The Rogue's Fortune

by Cat Schield

  “Are you okay?”

  “Terrific.” She hadn’t yet opened her eyes, but her lips bore a satisfied curve. She dragged the tips of her fingers up and down his spine. “You?”

  “Never better.”

  Reluctant to disrupt their comfortable intimacy, he rolled them both onto their sides so she was no longer bearing his weight. She snuggled against him, boneless and relaxed, as if she had no intention of moving ever again.

  Which is why her next words came as such a shock.

  “It’s late,” she murmured, her soft sigh whispering over his skin. “I should probably get going.”

  Six

  In the glowing aftermath of their charged lovemaking, Elizabeth and Roark were using very little of his king-size mattress. Clasped in his powerful arms, her legs entwined with his muscular ones, Elizabeth wasn’t sure where her heartbeat stopped and his began.

  “It’s late,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Stay.”

  His lips moved against her temple in a contented fashion, mirroring her profound satisfaction. It was going to be torture to leave this moment of pure bliss. But to linger would open her up to hopes better left unexplored.

  “Look, this was nice.” So very nice. “But I think it’s better if I go.”

  Elizabeth heard the reluctance in her voice and winced. He was going to get the idea that she didn’t want to leave. And that would lead him to suspect other things. Like the fact that every second she spent in his company she fell a little further beneath his spell.

  “If you insist on leaving, I’ll take you home.” With a fond hug he released her and shifted toward the edge of the bed.

  She shivered at the loss of his warm skin. “You don’t need to do that.”

  “If you think I’m going to let you wander around the city alone at this time of night, you’re crazy.”

  Her heart did a silly little flip at his chivalry. Not one of the men she’d dated previously would have left a warm bed to escort her home. “I wasn’t going to wander around. I was going to take a cab back to my apartment.”

  “At 4:00 a.m.”

  “You say that as if I haven’t done it before.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You make a habit out of heading home at this hour?”

  She could see where his mind had gone. He was trying to ascertain how often she’d spent half the night with a man and then headed home in the quiet hours before dawn. Her chin nudged upward.

  “I am an event planner. That means I stay for hours after a party winds down. New York is the city that never sleeps. Sometimes that means I don’t either.”

  “I’m starving.” He tossed the covers to the foot of the bed, exposing both of them. “Let’s get out of here.”

  His abrupt change of subject was almost as startling as the rush of chilly air across Elizabeth’s warm skin. She squawked in protest, but Roark was already off the mattress and striding toward his discarded clothes.

  She forgot all about being cold, and about her own nudity at the sight of all those amazing naked muscles that rippled beneath his skin. A purr rose in her throat. The man was a work of art.

  He glanced back and caught her staring at him. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m not going to let you out of bed for a week.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks as he perused her naked body. She slid off the bed and walked toward him. He’d already donned pants and shirt, but looked open to removing both if she insisted.

  The purr rumbling in her chest intensified as she slid her arms around his midsection and hugged him. The move seemed to shock him because it took a couple heartbeats before his arms circled her.

  With her cheek resting against his broad chest, she relaxed into the steady thump of his heart. “I really enjoyed myself tonight. Thank you.”

  She felt as much as heard his sigh. He tightened his arms.

  “The night’s not quite over.” But he made no move toward the bed. The moment wasn’t about sex. He seemed to get that. None of the other men she’d dated would have. With a gusty sigh he dropped a kiss on her head and pushed her to arm’s length. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

  In ten minutes they were settled into a cab and heading uptown. Roark had his arm around her shoulders. Elizabeth snuggled into his side, delighted that he was sharing his heat with her. The temperature had dropped. Last night’s slush had become rock-hard ice, uneven and treacherous beneath her four-inch heels.

  Fifteen minutes later, the taxi stopped on Fifth Avenue in front of an elegant building. The entire block was residential.

  Elizabeth scanned the area. “What are we doing here?”

  “Breakfast.” He tapped her on the nose, eyes dancing at her confusion.

  “I don’t see a restaurant.”

  “That’s because there isn’t one.”

  Roark paid the driver and stepped out of the cab. Elizabeth shrank from the hand he offered her.

  He regarded her wryly. “Don’t you trust me?”

  Elizabeth pondered the loaded question even as she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “I think you enjoy keeping everyone guessing.”

  “Perhaps I do.”

  With a gusty sigh, she resigned herself to being surprised by whatever he had in mind. Her curiosity increased as he nodded at the doorman and escorted her into the building without being announced.

  They disembarked from the elevator on the top floor and he strode into the penthouse as if he owned it. At this hour, the lights were off, and the space had a vacant vibe.

  “Who lives here?” she whispered, reluctant to disturb whatever ghosts lingered about.

  “Mrs. Myott, she takes care of the place.”

  Roark flipped a light switch and illuminated the foyer. The gleaming wood floor of a long, wide gallery led the way into the apartment. A large fortune in artwork kept watch as Elizabeth let Roark usher her forward.

  “And is this Mrs. Myott going to call the police when she notices us prowling around?” She stopped short in front of a painting. “That’s a Monet.”

  “Yes.” Roark’s hand applied pressure on the small of her back, urging her on. “The kitchen’s this way.”

  Elizabeth put her weight into her heels and refused to budge. “I’m not taking another step until you tell me whose apartment this is.”

  Roark shot her a mischievous grin. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  She let her raised eyebrows provide the answer.

  “It’s mine.”

  Another piece of the puzzle that was Roark Black snapped into place, but the picture wasn’t any clearer.

  “Yours?” This time Elizabeth was too shocked to resist when he nudged her into motion. “But you live in Soho.”

  “This is where I grew up.”

  “It’s wonderful.” The apartment’s red damask wallpaper, antique furnishings and ornate marble fireplace might be the polar opposite of the white walls and contemporary furniture of Roark’s loft, but the marble lions flanking the entry into the living room revealed where he’d come by his love of history and antiquities. “Why don’t you live here?”

  It was just a tiny flinch, little more than a twitch near his left eye, but Elizabeth noticed and realized that hidden beneath Roark’s good-humored facade lay a thin layer of anxiety.

  “Because I like my loft better.”

  “Why don’t you sell it?”

  “Want a tour?”

  Once again he’d avoided a direct answer to her question. From the grin curving his lips as he imparted a tale about his boyhood antics, she could tell he was fond of the apartment. Good memories had been made here. But during one brief glance he shot her way, she spied melancholy deep in his eyes.

  She could relate to the sadness. Her happy memories of her sister were intertwined with the aching reality that she’d never see Stephanie’s face again or hear her laugh. They’d never stay up late talking about Elizabeth’s job or the latest antics of Stephanie’s book club members.
/>   “And this was my bedroom.”

  Lost in thought, Elizabeth realized she’d missed a chunk of the tour. “Nice.” She followed her comment with a grin. “Has it always looked like this?”

  The large room, wallpapered in rich brown, was not exactly how she’d decorate a boy’s room. A bed, canopied in heavy gold curtains dominated the wall opposite three large windows. The ceiling had been painted a dark turquoise, the color picked up in the two wing chairs flanking the heavy marble fireplace.

  “I think it has looked like this since my grandfather bought the place.”

  Elizabeth rolled her lips in to contain a smile. “Not exactly your taste, is it?”

  “No, but the bed’s comfortable.” And before she caught his intent, he swept her up in his arms and dropped her in the middle of the mattress. “When I was a teenager, I spent a lot of time imagining what it’d be like to have a girl in this bed.”

  Her thoughts melted into puddles of incoherence as he eased himself down on her and captured her mouth in a sweet, sexy kiss. Sliding her fingers into his hair, she lost herself in the feint and retreat of his tongue as it tangled with hers.

  Despite the long hours they’d spent together, her desire for him rekindled, but he seemed perfectly content to take his time exploring her mouth in slow, tender kisses that awakened more of a tumult in her heart than in her loins. Last night she’d decided she could handle keeping their relationship purely physical. This affectionate intimacy was way more dangerous.

  In the past few days she’d learned he liked her as well as desired her. It’s why she’d decided to stop fighting the attraction between them. Trouble was, she was damned close to really liking him back. And therein lay trouble.

  A throat cleared behind them.

  “Welcome home, Roark.”

  A woman’s wry voice cut through the romantic tension rising in Elizabeth. She put her hand on Roark’s shoulder to push him back, but he’d already released her lips and set his forehead against hers. His chest pumped as he sucked air into his lungs.

  From her position pinned beneath Roark, Elizabeth couldn’t see the woman who stood in the doorway, but apparently Roark knew exactly who’d interrupted them.

  “Hello, Mrs. Myott.”

  “I hear you are engaged.” The caretaker’s tone was so casual she might have been asking what he wanted in his coffee. “Is this the lucky lady?”

  “Yes.” Roark grinned down at Elizabeth. “Elizabeth, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Myott. Mrs. Myott, my fiancée, Elizabeth. I was giving her a tour of the apartment.”

  “And you decided to start with your bedroom. Is she impressed?”

  Despite their compromising pose, Elizabeth was beginning to catch Roark’s amusement.

  “You’ll have to ask her.”

  Cheeks on fire, Elizabeth cleared her throat. “It’s very nice.”

  “Hopefully you’ll approve of the rest of the house, as well.”

  Elizabeth poked Roark hard in the ribs, but although he grunted, he didn’t move. “I’m sure it’s lovely.”

  “Should I start breakfast?”

  “Give us an hour,” Roark answered.

  “Very well.”

  The slap of slippers against the parquet floor faded as the caretaker headed off down the hall.

  He didn’t seriously intend to return to kissing her while Mrs. Myott started the coffee, did he? When his lips swooped towards hers once more, Elizabeth realized that’s exactly what he had in mind.

  “Stop it,” she whispered, wedging her arms between them. “We can’t keep doing this. She knows we’re here.”

  “She won’t come back if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  And that’s when Elizabeth shoved him aside and sat up. Roark rolled onto his back and grinned at her. The wicked light dancing in his eyes informed Elizabeth that he was teasing her. Well, it wasn’t funny.

  And yet, he looked so damned appealing with his crooked grin and his hair all mussed from her roving fingers, she almost leaned down and kissed him.

  “A cup of coffee sounds really good right now,” she said, ignoring Roark’s smug expression. “Do you think Mrs. Myott has started some?”

  Since she’d already tossed casual and unaffected out the window, Elizabeth scrambled off the bed in an ungainly assortment of legs and arms. With her feet on the floor, she smoothed her rumpled hair and tugged to straighten her disheveled clothes.

  Roark came up behind her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he nuzzled her ear. “No need to get all presentable on my account. I rather like you rumpled and out of sorts.”

  “I’m not doing it for you.” She pulled out of his arms and headed for the door.

  “You’re doing it for Mrs. Myott.”

  “I’m doing it…”

  “To make a good impression.”

  Damn him for being right.

  “You don’t need to worry,” he murmured, taking her hand to lead the way when Elizabeth stalled in the hallway, unsure which way led to the kitchen. “She’s going to love you.”

  “It doesn’t matter if she loves me or not. We’re not getting married.”

  “Then why do you care?”

  “I…” She had an answer to his question, just not one she was willing to give him. So, she stole from his playbook. “Is that your mother?”

  * * *

  They were passing the library. His mother’s favorite room in the house. Large and windowless, shelves lined every inch of wall space except for the large fireplace and the life-size portrait of Guinevere Black hanging over it.

  “Yes.”

  Even though he knew it was little more than a trick of his subconscious, Roark had never been able to shake the sensation that her eyes followed him wherever he went in the room. He’d first noticed the phenomenon when he turned seven and spent long hours studying math, language, geography and history with his tutor. Despite her being elsewhere in the apartment, Roark always felt as if she watched over his lessons.

  “She’s beautiful.” Elizabeth glanced his way. “You have her eyes.”

  “And her love of books.” To his relief, the scent of coffee reached his nose. “Come on, Mrs. Myott has started breakfast.”

  “Why would she do that when you gave her the impression we’d be a while?”

  He was growing rather fond of the way Elizabeth’s cheeks turned pink and wondered what accounted for his change of taste. The women he usually dated didn’t blush at the slightest hint of impropriety. When had he lost interest in audacious, free spirits? He appreciated their independent natures. Never worried that they’d grow too attached.

  “She knows me.” He wrapped his arm around Elizabeth’s waist and guided her down the hall.

  In the eighteen years he’d lived in the apartment, the kitchen had been a big, serviceable room meant to be a functional space with little aesthetic appeal. White subway tile on the walls. Gray tile on the floors. Stainless countertops.

  Five years ago when he’d toyed with selling the place, he’d had the room renovated. Now, granite and slate in warm, earthy tones made the gourmet kitchen an elegant space to cook and entertain.

  He guided Elizabeth onto a bar stool on the opposite side of the enormous center island from where Mrs. Myott cooked bacon on the six-burner stove and headed for the coffeepot. As he passed the diminutive woman with short, curly brown hair and keen blue eyes, he leaned over her shoulder and peered at the batter resting beside the heating waffle iron.

  “Is there any of your famous strawberry preserves?”

  “I put up a dozen jars this summer, all for you.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  Mrs. Myott shot him a dry look. “I think you already have your hands full with the girl you’ve got.”

  “You have no idea,” he murmured, fetching two cups of coffee and returning to Elizabeth. “I hope you like waffles. Mrs. Myott makes the best in New York
City. And wait until you taste her preserves.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Not one thing. I made this boy breakfast for eighteen years until he ran off to serve his country.”

  “She was my nanny,” Roark explained.

  “Came to work for Ms. Black two days after this one was born.”

  Her husband had been killed during the invasion of Grenada in 1983. Roark remembered photos of her husband in his uniform, and the stories she’d told of the missions he’d gone on. It’s probably where the first seed had been planted that led him to join the marines.

  “And she stayed because by the time I no longer needed a nanny, she’d become part of the family.”

  “Your mother was a dear.”

  Elizabeth’s expression was intent as she followed the exchange. “So, you have lots of stories from when Roark was growing up?”

  “I do.”

  “That’s not why I brought you here.” His pulse hitched at Elizabeth’s mischievous smile.

  He reined in the urge to kiss all thought of teasing him right out of her mind. It seemed every time he turned around, he came up with another excuse to take her hand, touch her back, slide his arm around her waist and kiss her soft lips. She had bewitched him.

  “No?” She sipped her coffee, eyes sparkling at him over the rim. “You could have taken me to any restaurant in Manhattan, but instead you brought me here. I think you want me to know every little detail about you.”

  Damned if she wasn’t right. And here was the funny part. She had no idea that she’d just hit a bull’s-eye. She thought she was poking fun at him when in fact, he’d just presented her with a tour guide to his past.

  “No restaurant can compare to Mrs. Myott’s waffles.”

  Lines appeared at the corners of the older woman’s eyes as her expression softened. Nowhere near a real smile for the average person, but positively beaming for his former nanny.

  While Mrs. Myott served up hot waffles and her delicious strawberry preserves, she filled Elizabeth in on some of the more entertaining stories from his childhood.

  “Your poor tutor.” The laughter in Elizabeth’s velvet blue eyes belied her sympathetic tone. “What if he’d had a heart attack or something?”