The Irresistible Rogue

by Valerie Bowman

  Rafe quickly poured her a bit of water from the pitcher near the washbasin and handed it to her. She tossed it into the back of her throat and coughed even more. “It’s awful, absolutely vile, entirely—”

  “It’s only water.” He laughed.

  “I was talking about the brandy, not the water. I—”

  Daphne stopped, and blinked. Already, a delicious warmth was creeping through her veins and her head began to buzz with a pleasant sensation. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall behind her. “Perhaps I might take one more tiny little sip.”

  She tentatively touched the glass to her lips again and tipped it back. The liquid seeped into her throat more slowly this time. It burned again but this time she cared less. The delightful warmth in her limbs was spreading further.

  Rafe pulled the glass from her quickly numbing fingers. “Oh no, you don’t. You cannot get drunk as a wheelbarrow. I need you with me tomorrow when we go ashore to meet the Russians, not to mention I’ve no idea how to formulate that concoction your brother makes to cure such things.”

  Daphne lay back on the bunk and let the delicious warmth spread through her limbs. “I don’t think I mind brandy after all.”

  Rafe laughed. “Don’t you?”

  “No, it’s quite … warming and … pleasant, actually.”

  Rafe downed the rest of the contents of his own glass and placed the bottle back inside the cabinet. “That’s quite enough for both of us.”

  Daphne braced both hands under her head. “I never drank a drop of alcohol before I met you, you know. You’re a horrible influence on me.”

  His face was skeptical. “Oh, really? What about Mrs. Pennyhammer and the thimble full of wine?”

  She giggled. “That hardly counts. I certainly hadn’t been inebriated before I met you and now I’ve been so twice in one week. I hope you’re proud of yourself, Captain.”

  Rafe’s voice held a note of amusement. “I believe you are currently experiencing what is commonly referred to as a fuzzy head.”

  “Fuzzy head?” She lifted one hand and pressed it against her forehead.

  “Yes. Not entirely drunken but not quite sober, either.”

  She patted herself atop her head. “I like my fuzzy head. Quite a lot. And I quite like brandy as well.” She stretched and splayed her legs and arms across the bed like an X.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he replied with another throaty laugh.

  Daphne snapped her fingers. “Let’s play a game.”

  Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. “Cards?”

  “No. No. Let’s play that game we played the other night but without the cards. I cannot concentrate on maths with my fuzzy head.”

  “What game?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

  She waved a hand in the air. “You know. The question game.”

  “Pardon?”

  She turned to face him. “I’ll ask you a question and you must tell the truth and then you ask me a question and I must tell the truth.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “That’s not precisely how it went.”

  “Don’t be so stuffy. I’ll even allow you to go first.”

  “Stuffy?” His voice was full of effrontery. “Me?”

  “Yes, now go on. Ask me something, anything. I promise to answer truthfully.”

  “Very well.” He paused for a few moments. “Why did you pick Lord Fitzwell? From your list?”

  Daphne blinked dumbly. Her head was fuzzy indeed. “Why would you ask something like that?”

  Rafe’s grin was downright devilish. “That’s not an answer, and you promised to answer truthfully.”

  She sighed and stretched again. Better not to look at him. Yes. Much better. Er, safer. “So I did. Let’s see…” She tapped a finger along the tip of her nose. “I picked him because he met all my requirements.”

  “Your requirements?”

  “Yes. On my list.”

  “And what requirements were those?” Rafe leaned against one of the posts and crossed his stockinged feet at the ankles.

  “You know, titled, rich, handsome, loyal.”

  “So, it’s safe to say, I’m not on your list. I only have two of those four requirements.”

  She shrugged one shoulder, steadfastly ignoring his claim and vowing not to guess which two he thought he had. “It’s the type of list a lady must make when looking for a suitable husband.”

  Rafe narrowed his eyes on her. “But you don’t even know Lord Fitzwell.”

  “I knew him as well as most ladies know their future husbands. I knew his family. I saw him from time to time at various events about town. We even went riding in the park once or twice.” She punctuated her sentence with a firm nod.

  “Once?” Rafe’s voice dripped with skepticism.

  “Or twice. With the promise to do it again sometime.”

  “How exciting.” This time Rafe’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “I knew enough about him. I knew he doesn’t drink much. He doesn’t gamble to excess. And he would never be found with a blond in his bed.”

  “He sounds like a dead bore.” Rafe unbuttoned his shirt.

  Daphne swallowed. Why was he unbuttoning his shirt? Had he done that the other nights? Slept shirtless and she hadn’t noticed? How had she failed to notice that? “That’s exactly the sort of thing I’d expect someone like you to say,” she replied.

  “Someone like me?” He pulled his shirt over his head.

  Daphne nearly gulped audibly. “Yes,” she managed to answer him, but her eyes were devouring his muscled chest. Good God. How had she missed this little nightly ritual? Or was she only imagining it due to her fuzzy head? “Do you have your shirt off?” she asked, clearing her throat.

  He chuckled. “Yes. My apologies if I am offending your ladylike sensibilities. But I need a fresh one.”

  “I shouldn’t be looking.”

  His gaze met hers. Sparks leaped between them. “Then why are you?”

  Her face heated. Her cheeks boiled. She turned away toward the wall.

  “Please do explain,” Rafe continued.

  “Explain what?” Daphne’s voice was muffled against the wooden wall.

  “Who ‘someone like me’ is? What did you mean by that?”

  She wiggled under the sheets and forced herself to turn back to face him. He was standing directly next to the bed. Daphne’s head swam. Her eyes locked to his bare chest. Fuzzy brain, indeed. She took a deep breath. “I only meant that you’re everything he’s not. You drink. You gamble. You—”

  “Kiss you?” He captured her wrist, brought it to his lips and kissed it. Daphne couldn’t stop her shudder.

  She snatched her hand away. “Don’t.”

  “Why?” he said, looking down at her, his voice growing louder, laced with a bit of anger. “Afraid you might actually feel something? You’re right. I’m everything he’s not and I’m also much more. Do you think your Lord Fitzwell has an adventurous bone in his body? By God, the most excitement the man has had is an unexpected nosebleed. Do you think your Lord Fitzwell has fought for his country? Watched men die for his country? He hasn’t. The most he’s done is read about it in the papers and shake his head. You say I don’t know you, Daphne, but I do. I know you pretend to want to plan everything, and maybe you do, but deep down you’re adventurous, just like I am. Drawing rooms are too stuffy for you. A man like Fitzwell would bore you to tears in the space of six months. But if you want to waste your beauty and intelligence and talents on him or someone like him, by all means, don’t let me stop you.”

  Tears shimmered in Daphne’s eyes. She sat up and braced herself against the wall again. “What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘Don’t let me stop you.’”

  “No, before that. The part about my beauty and intelligence?” Her heart hammered in her chest. She could barely breathe.

  He braced both of his hands on the wooden plank that hung from the ceiling above the bunk and stared down at her still. �
�You heard me. You deserve better than Fitzwell. But you’re so damned stubborn and certain of yourself, you can’t even see it. You need to take your bloody list and rip it into a thousand pieces just to see what’s standing right in front of you. The thing that never made it onto the list.”

  “You?” she whispered.

  “Me.” Rafe let go of the plank and his mouth swooped down to capture hers.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Daphne shuddered. Rafe’s mouth shaped hers, owned hers, while lust shot through her entire body in sharp, shooting sparks. He had moved down to where she sat on the bed and she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning into the kiss with everything she had. Who cared how this had started? All she knew was that she wanted it to continue. She wanted to make love with Rafe. She wanted to be his wife in every way.

  What happened next was most likely the doing of two very fuzzy heads because five moments later, Daphne’s shirt was over her head, her breeches unbuttoned and yanked free of her body, and the linen wrapping her breasts was gone. She lay in the bunk naked. She was completely exposed in a way she had never been in front of any man before but all she could feel was … happiness and excitement.

  Rafe was gazing at her, his eyes full of desire, his breathing completely unsteady. His hand rested on her knee, hot, heavy. His fingers traced up the inside of her thigh, the outside of her hip, along her rib cage.

  He gently, lightly touched the outside of her left breast. Then his fingertips skimmed over her nipple and she shivered with desire. His hand traveled up to her collarbone, her neck, her cheekbone. Daphne closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of his rough touch along her sensitive skin. He had the hands of a man who had worked for a living. Not the soft hands of Lord Fitzwell. Rafe had actually done things like throwing knives and shooting pistols and riding horses and nearly dying for his country. He was right. He was nothing like Lord Fitzwell. Nothing at all.

  Rafe groaned deep in his throat and lowered himself over her. He was still wearing his breeches and stockings. His hot bare chest pressed intimately to hers and made Daphne moan. The friction between them was so good. She wrapped her arms around his neck again and he kissed her deeply. Daphne’s head remained fuzzy and she was a swirling mass of lust. The spot between her legs ached and throbbed.

  She pushed her legs apart and clenched her eyes shut. Cass and Lucy had mentioned that the first time would hurt a bit. “I’m ready,” she announced, scrunching up her nose and bracing a hand against the wall.

  Rafe’s laughter was the last thing she expected. But it was there, loud and melodious, bouncing off the wooden sides of the small cabin. She cracked open an eye. “What’s funny about this?”

  He nudged at her with his nose and kissed one eyelid, then the other. “Nothing, my darling.”

  “Why are you laughing?” she asked, chagrined, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to push him away. His hot hardness between her legs and the warm heat and weight of his chest against hers were too compelling.

  He cleared his throat. “It doesn’t quite— Let’s just say there’s more to it than my pouncing on you. Not to mention if I were to make love to you, I might find myself in a thousand little pieces once your brother finds out.”

  She wiggled against him and Rafe closed his eyes briefly. “Daphne, please,” he whispered.

  “I didn’t expect you to pounce, but aren’t you supposed to…?” She trailed off in abject embarrassment, not even certain of the right words to use in such a circumstance. She wasn’t worried about Julian. She had no doubt that getting Rafe to this point was all she needed. There’d be little chance he’d stop if they continued to do what they were doing. “I have no intention of telling Julian anything about this,” she said with a coy smile.

  Rafe leaned down and kissed her again and all the thoughts fluttered straight from her brain. “Whatever we do, it’s supposed to feel good … and happen naturally,” he said. “Most importantly, feel good.”

  “I like the sound of that,” she admitted, kissing the cleft in his chin softly.

  He pushed a curl away from her ear and leaned down and traced the outline of it with his tongue. Daphne bucked against him. “Let me make you feel good, Daphne,” he whispered.

  “Yes” was her only reply.

  He moved down, his lips a hot brand against her cheek, her neck, her collarbone. Daphne wrapped her arms around his shoulders. How could his mouth on her neck feel so good? She’d never imagined it. His lips moved lower, next. They nipped at the top of her breast. Then Daphne gasped as the hot wetness settled over her nipple. “Oh my God,” she moaned. His smile burned against her soft skin. His mouth played with her, biting and tracing small patterns against the fevered skin of her breast. “You’re perfect, do you know that?” he whispered.

  “No I’m not.”

  “Yes you are.” He sucked her nipple deep into his mouth and Daphne decided she was done arguing with him. The wet heat between her legs was driving her mad and the sensations in her breast were zipping through her body and pulling at the juncture between her thighs. She wanted him on top of her. She wanted him inside of her. “Please, Rafe,” she whispered, her lower body squirming against him.

  “Wait, Daphne. Just wait for it.”

  His mouth continued its gentle assault on her breast while his left hand moved down to her wet warmth. Her chest rose and fell with each of her labored breaths. His hand teased her, barely touching the springy curls between her legs. He traced her cleft, running one long finger down her center. She pressed up against his hand, wanting more, but not knowing exactly what.

  Rafe parted her and pressed a finger between her legs. He moved it into a spot that made Daphne cry out. He stroked her there, slowly, so slowly. Then he began to circle the spot, using only his fingertip, and Daphne cried out. “Rafe!”

  He covered her mouth with his other hand. “Shh. We don’t want the crew to hear.”

  “At the moment I don’t give a damn,” Daphne breathed against his neck.

  “Just feel, Daphne. Don’t think.”

  Daphne moaned. All she was doing was feeling. And the feeling made her want to sob. His finger circled her again and again and again. Her hips moved of their own accord in a primal rhythm along with his finger. The tug of his mouth against her nipple and the circling of his finger between her hips made her want to scream. She bent her head to his hair. He smelled so good, like soap and rugged man. He nudged at that perfect spot between her legs, again, again, again. Daphne squirmed beneath him. Her legs were taut, open to him, but clenching with all her might to feel more of the sensation he was offering. Her hands were tangled in his hair. His mouth still owned her breast. He nipped her one more time.

  “Rafe, I want—” But she didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

  “Just wait, Daphne.”

  His mouth left her breast and moved down, down, down. Her mind in a fog, she didn’t realize what he intended until his finger left its spot between her legs. She sobbed, but nearly as quickly as it had left, his mouth replaced his hand and this time she moaned for an entirely different reason.

  “Oh God, Rafe, no,” she cried.

  “Yes,” he breathed against her most intimate spot.

  Her face was aflame with embarrassment but the moment his tongue began tracing the little circles where his fingers had been, Daphne ceased to care. There was no more embarrassment, only raw, hot, wanton need. She needed him. In a way she had never needed anyone before in her life.

  His tongue circled her again and again. The tip poked at her most sensitive spot and she cried out. “Rafe, I’m going to—” But she didn’t know how to finish that sentence, either.

  “Yes, Daphne. Yes.” His hot breath covered the nub between her legs, and when he licked her in deep, wet strokes, she fell over the edge of an abyss she’d never known existed. “Rafe, oh, Rafe,” she called, clutching the back of his head to her, never wanting him to stop and not caring if the entire harbor heard her.

&nbs
p; She surfaced from her lust-induced haze several minutes later and looked down to see Rafe’s face at her belly. He grinned up at her with the most self-satisfied smirk she’d ever seen.

  “Proud of yourself?” she asked, on a laugh, but zigs and zips of pure pleasure were still racing through her body.

  “Yes,” he answered, his grin unrepentant.

  She grinned back at him. “You should be. If I had known you were capable of doing that, I would have demanded my marital rights long, long ago.”

  He heaved himself up to kiss her lips. The kiss was long and deep and Daphne wrapped her arms around his neck. Rafe wasn’t satisfied. She knew that. He’d ensured that she was satisfied before he saw to his own pleasure. The thought stoked something deep within her—protectiveness, caring, love?

  She shook her head. She didn’t have long to contemplate the thought because Rafe was making her wet with lust again by stroking between her legs once more. She parted for him. She wanted to feel him … inside of her. She had never wanted anything more in her life.

  “Daphne, I—”

  “I know it’s uncomfortable, the first time,” she admitted with a shaky smile. “Cass told me.”

  “No. It’s not that.”

  “I told you, I won’t tell Julian.”

  Rafe smiled at her and traced her ear with the tip of his finger. He kissed her nose. “It’s not that, either. If we do this, I’ll have to be man enough to face your brother. I can do that. But I want to make certain it’s … what you really want.”

  Daphne stared up at him. She hoped he couldn’t see all the emotions she felt for him in her eyes. At the moment she didn’t care. She didn’t care about Julian, or the blond, or even their future. All she cared about was being in Rafe’s arms. Giving herself to the man she had always wanted. “I do want it Rafe. Truly,” she promised him.

  “Are you certain?”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and nodded.

  He kissed her cheek gently. “I’ll do my best to keep from hurting you.”