Waiting for a Rogue Like You

by Samantha Holt

  “No one is shooting,” she said softly. “It’s just you and me. We are safe.” She rubbed his cheek with a thumb and the haze that had covered his gaze slowly softened.

  “Drake, it’s me.”

  “Julianna?” His gaze snapped into focus. His tension softened.

  “I’m here.”

  His pupils widened as he took in her body beneath his. No longer crushed, her body seemed to cradle his just perfectly. Her legs splayed either side of his hips, her arms wrapped about him. Julianna brought her other hand back to his face and cupped his cheeks.

  “I’m here,” she repeated.

  “Yes, you are,” he agreed.

  She heard the heat on his tongue. Felt the heat between her legs. His body hardened, pressing into her apex. She held back a groan when he rocked ever-so-slightly into her.

  “Christ, Princess.” He said the words like a curse before pressing his mouth to hers.

  Julianna opened her mouth to him as his tongue swept urgently in. Lifting her breasts upward, she gave into the ache driving her body. Whatever had briefly taken him from her had gone. He was here now, sweeping her up into a world far away from inn floors and angry fiancés. A world she would far rather occupy.

  He swept a hand down her side and cradled her rear so that he could rock harder into her, releasing the tension inside her at the same time as increasing it. She moaned against his mouth.

  Drake moved his lips down her neck, nipping as he went. Shivers of appreciation wracked her. He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her collar bone then the rise of one breast before finding her mouth again. She winnowed a hand through his hair.

  “Drake,” she groaned.

  “Princess,” he replied between kisses, the word gritty.

  His tongue tangled with hers, over and over, drawing her up into a world that would not let her think of anything other than him. All that existed was a haze of pleasure, and solid muscles, and rough fingertips.

  All that existed was Drake.

  While his fingers slid up her skirt and found her thigh, she pressed a hand into the open neck of his shirt. He shuddered at the touch. She pushed further, marveling at the feel of taut skin over muscle. The ache inside her deepened, begging her to do more.

  His fingers dug into her thigh and slid higher, curving around her rear. She lifted her hips into him, over and over, again and again. His mouth hot against her neck, her lips, her face, he drove her into a frenzy of scrabbling nails and nonsensical pleas.

  Drake moved his mouth down and she gripped his head to her. He eased a breast out of her gown and stays, baring it to the air. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, taking in the delicious sensation of a rough thumb followed by a warm mouth. He drew her nipple into his mouth and nipped and sucked, pulling a gasp of pleasure from her.

  Then he came back up to meet her mouth with his. Bare chest, revealed by her frantic grappling with his shirt, met hers. He hissed and eyed her. A coarse palm cupped her face. His cerulean gaze searched hers. Something echoed in those depths, something that made her heart give a hefty thud in between the fast hammering of desire. She had little time to question it as he brought his lips down on hers and kissed her until she could scarcely draw breath.

  Drake shoved her skirts higher. She spread her palms across his back and arched into him again and again—a silent plea for more.

  The thud of a door upstairs made him freeze. The sound jarred her from the haze. Awareness of the hardness of the floor filtered in. The breeze whistling in underneath the front door grazed her bare skin. The scent of sawdust from the floor whirled about her.

  A rough curse escaped him. He pushed back, leaving her to cover herself hastily, feeling as though she had been dunked in the cold bucket of water. She tugged her dress back into place and opened her mouth before closing it. Drake shoved a hand through his hair and pushed up to standing.

  “I should leave. I’ll check...that is Knight will—” He made a frustrated noise. “Damn it. I should leave.”

  He hastened out of the inn before she could find her feet. Every part of her body blazed with heat. She touched a hand to her lips. They were as hot and swollen as she’d thought. Little prickles danced over her skin where his bristle had grazed her. There would no doubt be marks tomorrow.

  Julianna swung her gaze about the room from her position on the floor. Embers glowed gently in the fire, her only company. Drawing in a breath, she willed her weak legs to move. What had just happened? One minute he had been terrified—whatever was plaguing him had reared its ugly head—and the next he had been kissing her as though she were the only woman he’d ever touched—and would ever want to touch again. She’d never experienced anything like it—the frantic need, the desperate ache. There was no chance he had not felt it too. It was wanton to admit but she would have let him do more. Do it all perhaps. He could have taken her here on the dusty floor and she would have been more than happy about it.

  So why did he not? A rogue like Drake? Surely he would not pass up such an opportunity?

  There was more to him than simply being a rogue, she was certain of it. She would have to find out more somehow. Knight would not take well to her questioning him about Drake, no doubt, and even Louisa could not tell her much. She would have to find out more herself.

  Easing up to her feet, she retrieved the cloth from the bucket and set back to work at the stubborn spot. If she was not going to sleep before, there was no chance she was going to tonight. Her body tingled from head to toe thanks to Drake. She suspected she could clean this whole inn from top to bottom and rub her fingers raw, but she would still not forget how it felt to be underneath him.

  No, this was far from over. Whatever had happened tonight, she wanted—no needed—to know more.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sea spray struck Drake’s face. He welcomed the cool touch of water as he eyed the ocean sprawling out in front of him. Perched on a cluster of rocks on the outskirts of the beach, he eyed his mistress. He’d grown up near the sea—albeit farther up the coast in Dorset. He’d sailed since he was a boy. It had been his comfort—and his undoing.

  He undid a button of his shirt, letting it hang open. He hadn’t bothered with a cravat. No one would see him today anyway if he had anything to do with it. Knight would still be searching for Julianna’s fiancé and Red and Nate would not let anything happen to her. For now, he needed to stay away.

  What must she think of him after yesterday? He’d been lost, and she’d seen it. She’d even understood it perhaps. War had addled his brain, and there was nothing he could do about it. It didn’t matter how many fights he won, how many spies he carried across the sea, how much money he earned—he would still flinch at the sight of blood, would still find himself mired in battle once again at the sound of a pistol shot. Or fireworks, apparently.

  A chill wrapped itself about him, but it wasn’t enough to send him back to the ship or the inn. Perhaps if he stayed out long enough, it would freeze the tumultuous thoughts rattling around his head. Blue patches of sky lingered above, offering bright patches of sunlight. It made the day colder but brighter. He lifted his face to the sun, closed his eyes, and sucked in a breath.

  A frisson tripped up his spine. He opened his eyes and narrowed them at the figure in the distance making their way across the damp sand. She strode with purpose. He groaned. There was no mistaking that determined stride.

  Drake eased up to standing. He studied his escape path. The only way off these rocks and back to the village was past her. Besides, the damned fool woman should not even be out of the safety of the inn. At least there, there were people to look out for her. Out here, anyone could grab her. He’d have to persuade her to return with haste.

  He stepped down from the rocks, landing on the soft sand with a squelch. The wind caught her loose hair, sending it streaming behind her. He curled his fingers as a roll of heat unfurled through him. He wanted to thrust his hand into that hair and tug her head back, so he could cla
im another searing kiss from her. Then another, then another. Christ, he’d have her pressed into the sand and kissing every inch of her beautiful body if he could.

  He'd been that close to doing the same on the floor of a damned inn yesterday. Drake hefted out a breath. Thank God he’d come to his senses.

  “You should not be here.”

  Her chin lifted, and he knew he was already losing the battle.

  “I’ve been looking for you all day.”

  He gave a grunt and faced the sea. Her cheeks were flushed with color and her eyes were bright. It was too painful to look at. “Don’t you have duties at the inn?”

  “I worked most of the night, and we’ve been quiet. Louisa said I deserved a day off.”

  Watching the waves crest, their small white tips rolling toward the beach, he fought to ignore her. She was like a sea siren, drawing him in. He glanced sideways at her. “You’re safer at the inn.”

  “Then come back with me.”

  He picked up a stone and slung it into the sea. “I prefer it here.”

  “Well, then so do I.”

  He turned and glared at her. “Do you always have to be so stubborn?”

  Julianna smiled. “Yes.” She lifted a small basket slung over one arm. “I brought food.”

  He lifted a brow. “You brought a picnic?”

  She shrugged, and her smile turned rueful. “I thought you would be hungry. If I ever found you, that was.”

  Shaking his head, he stared at her. He didn’t deserve a moment of this woman’s time. To think he’d considered bedding her might be a game—a challenge so to speak. There was no challenge or game to be played here. Not when his heart thudded agonizingly in his chest every time he saw her. The moment he’d laid his lips upon hers, he’d been gone. This was no game, she was no pawn. And he did not deserve a damned picnic after trying to bed her on the dirty floor of an inn.

  “Are you not hungry?”

  He considered his body. He had yet to eat and hadn’t given food much of a thought since rolling out of bed with a tired and aching body this morning. His stomach gave a silent growl to remind him of that fact.

  “Will you go away if I eat?”

  “Perhaps.” She motioned with her head farther up the beach where the sand was dry, and they would be sheltered from most of the wind by the caves that were etched into the rocks. “Come on then.”

  He followed her and watched as she set out a blanket and a seemingly never-ending selection of food. He peered at the basket. “Anything else in there? A table perhaps? A footman to serve it to us?”

  She grinned and patted the blanket next to her. “No. All done. I am uncommonly good at picnics. It is one of my skills.”

  “One of many.” He sat next to her.

  “I am not so sure Louisa would agree with that, but I am working on them.”

  “Nonsense. You make excellent black sausages.”

  “I am not sure sausages are meant to be black.”

  “Black sausages are my favorite. As are inedible eggs.”

  Julianna giggled. “Well, I am afraid to say those are off the menu. My cooking skills have vastly improved since then.”

  “I imagine you did not do much cooking when you lived with your father.”

  She bit briefly down on her lip. “No, I was intended for marriage. I learned how to manage a house and its accounts—a skill that has at least come in handy with working at the inn—but I learned few other practical skills. My father, well, he is a Viscount.”

  Drake coughed on a breath. He gaped at her. “Wait. Knight is heir to a viscountcy?”

  She nodded, her expression sheepish.

  “And you are a lady?”

  She nodded again.

  “Why did you not say something sooner?”

  “What does it matter? I have left that life behind. As has Knight. It would not make my life any easier should everyone know.”

  “So why did you decide to tell me?”

  She gave a soft smile. “I suppose I thought you could be trusted with such information.”

  Drake shook his head to himself. Knight a viscount. Or at least heir to a title. Who would have thought?

  Handing him over a bread roll thick with butter and honey, she then uncorked a bottle of what looked to be lemonade and took a swig straight from it. Her lips wrapped around the glass and made his gut clench. She had lost that elegant, haughty look since her time in Cornwall. The exposure to sun and blustery weather had warmed her cheeks and her hair was wild and wavy. She looked like a siren in every way—far too tempting and captivating.

  He took a bite of the roll and groaned. “Did you bake these?”

  She beamed. “This morning.”

  “Delicious.” He dabbed some honey away from the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb and noted how her gaze followed the movement, her pupils slightly flared. This woman was temptation in itself.

  Julianna lifted a brow. “It’s only bread.”

  “The most delicious bread I’ve ever had.”

  “You’re trying to charm me.” She nudged him with an elbow.

  “I do not need to try,” he said smugly.

  She cast her gaze down. There was no denying it. She was as attracted to him as he was her. But he should not be flirting with her, or even charming her. Not now. Not when what he was feeling was so much more than attraction. It grated at his insides and dug deep into his soul. He’d never experienced anything like it—and that was dangerous, particularly considering the sort of damaged man he was.

  They sat in silence, gazing out at the sea. Once Julianna finished her bread, she swept the crumbs from her skirt and faced him. Drake took a breath in and braced himself.

  “What happened last night?”

  “Who knows? I drank a fair amount of whiskey,” he replied glibly.

  She pressed her lips together. “You did not. I did not smell a drop on your lips.”

  Or taste it, no doubt. He could not use alcohol as an excuse and for some blasted reason, he felt he owed her an explanation.

  “You weren’t there,” she said. “You looked as though you were somewhere else. I saw it before, when that man threatened you. And when you rescued me the first night we met.”

  Drake gritted his teeth. How did one explain such demons in one’s mind when he could hardly comprehend them himself?

  “Drake?” Her fingers curled around his arm.

  He glanced at the touch, so soft yet so scalding, burning through his clothes to his skin. Her fingers served to remind him of last night, of the passion that had seared through them both and that nothing could douse.

  Of course, if he explained what was happening to him, that might put her off for good. At this point, that might not be a bad thing.

  He blew out a breath and watched the waves roll up the beach. Julianna waited. From the periphery of his vision, he saw her observing him, ever patient.

  “I was a captain of the Colossus during the war. I joined the navy when I was fifteen, my father having purchased me a commission. Ships have always been my calling.” He smiled softly. “I loved the sea and thrived in the navy, but once we went to war with France...” He gestured to his leg and the scar on his face.

  “You were injured during the war?”

  He nodded. “A cannonball ripped apart my ship. Ripped into my leg too. Well, shrapnel did. Young men—boys even—were torn in two.” He glanced at her. “Forgive me, I should not be telling you this.”

  She squeezed his arm. “I am not so delicate that I cannot hear this.”

  He smiled weakly. “I was discharged from the navy on account of my injury. It took me some time to walk again, and I was not in the best frame of mind. The navy had been everything to me and it was all gone with a cannon blast.”

  “The fireworks last night...”

  “I thought it was cannon fire, yes. Or at least my mind did. I know full well the sounds are entirely different, particularly to a man who should be used to the sound
of cannon fire. But for some reason, my mind could not tell the difference.”

  “Why did you start sailing again? Surely being on a ship...?”

  “It is the only thing I know how to do.” He smirked. “That, and drink whiskey. Before I took up the role of captain on the Endeavor, I was merrily drinking myself into a stupor. That ship saved me, believe it or not.”

  “Does it not make you remember?”

  “At times, yes. But many things do.”

  “Like the fight and that man threatening you?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Is there nothing that can be done? Can you not see a doctor or something?”

  He shook his head. “Afflictions of the mind are seldom treatable. Ask anyone in an asylum that. I have little interest in being declared mad and thrown away somewhere.”

  “You are not mad, I know that much.”

  “Others might say different.”

  “You have been through something most grievous. Many men returning from the war must feel the same.”

  “Perhaps. And perhaps they deal with it better than I do.” He faced her. “I am beyond saving, Princess, but do not worry, I have made my peace with it.”

  The earnest look in her eyes had him slowly unravelling inside. For some inane reason, this woman wanted to know everything about him, down to his very last sin. And she had not run, even though she should well be long gone from his side after such a tale. He had as good as told her he was mad and yet she remained.

  He could not do it. He could not draw her deeper into his life. Julianna needed protection, and he would make sure she was safe, but that would be it.

  “We should return you to the inn.”

  “We haven’t finished our picnic,” she protested.

  “It’s not safe out here,” he told her, standing. Julianna folded her arms and he gave her a stern look. “Do not make me drag you back again.”

  She gasped. “You would not!”

  He tilted his head. “Try me, Princess.”

  With a toss of her hair, she swiveled on her heel. “Fine, let us return. But do not expect me to bake you any more delicious bread.”