Christine Dorsey

by The Rebel's Kiss

  But Jake needed no more affirmation of her feelings for him than the gentle touch of her hands on his shoulders. Or the open way she met and matched his rhythm as they moved toward the pinnacle of pleasure. Or her wild spasms and cry of joy when he sent her spiraling to the heavens. Her actions were the language of love eternal, her sigh of his name its benediction.

  Jake shifted only far enough to take his weight from her then gathered her close. “It feels so good to hold you,” he said as she snuggled against his hard chest.

  They lay like that, content in each other’s arms while their hearts quieted and their breathing returned to normal. The chilled temperature of the room finally registered on their love-slick bodies so Jake reached down to cover them with the quilt folded at the foot of the bed.

  “Samantha?” Jake felt her cheek slip across his chest as she looked up at him.

  “It’s time to talk?” she questioned and his chuckle vibrated through her.

  “Yes, I think it is.” Jake hiked himself up against the headboard and settled Samantha with him. “I want to be with you,” he began without preamble. “Always.”

  Samantha rested her elbows on his chest and smiled. “I want to be with you too.”

  “But I can’t stay here,” Jake hurried on. “The reasons for my leaving haven’t changed. I know you don’t want to give up your farm after you’ve worked so hard and it’s a lot for me to ask. Especially knowing how you feel about Texas. But—”

  “What do you mean, how I feel about Texas?” Samantha traced her finger along his jaw.

  “Well, you told Will there was nothing there for him.”

  Samantha settled more comfortably along Jake’s hard length. “Oh, that was Will. I just didn’t want him getting any ideas about running off.”

  “But you would?” Jake’s brow arched as she let her fingers drift down his muscled ribs.

  “Run off to Texas?” Samantha pressed her lips to his collarbone, then glanced up through a veil of golden hair. “In a minute.” She nibbled the underside of his chin. “Of course, I’d have to be asked to go first.”

  “Consider yourself asked.”

  “And I wouldn’t go with just anyone.” Samantha slid down his body, letting her mouth skim across his chest. “I’d want the man I ran off with to have a profession.” She paused in her inspection of the arrow of hair that trailed down his chest. “I’d like him to do something where he helped people.”

  “Like, say, a doctor?”

  Samantha giggled as Jake flipped her onto her back and settled on top of her. “Yes, a doctor would be just fine,” she breathed.

  “Good. Because I’ve decided that’s what I’ll always be.” Jake fanned her glorious hair across the pillow. “You helped show me that. You gave me back my life.” Jake’s lips brushed hers. “Marry me,” he whispered, then smiled when she did. “I want to take you to Texas, you and Will. We’ll start a new life.”

  “Together,” Samantha sighed.

  “Mmmm.” Her skin was soft and smooth as he trailed his mouth down her neck. “We’ll find a town that needs a doctor and settle down—”

  “And raise lots of babies,” Samantha said, smiling up at him.

  “And raise lots of babies.”

  “And be happy.”

  “Oh, yes,” Jake agreed, love for her filling all the empty spaces inside. “And be very happy.”

  Please read on for an excerpt from To Love A Rebel, a Revolutionary War romantic adventure from Christine Dorsey.

  To Love A Rebel

  Chapter One

  This life has joys for you and I;

  And joys that riches ne’er could buy;

  And joys the very best.

  There’s a’ the Pleasures o’ the Heart. [sic]

  — Robert Burns

  “Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet”

  Cross Creek, North Carolina

  August, 1775

  “What in the hell is going on here, Sergeant?”

  Fear chilled Fiona MacClure as she gaped up at the man who’d exploded through the bedroom door, demanding an explanation. She thought she’d been in trouble before, but now...

  One look at the tall, dark, powerfully built man and Fiona knew she’d made a mistake—a terrible mistake. But her sister, Elspeth, had assured her the colonel was in Hillsboro.

  “I was coming up from the tavern below stairs and caught this woman sneaking into your room, Colonel Kincaid,” answered the burly, blond sergeant who’d surprised Fiona moments earlier as she was, indeed, sneaking into the colonel’s room.

  “I weren’t sneakin’!” The lie escaped Fiona so quickly she had a flash of hope. Maybe she’d be able to wriggle out of this predicament. Maybe the blood of Scottish heroines did flow through her veins. Why, she’d even remembered to affect the dialect of a tavern wench—the dialect that matched her hastily contrived disguise.

  The sergeant, who now had a secure grip on Fiona’s wrist, snorted. “Claims you sent for her.”

  “He did send for me,” Fiona screeched, throwing herself into the charade. She didn’t like her captor’s tone. After all, it wasn’t inconceivable that someone would send for her. But as soon as she said it, Fiona wished she hadn’t. Her outburst riveted the colonel’s attention to her. Until this moment, he’d focused primarily on the sergeant.

  Now the colonel turned his gaze on her and his scowl deepened. Heroism be damned, Fiona retreated, at least as far as she could before the sergeant’s grasp stopped her. “I... I could be mistaken.” Fiona caught herself slipping into her soft Scottish brogue and paused. “I mean, some bloke did send for me, but I ain’t sure it was you. Now that I think on it, it probably weren’t. I’ll just be takin’ my leave now, guv’nor. Sorry for the mistake.”

  Fiona gave her arm a tug, surprised when the sergeant released it, and reached for the door latch. Relief swelled within her.

  “There was no mistake. I did send for you.”

  “You did?”

  “You did?” Fiona wasn’t sure who sounded more surprised, the sergeant or her.

  “Yes.” The colonel strode farther into the room and leaned a hip against the desk—the desk Fiona had wanted to search. He folded muscular arms across his bare chest. “I just hadn’t expected you so soon.”

  Just her luck, the colonel not only was in Cross Creek when he was supposed to be in Hillsboro, but he had sent for a woman. Well, Fiona could take care of that. “That’s because I’m not the right one.” The colonel’s dark brow arched quizzically and Fiona hastened to add, “I’m supposed to go to some other room, I’m sure of it now. And later someone else will come here.” Fiona cringed. She sounded like a lackwit.

  “It makes no difference.” The colonel straightened to his full towering height. With deliberate care his gaze raked her body, from the hem of her too-long gown to the top of her borrowed cap. “You’ll do.”

  Do! Do for what? Fiona was afraid she knew. The colonel had obviously been asleep when she was caught in his sitting room. Asleep in bed. Fiona glanced into the room he’d burst from and saw the high tester bed. It looked nearly as rumpled as the colonel. He stood there, his dark hair tousled, square jaw shadowed by whiskers, and his body covered only by a wrinkled pair of buff-colored breeches. They rode low on his lean hips, were only partially buttoned, and Fiona imagined she was lucky he’d bothered to pull them on at all.

  Well, it didn’t matter what he had in mind for her, Fiona wasn’t about to go along with it. She’d... What would she do? If she told him that she really wasn’t one of the women who plied their wares from the tavern downstairs, he’d want to know her real name and what she was doing in his room.

  Fiona refused to explain that before she had left her home at Armadale, her cousin, Duncan, had mentioned that he’d love to know if the American militia planned to march against the loyalist clansmen in North Carolina. Fiona had agreed with him, not giving it much thought until last evening when her sister had casually mentioned that the militia colonel
had been summoned to the Provincial Congress in Hillsboro.

  “Are you certain?” Fiona had asked, an idea forming in her mind.

  “Told me so himself day before yesterday when he summoned me to look at a knife wound on one of the men he was training,” her brother-in-law had answered.

  That was when Fiona had decided to sneak into the colonel’s room and look through his desk. Surely that was where he kept his orders. She’d been very excited, just imagining the look of surprise on Duncan’s face when she told him the American plans. It would be just like the games they’d played as children.

  But of course she hadn’t expected to be caught. What was the damn colonel doing here, anyway?

  Well, she didn’t care if he tortured her—Fiona cringed at the thought—she wouldn’t tell him the truth. She was braver than that. Besides, if she told him, her grandfather would find out. It didn’t matter that he was back home at Armadale, the family’s plantation; he’d find out.

  Oh, Lord, what was she to do?

  “You may go.”

  Jerked from her musings by the sound of the colonel’s deep voice, Fiona thought her prayers answered. But her relief was short-lived. He wasn’t speaking to her, but to the sergeant, who obeyed without comment, though he glanced at Fiona suspiciously.

  Ezekiel Kincaid rubbed eyes that felt gritty from lack of sleep, and studied the girl standing, poised for flight, by the door. He hadn’t a clue as to why she had come to his rooms at the tavern, but it sure as hell hadn’t been to satisfy his sexual needs. He’d had his share of paid-for women, and not a one ever clutched a shawl around their shoulders the way this one did. The way she covered herself, Zeke would find it hard to know if there was anything worth paying for.

  Not that he wanted to. He hadn’t sent for anyone, hadn’t even considered it, after the grueling few days he’d had. But here she was. And Zeke would bet his best horse that she hadn’t stumbled into his room by mistake. She had a reason, and Zeke meant to find out what it was.

  “Come here, woman.” Zeke leaned back against the desk.

  “Me? Why?” His gruffly spoken command startled Fiona, who had thought the menacing colonel close to falling asleep, he’d stood there with half-closed eye’s for so long.

  Zeke fought an urge to smile. This woman definitely was not a whore. So what was she—and more importantly, why was she in his room? Zeke might have thought finding out amusing if he weren’t so damn tired. “I want a better look at you.”

  “Oh.” Fiona glanced at the door to the hallway, mentally judging how long it would take her to get through it, and came to a disheartening conclusion—too long. Though the colonel appeared relaxed, Fiona sensed his stance deceiving. His body exuded power—latent power at this moment... Fiona had a feeling that if she tried to escape, he’d be on her instantly. Deciding her best option was to play along, for the time being, Fiona stepped forward slowly.

  “Closer.”

  Fiona swallowed and moved toward the colonel. The light from the sputtering candle on the desk behind him outlined his broad shoulders, played across the hills and valleys of his hair-roughened chest.

  That candle had been her first clue that something was amiss. It had signaled the turning point in her perfect plan. Getting information from her sister without causing suspicion had been ridiculously easy. Even borrowing the dress and hat from the room of the indentured servant, Hester, and sneaking out of the house just before dawn hadn’t caused a problem. And at the tavern, there were so few people, no one gave her a second glance as she entered and marched up the steps. But when she’d opened the colonel’s door—he hadn’t even locked it—and seen the lighted candle, Fiona had known her luck had turned. Still, if she’d managed to leave without the meddlesome sergeant seeing her she might not be in this predicament.

  The sergeant had grabbed her, demanding to know what she was doing. It was then she’d conceived her ridiculous lie.

  Zeke had to hand it to the woman; she had spirit. Even though he could tell she was scared, she walked toward him. After she left the shadows by the door, he could see her better. And he liked what he saw—what he could see. A white cap completely hid her hair, its ruffle partially obscuring her face, but he could make out a short, straight nose and full, gently curved mouth. And skin so pale and translucent it appeared too fragile to touch.

  She stood within arm’s length now, and Zeke reached out, lifting her chin with his finger. His breath caught when she looked up at him, and Zeke chided himself for his foolish reaction. So her eyes were beautiful, thick-lashed and large—and the exact shade of rain-washed violets. None of that had a thing to do with what she was doing in his room.

  Zeke reminded himself that was his only interest in the woman. He examined her more carefully. The defiant gleam in her eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin as she lifted it away from his touch, told him she wouldn’t tell him what he wanted to know—not right away anyway. But if he forced her hand... “Well.”

  “Well, what?” Fiona’s mind raced trying to latch onto some plan that would save her. She should have tried to run earlier, before she got so close to him. He was near enough to touch her now—had touched her. Fiona still reeled from the jolt that had caused. If only she could...

  “Undress.”

  “What?” Fiona gasped, clutching her shawl tighter.

  “Disrobe. Take off your clothes. Surely you don’t expect me to take you fully dressed?”

  “No. I mean...” She didn’t expect him to take her at all. Suddenly, flight seemed her only option. Turning on her heel, Fiona lunged for the door.

  She had such an expressive little face, Zeke thought. He knew she planned to bolt before she moved. It took very little effort to straighten and grab her back into his arms. She squirmed, trying to twist away, but Zeke turned her around, lacing his fingers at the small of her back, pulling her firmly against him. “Oh, so you like to play a little, first,” Zeke said. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I don’t. I—” Muffled by the warm skin of his shoulder, Fiona knew he couldn’t hear her denial. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to shed them. She wriggled, vexed when that motion only nestled her more intimately against her captor. She’d never felt so powerless. The colonel surrounded her. His arms felt like iron bands binding hers to her side; his hard body pressed against her; even the air she breathed smelled of him, musky and male.

  He liked the feel of her, a lot. Soft and slight, she fit him well. Wishing he had sent for her, Zeke considered playing this game out to its natural conclusion. After all, she was the one who’d broken into his room and lied. Why shouldn’t she pay the consequences? Zeke shook his head. Forcing women wasn’t his style, and this one would have to be forced. Besides, she’d break down and tell him the truth about why she was here, long before it came to that.

  If her trembling was any indication, Zeke guessed she was close to telling him now. A little nudge and she’d confess why she’d come and who’d sent her. Then he could go back to bed and get some sleep. She squirmed and Zeke felt himself growing hard. He decided to procure female companionship, willing female companionship, after he’d rested.

  The big oaf loosened his grip and Fiona took a welcome deep breath. She also tried to twist away, but couldn’t. The movement did make her aware of the rock-hard bulge in the colonel’s breeches and the smug smile on his face. “You’re making a big mistake.” Panic made her words loud and forceful.

  “Really?” What a lot of brass she had. As far as he could tell, the mistake was all hers. “What is it?”

  What indeed. She had no idea—unless... Fragments of a conversation she’d overheard years ago between her cousins, Duncan and William, came rushing back to her. They’d been in the first blush of manhood, thinking themselves quite the thing, and obviously hadn’t known she was listening. Whores had been their topic—how to find a good one, how to stay away from those that were—

  “I have the pox!”

  “The...” Zeke didn�
��t know what he’d expected her to say, but it certainly hadn’t been that! His reaction was quick and complete. He laughed.

  Was he mad? How could he think something like that funny? If she recalled Duncan’s description correctly, it was a terrible affliction—one no man wanted.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Fiona stomped her foot in aggravation. His laughter, deep and vibrating from his body through hers, grated on her already frayed nerves.

  “I heard you.” Zeke shook his head, trying to control his amusement.

  “Well?” Fiona glared up at him, annoyed with herself for noticing the dimples that slashed his cheeks when he smiled.

  “I’ll take my chances.” He’d never seen anyone less likely to be diseased.

  “Ohh...” Frustration gripped Fiona. Without thinking of the consequences, she kicked.

  Zeke jerked his leg out of the way, missing what would have been a painful blow to his shin. He hauled her up against him, deciding to keep himself more alert, and to get on with finding some answers.

  “You’re a fighter, aren’t you... What’s your name?”

  “Mary,” Fiona spit out. The half lie was the best she could do under the circumstances. Though she had been christened Mary Fiona, her grandfather was the only one to call her Mary, and then only when she’d earned his ire.

  “Ah, Mary. Sweet name.” He didn’t believe for a second it belonged to her. “Are you as sweet as your name, Mary?”

  Now, what did he mean by that? Fiona looked up in time to see the twinkle in his eyes—blue eyes, she noted—as he bent closer. He was going to kiss her! Fiona panicked. She twisted and turned, trying to keep her face away from his. The colonel’s hand left the small of her back, traveling up her spine to clamp on her cap. He yanked it off, burying his fingers in her hair, angling her mouth up toward his.

  Her hair was red—not just red, but fiery red. Zeke had never seen so many wild red curls before. They seemed to braid around his hand. Pushing aside that thought, he kissed her, kissed her as he would a woman he’d bought. She hardly responded with the enthusiasm he usually received.