him in the moonlight.
He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye. “I should have pulled out. I shouldn’t have—”
“Shh,” she said, stroking his cheek with her knuckle. “It doesn’t matter if your seed is planted inside me now.”
“You’re not going to mention dying again, are you?”
“No. I thought we could get married after this is over.” She felt shy again all of a sudden, awkward. She blushed heavily. Held her breath.
He linked his fingers through hers and kissed the tips. It was difficult to tell but he appeared to be blinking rapidly. “Yes,” he said simply.
She breathed again. Smiled.