Just One Touch

by Debra Mullins

  “I know you were the one who sold Destiny. You knew she was my horse, what she meant to me.”

  Colin gave him a cocky smile. “Oh, yes. You’re right, that was my idea.”

  Rogan let out a roar and leaped at his brother. The two men smashed into a table, sending a lovely vase crashing to the floor. They rolled, and Rogan came up on top, swinging a mighty right straight into Colin’s face. Colin grabbed Rogan by the coat with both hands and flipped sideways, sending his brother tumbling. Colin rolled and came to his feet as Rogan scrambled to his. Rogan came right back swinging, landing blows to Colin’s stomach and ribs.

  Colin staggered backward, coming up against the mantel. He grabbed a Dresden shepherdess and smashed it over Rogan’s head. Rogan stumbled back, shook his head like a wet dog. Colin grabbed the empty whiskey glass and hurled that as well. Rogan deflected the glass with a sweep of his hand, sending it smashing into the fireplace.

  Colin darted behind one of the large, upholstered chairs beside the fire. “I take it this means you won’t lend me the money?”

  Rogan growled and grabbed a poker. Colin ducked behind the chair, then dropped to the floor and shoved the chair at Rogan with his legs. Rogan went down, and the poker skittered across the floor.

  “Perhaps I should take my leave.” Colin hopped to his feet and darted for the door.

  Rogan caught up with him just as he reached the doorway. He grabbed Colin by the coat and slammed him up against the door, holding him there with a merciless hand at his throat. Colin made a croaking noise and clawed at Rogan’s hand.

  “I don’t want to see you around here anymore,” Rogan growled. “You destroyed our family’s legacy, and I won’t have you do the same to mine.”

  Colin gasped, his eyes watering in his reddening face. Working his fingers beneath Rogan’s, he bent back Rogan’s thumb.

  With a howl of pain, Rogan yanked back his hand. Colin sagged, sucking in a breath. Then Rogan slammed him back against the door with his forearm against his throat. “That,” he snarled, “was very stupid.”

  Real fear darkened Colin’s eyes. Rogan smiled grimly, his blood thundering through his veins, his whole body alert for the slightest movement. He pressed just a tad harder against Colin’s throat, reveling in the panic that flickered across his brother’s face.

  “Rogan?”

  Caroline’s soft, feminine voice reached him even though the fury pounding through his veins. He glanced up, saw her standing in the doorway, a look of horror on her face. He glanced back at his brother, at the way he held him pinned to the wall as if he would choke the life from him…

  Rage dissipated in an instant. Horrified, he released Colin and stumbled back a step.

  Slowly Colin slid down the wall as if his legs would no longer hold him and sat on the floor. “I’d forgotten about that black temper of yours,” he croaked, fingering his throat.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” Rogan snapped, then whipped his gaze back to his wife. “Caroline?” He reached out a hand, but she shrank back with a whimper, her eyes widening. “My God, I’m so sorry.”

  When he made to approach her, she shook her head violently, backing up a step. Rogan paused, wanting to touch her, to make certain she was all right. But he saw the way her hands shook, so he stayed where he was. “Caroline, are you all right? Please tell me.”

  She looked at him, her big, dark eyes full of such shock and fear that he felt as if she’d punched him. “You were hurting him.”

  He swallowed hard. “I know. I didn’t mean to.”

  “Our Rogan has a nasty temper,” Colin offered. “Famous for it, in fact.”

  “Shut up and leave while you still can,” Rogan said with quiet menace, never taking his eyes from Caroline.

  “Excellent notion.” Colin hauled himself to his feet and lurched toward the door. Caroline shrank away as he passed her. “Felicitations again, sister-in-law. We shall meet again.”

  “Do you need a doctor?” she asked, stopping him in his tracks.

  Colin turned back to her, surprise lighting his features. “No, thank you. Rogan and I have been at this for years. I do believe I’m used to it.” He grinned, then flipped his brother a jaunty wave before taking his leave.

  Caroline turned back to Rogan, her expression still troubled. “I don’t understand this. Why were you fighting?”

  He shrugged, uncomfortable. “We always do. Always have.”

  “But he’s your brother.”

  “All the more reason.” Rogan sighed. “Look, Colin and I have never seen eye to eye. He and my father…well, they were wastrels, the both of them. They destroyed our family’s business. Now that my father has passed on, Colin has inherited what’s left. He was just looking for money.”

  “I know about your family,” she said. “Even sequestered in the country, one heard stories.”

  “Yes, well.” He dropped his gaze, unable to look at her. “I hadn’t planned for you to meet my family just yet. If at all.”

  “Is what he said true?”

  He gave her a crooked smile but received none in reply. “Which part?”

  “The part where you have a fierce temper.”

  “Yes.” He met her gaze squarely. Better to admit his flaws now than to lie and have her find out the truth later. “Most of the time I can control myself, but under certain circumstances…well, you saw what happened.”

  “Yes.” She glanced around the wreckage of the room. “Will this be a frequent occurrence?”

  “Not if I can help it. My brother tends to bring out the worst in me.”

  “I see.”

  She continued to study the broken statuary, her eyes solemn and her mouth grim. She twisted her fingers together, a sure sign of anxiety.

  “Caroline.” He swallowed hard when she looked at him with those serious dark eyes, eyes that held a hint of disappointment. “I know this has…Damn it all,” he muttered. “Please tell me you forgive me. I couldn’t stand it if you didn’t. Not after all the progress we’ve made.”

  She glanced again over the ruins from the fight. “I was afraid you were going to kill him,” she whispered.

  “So was I.” Shaken by the fear lingering in her eyes, he held out a hand to her. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Caroline.”

  She looked at his hand for a long moment, but didn’t move from the doorway. “I don’t, either.” She gave him a small, sorrowful smile. “Good night, Rogan.” Turning away, she left the room.

  He watched her go, knowing the beast had won this night.

  Chapter 7

  Caroline dismissed her maid and climbed into bed, still unsettled by the side of her husband she had seen tonight.

  Of course she had heard the stories of his temper, such as the night he had almost killed Lord Effingham’s son. It had taken three men to pull him off the fellow and drag him from the tavern where the altercation had taken place. He’d gone to war soon after that, but after he returned, people had once more brought up all the old stories of his past, of the reckless drinking and fighting. Like father, like son, they’d said. And though he had turned his attention completely to his work once he’d returned, the villagers still looked at him askance, still crossed the street when they saw him coming.

  No wonder he didn’t deal well with people.

  She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. Since he’d returned from the war, Rogan had spent all his time at his estate, working to rebuild his family’s legacy. He hadn’t gone out carousing at the local inn or raising hell at various society functions. If anything, except for his occasional wild rides across the countryside in the dead of night, he’d become something of a hermit.

  She knew the feeling.

  She sighed, sweeping her long hair back from her face with both hands, then letting it fall around her shoulders again. This wasn’t how she’d imagined her wedding night to be. As a young girl, she’d treasured the usual romantic fairy tales of a loving husband who would sweep her away to his estate a
nd shower her with attention. After her kidnapping, the idea of a husband had nearly terrified her. How could she possibly allow herself to be so vulnerable to a man after what had happened to her?

  Then she’d met Rogan. Rogan, who seemed to instinctively understand when she needed to be touched and when she needed to be left alone. She couldn’t name another man who would have so calmly accepted her retreat this evening. Most bridegrooms would be banging down the door, demanding their rights. But not Rogan.

  Oh, he wanted her. She’d seen the evidence of that, felt it. If she gave him the word, he’d happily share her bed and make a woman of her. For an instant she reveled in the delicious fluttering in her lower body as she imagined his kisses. But then as the fantasy continued, as she imagined him joining her in bed, removing her clothes, climbing on top of her, the terror rose like a shriek in her throat. She bit it back, but the aftertaste remained.

  No, she wasn’t ready yet to consummate her marriage. But neither had she intended that her wedding night would end in such contention. She had imagined some romantic moments—soft touches, a kiss good night. The spark of desire in Rogan’s eyes, the feeling of safety his strong arms could bring. The knowledge that he understood her situation and would respect the boundaries.

  Instead there had been arguing and a fistfight. What had possessed her to go downstairs when she’d heard the ruckus? Such foolishness from a normally intelligent woman! Would she have stepped between two stallions vying for supremacy in the herd? Of course not. Neither should she have gone anywhere near the two men.

  She splayed a hand across her bosom as she remembered the scene that had met her eyes. Rogan had looked murderous as he held his brother in a chokehold. He was so strong, and he’d been so furious. She’d seen the light of battle in his eyes. But the instant he’d heard her voice, that gleam had faded. His concern had been for her, and she could tell by the agony in his voice that he’d been horrified by what had happened. He’d apologized over and over, tried to comfort her, but she’d been too upset to accept it.

  And so they’d gone to their separate beds, she afraid and he hating himself.

  Was this the memory she wanted when she thought of her wedding night years from now?

  She flung aside the covers and slid from the bed. Her hands trembled as she slipped on her wrapper, but she was determined. Years from now, she would not look back on her wedding night with sadness. She would make a memory worthy of cherishing this night.

  Rogan lay in bed, his hands folded behind his head as he stared at the ceiling and contemplated the evening. He couldn’t have made a worse muck of things if he’d tried his hardest.

  Then again, just being Rogan Hunt seemed to be enough to ruin most good things anyway.

  He’d had some notion in his head of a quiet dinner with his wife—and maybe a kiss or two—before sending her to bed. Since the incident in the carriage, he’d recognized the importance of getting her used to his touch. She was like a mare that had been abused, skittish and distrustful. But as with a mare, kindness and tender care would eventually lead her to accept his touch. The trick was in allowing her to retreat when she felt she needed to and showering her with warm affection when she did venture into his arms. Eventually the pleasure she found with him would take precedence over the terrible memories of her kidnapping, and they would be able to have a true marriage.

  If his bloody temper didn’t chase her away before they reached that point.

  What the hell had he been thinking, to start a fight with Colin with his bride in the house? Then again, to be honest, thinking rarely played a part in his interactions with his older brother. His instincts always told him to hit first and listen to explanations later. It had been that way ever since he could remember; his family communicated as much with fists as they did with voices—and usually raised voices at that.

  There were times when he truly hated his family. His mother had gotten fed up with the lot of them and run off with a lover years ago. In the meantime, his father had proudly taught both his sons everything he knew—where the best ale was to be had, who was a Captain Sharp and who was a ripe pigeon for the plucking in a game of cards, and which brothels tended to provide disease-free and amenable companionship. Adoring his father and older brother, young Rogan had eagerly followed in their footsteps.

  Sir Quentin had also taught his sons to fight and defend the family’s pride, especially when their Irish heritage was insulted. Rogan had especially taken those lessons to heart.

  Now his father was dead and there was only Colin. Aside from Caroline, Colin was his only family, and he wished him to the devil. He had managed to make a life for himself away from the chaos of his father’s legacy, and he didn’t need Colin stirring things up again.

  A soft knock at the connecting door startled him. Before he could say a word, the door opened and Caroline slipped into the room.

  Astonished, he pushed himself into a sitting position. “Caroline? Is something wrong?”

  Closing the door behind her, she turned to face him, twisting her fingers in that way that told him she was nervous. She wore a modest white nightdress and wrapper, and her dark hair flowed loose over her slender shoulders to her waist. He itched to touch it, to bury his hands in the silky mass, to feel it sweep across his bare flesh. His body responded to the vivid image, and he bunched the covers in his lap.

  “Caroline?” he prompted again. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” The word came out in a bit of a croak. Her eyes widened as she took in his bare chest. “I just wanted to…um…say good night.”

  “Didn’t we say good night downstairs?”

  Crimson swept into her cheeks. “You’re right. We did. I’m sorry for…” She turned and fumbled for the doorknob.

  “Caroline, no, wait.” He wanted to go to her, but he knew the sight of a naked—and aroused—man would only send her running faster.

  She paused, then took a deep breath. “You’re right,” she said, still facing the door. “We did say good night downstairs, but that’s not good enough.”

  “It’s not?” He glanced at his robe draped over the chair across the room and wondered if he could get to it without sending his wary bride into a fit of vapors.

  “No.” She bent her head as if gathering strength, then straightened up and turned back to him. “What happened downstairs is not how I would remember my wedding night.”

  Her bravery touched him even as her words sent hot lust straight to his loins. “I’m sorry for ruining it for you.”

  “No.” She took a step toward him, then stopped. “No, that’s not why I came.”

  “So you’re not—” He stopped, searched for the right words. “Caroline, are you still afraid of me?”

  “Yes. And no.” She swept her hair back over her shoulder in an impatient gesture that for some reason struck him as both sweet and arousing. “I’m not upset about what happened downstairs anymore. But I am still the way I was…um…before.”

  “I see.” He waited for her to elaborate, but she said nothing more. They simply looked at each other, the length of the bedroom—and the bed—between them.

  Caroline began to fidget, switching from one foot to the other, and twisting her fingers again. Every movement shifted her clothing, granting him delicious glimpses of her delicate curves beneath the fine material. He clenched his fingers in the bedcovers. He wanted to explore her body, the softness of her skin, the elegant length of her neck, the subtle feminine secrets hidden beneath the nightdress. He imagined burying his face in her fragrant hair as he claimed her as his wife.

  “Rogan?”

  Her hesitant tone distracted him from his fantasy. “Hmm?”

  She swallowed hard and dropped her gaze. “Do you…I mean, are you…” She waved a hand, words failing her. “…dressed…under the covers?”

  His mouth twitched with amusement. “No, I’m not.”

  “Oh.” Her blush deepened, and she looked everywhere but at him.

  He
shrugged. “I was in bed when you chose to visit me, love, and that’s how I sleep.”

  “Of course. You sleep…” Her gaze touched on his chest again. “Anyway, I didn’t want there to be bad feelings between us. So I’ll just go back to my room.” She reached behind her for the doorknob, never taking her eyes off him.

  “Perhaps a kiss good night?”

  She literally jumped with surprise. “Pardon?”

  “A kiss. We’re married now, Caroline. It’s perfectly acceptable behavior.”

  “Of course it is.” She shook her head and let go of the doorknob. “I’m acting like a ninny.”

  “You’ll have to come over here.” He couldn’t resist a wicked grin as he added, “Or I could come over there.”

  “No.” She took a step toward the bed. “No, you’d better stay there.”

  “Do you trust me, Caroline?”

  “I think so.”

  He held out a hand. “Then come here and let me kiss my bride good night.”

  The way he said the words “my bride” sent a flush of heat through her body. He patiently held out his hand, summoning her with nothing more than that sinful smile, his dark hair rumpled from the pillows and his eyes gleaming with the light of temptation. Slowly she made her way across the room, becoming more and more aware of his large, male body sprawled beneath the bedclothes. She stopped beside the bed, her gaze dropping despite herself to the bare expanse of muscular chest and shoulders only inches away.

  “Caroline.” The word wrapped around her like a caress as he took her wrist in his hand. “Come closer.”

  She did, enticed by the knowledge that he was naked beneath the sheets. That he was her husband and there was nothing wrong with them being together like this. Yet at the same time she didn’t want to get too close. Didn’t want things to get out of control. But then she found herself studying the line of dark hair that arrowed down the middle of his flat stomach, disappearing beneath the coverlet. She flexed her fingers, wishing she had the courage to touch.