To Catch A Rogue (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy Book 4)

by Bec McMaster

  Just who has the upper hand now, Charlie?

  His mind's eye provided an exquisitely detailed image of what she'd look like as she entered the water like Venus de Milo in reverse. The dimples in her bottom shifting as her powerful thighs flexed. Her hands fanning through the ripples as she sank deeper with each step.

  Breasts swaying. The water level rising, obscuring the lower half of her body.

  "Did you just say something?" she called.

  I'm fairly damned certain I just groaned. "No. Are you covered?"

  "Almost."

  He heard her submerge and whipped his shirt over his head, and then began stripping his trousers and drawers down his thighs briskly. His erection slapped against his stomach as he freed it. Grabbing a towel, he draped it around his waist as he headed for the pool.

  Lark watched him come, only her bare shoulders revealed. Water spiked her lashes together, making her eyes look dark in the moonlight.

  Charlie steeled himself and forced a smile. His hands dropped to the towel. "Best close those innocent eyes," he warned, tugging his towel loose from his hips.

  "Charlie!"

  He slipped into the water, heat rushing up his body. Lark had clapped her hands over her face, so he dove under and then surfaced, raking his sopping hair out of his eyes.

  He saw her peeking through her fingers and smiled at her. "Enjoying the view?"

  Lark's eyes narrowed. Challenge accepted. "It's adequate."

  The look in her eyes told him the truth. "Lark Elizabeth Rathinger. Don't make me prove my point."

  "And how would you prove it?"

  They circled each other, arms fanning in slow back-and-forth movements. He could touch the bottom, but he doubted she could right now.

  Charlie took a step closer. "Dare me."

  Water slicked her shoulders. The heat in her eyes wasn't just imagined now. It was practically incendiary. Inches separated them as he edged closer, then Lark sniffed and stroked backward, almost, but not quite revealing everything he wanted to see.

  "I'll concede the point. You've always looked like an angel."

  "An angel?" He was the furthest thing from that, and the thoughts he'd been having tonight were far from pure.

  "Don’t pretend you didn’t know that. You used to bat those pretty lashes at Honoria in absolute innocence and lie through your teeth. She never fell for it, and neither will I."

  Her hair draped down her spine like a wet curtain of dark silk, and she settled on the ledge opposite him, resting her arms along the lip of the pool with an arched eyebrow, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

  Bloody hell.

  His eyes narrowed, and heat flushed through his cock. The water barely hid the taunt of her nipples, and there were curves there he'd never seen before.

  Not in this much detail, anyway.

  "Looks like I'm not the only one who's filled out," he purred, because if she was going to shoot him that challenging look, then she could accept the consequences of it.

  Lark's eyes narrowed.

  Dangerously.

  "I noticed you noticing tonight at the ball."

  "I think everyone in the room noticed. Including your friend, Valentin."

  "You are jealous." She gave him a mysterious smile. "Blame Gemma, not me."

  Of course he blamed Gemma. He should never have told her about Lark. He'd thought himself safe, for he'd been so certain Gemma would never meet her.

  "Do you have the soap?"

  It flew at him, and he snatched it out of the air with a smile. He scrubbed the coal and blood off his skin and soaped his hair, ducking beneath the water to sluice it off. It wasn't until he came up, scraping the water from his face and hair, that he realized she was staring.

  "I think you promised to wash my back, did you not?"

  "Charlie," she growled.

  He winked. "I can return the favor, if you want."

  Inching closer, he stalked her through the water, holding the soap as peace entreaty.

  She splashed him full in the face, and he choked as water hit the back of his throat.

  "Damn you, Lark," he growled. "I had my bloody mouth open."

  Movement shifted in the steam as she turned to run. Acting on instinct, Charlie lunged forward and caught her, his arms wrapping around her waist as he plunged her beneath the surface.

  He barely had time to catch his breath before he went under too, because there was smooth, slick skin pressed firmly against him, and somehow his hand slipped, and there was soft, slick skin in his palm, a gentle curved weight that scalded his hand, her nipple—

  He came up, hands held up in surrender and heat flooding his cheeks. There was no sign of the soap. "Sorry. Didn't mean for that to happen."

  Lark glared, one hand covering her breasts.

  Then she splashed him in the face again, only this time he saw the impish tilt to her lips. The minx was playing with him.

  At least he knew the rules of this game.

  A full-scale war erupted, water flying up around them in curtains. Lark was utterly ruthless, and he found himself blinded, searching for her as she drenched him.

  He captured her wrists, water churning around them. "Are you trying to drown me?"

  "If I was trying to drown you, I'd be succeeding," she shot back, and launched upwards, her hands pressing on his head.

  Charlie caught of glimpse of her pale breasts and went down spluttering. "Bloody—" He came back up and captured her waist in his hands. More pale, naked skin he probably wasn't meant to see sent him under in shock again. Water swamped him, and then he wrapped his arms around her like a steel trap.

  Lark squirmed, and—

  Fuck.

  They were chest to chest now, breathing hard, and her legs were dangerously close to wrapping around his hips.

  Something else was hard too.

  He let her go, sinking beneath the water up to his eyes and trying to ignore the insistent surge of his cock.

  Lark stared back as they slowly circled each other.

  "So that happened," he breathed, as he broke the surface.

  It was a game they'd played many times before, but everything had changed. It wasn't just the shape of her body, lithe and sleek with curves he wanted to explore, but the three years they'd spent apart. Once upon a time, she'd been his dearest confidant, his closest friend and competitor, but the relationship between them now seemed dangerously complex.

  Three years ago she'd have rolled her eyes.

  But she didn't now.

  It seemed he wasn't the only one fighting his way through the sudden quagmire of unexpected feelings.

  "We can't do this," she suddenly said, turning and striding toward the edge of the pool.

  "Do what?" He caught her wrist.

  "This," she snapped, tugging at her wrist. She was bare seconds away from slinking out of the water, and suddenly he didn't want her to go.

  Couldn't let her go.

  His breath caught in his throat. "I missed you."

  Lark turned her head to the side, tension setting in her shoulders. Her lips parted, her eyes softening.... And then she looked away. "I'm sure you did."

  Charlie's hands slid slowly down her side. Did she not understand what the last three years had felt like? No matter how much he tried, without her, it felt like some vital piece of his life was gone. His hand curled over her right hip, and he squeezed a little too hard. "No. You don't get to pretend I didn't care. You spent years freezing me out—"

  "I lost the only father I ever knew. I was grieving—"

  "Do you think I didn't grieve too?" he demanded sharply, turning her around so he could see her face. The words came out choked, "I killed Tin Man. I made a reckless decision, and he paid for it with his life. He threw himself in front of a fucking bullet meant for me. You think I don't recall what you said to me at his funeral every damned day of my—"

  "Charlie, no."

  A hand caressed his face, and he bit the words off, turning int
o her touch. Needing it.

  "I killed him," he whispered, closing his eyes and leaning into her caress. "And I nearly got you killed in the process. That's the thought that keeps me awake at night. Seeing it all over again. Seeing you bleeding in my arms. I almost lost you."

  That moment had defined his entire life. He could separate the elements of his life from that moment as Before the Revolution, and After. Before, he'd been a careless boy, invincible with the craving; and After, he'd been shattered by the loss of something precious.

  He had never known, until the moment she nearly died, how much he loved her.

  "It was never your fault. Tin Man and I decided to come with you of our own accord. That was our choice. And we paid our consequences. I know he'd have considered his sacrifice worth it. He loved you, Charlie." She shook him a little. "I told you that at the time. I apologized for what I said."

  "You hated me," he choked out.

  "I didn't hate you." She cupped his face in both hands. "I could never hate you. I was... I was lost. For a long time I was so lost. When I woke up after the Ivory Tower, all I could feel was the crushing hunger of the craving. Every emotion—every hint of grief— it overwhelmed me until I was choking on it. It felt like all of a sudden I’d lost everything—my past, my humanity, Tin Man, you. You," she repeated, caressing his cheek. "You couldn't even bear to be in the same room with me. I wasn't the only one who turned away, Charlie."

  "You could hardly stand to look at me."

  "That's because I was fighting the craving! Seeing you brought up everything I felt. I could barely control myself at first. You know what it feels like."

  Overwhelming urges. Furious emotions. The thirst. The constant fucking thirst....

  Of all people, perhaps he did.

  "You left the Warren. Wanted to make a life for yourself outside the rookeries." Her voice dropped. "You left me behind."

  He sucked in a sharp breath. "I left the rookeries because I wanted to make you happy. It felt like you didn't want me there. It felt like I couldn't breathe in the Warren. You were everywhere and with you...." He lowered his head. "With you came the guilt. I needed some space, but it was never from you. I missed you." He pressed his forehead to hers. "I missed you so much I could barely breathe, but I needed the time to work out who I was, and you needed the space to grieve. I missed you. Every day. Every night. Every breath I took."

  A tremble ran through her as she captured his wrists. "Charlie...." It sounded like a groan. A plea.

  The breath heaved through his chest. He couldn't stop stroking his thumbs down her face, her cheeks.

  Her lips.

  Charlie drew back, staring down into eyes the color of green jasper. Starbursts of brown and gold streaks fanned away from her pupils. He could drown in her eyes and consider himself a lucky man.

  "I missed you too," Lark whispered, her gaze dropping to his mouth.

  He was only a man.

  And he'd wanted her forever, it sometimes seemed.

  Leaning down, he angled his mouth across hers, capturing the gasp on her lips. One final, irrevocable step across the line drawn in the sand between them. They would never be the same, and he didn't give a damn, for he was tired of all the push-pull between them. Tired of yearning for her when he didn't dare reach for her.

  Tired of dreaming of her in his arms, only for her to evaporate the second he woke.

  Lark resisted for all of a heartbeat, but then she was yielding with sudden fervor, responding to the intense demand of his kiss. Soft. Her mouth was so fucking soft. And hesitant. Not with distaste, but as if uncertain precisely what she was asking for. As she would be. Her first kiss had been stolen from him—proficient, she'd said—but her second.... He'd be damned if he wouldn't give her an experience to remember. Charlie dragged her into his arms, fusing their bodies from the lips all the way down as he took control of the kiss.

  Soft thighs straddled his own, and then she was melting against him, her own arms twining around his neck as she slowly began to kiss him back. The soft slick of her tongue stirred through him, igniting the hunger, but it was the feel of her breasts pressed flush against him that broke his concentration.

  Or stole it, perhaps.

  Groaning under his breath, he drew back half an inch, his heart rocketing through his veins.

  Lark looked just as dazed as he felt, both of them flushed and breathing hard. A moment to acknowledge what had just happened before her lashes lowered in half-dazed surrender, and her gaze dropped to his mouth.

  More.

  The command was unspoken but he felt it rush through him, leaving him dizzy with desire.

  And then he was nuzzling her jaw, and stroking his hands down her throat. Chasing his own touch with his mouth, until the flickering beat of her pulse hammered against his lips. The soft swell of her breast curved beneath his palm, and Lark gasped, arching into the touch.

  The world around him vanished, leaving him nothing more than a creature of need and hunger.

  All he could feel was the softness of her body, slick and silky smooth.

  All he could taste was her skin.

  And all he could hear was the thunder of her heartbeat, so close to his face.

  Capturing her nipple in his mouth, Charlie suckled hard, kneading her back with both hands. Fuck. He was turning to pure flame, the heat in his cock threatening to consume him. Years of unfulfilled desire surged through him, like the banks of a river finally bursting.

  Rearing up, he claimed her mouth again, sloppy and hard. No more kindness in the caress. No more gentle touching. He pushed her against the wall of the pool, his hips sliding into the vee of her thighs. Hot and slick, and fuck, but he couldn't help thrusting against her, yearning to bury himself inside her. Needing to claim her. To make her his, once and for all, and—

  Lark broke the kiss, pushing him away. "No," she rasped, her mouth full and swollen. "No. We can't do this."

  "Why not?" He pressed closer, so certain all of a sudden of what he wanted. "I want you, Lark. And you want me. You can't pretend you don't. I know you inside and out."

  She held him at bay with a single shaking hand pressed firmly against his chest. "Of course I want you. But you don't understand. You make me forget who I am. When I'm with you, I'm reckless and crazy and I take foolish bloody risks without thinking about the cost—"

  "I'm not certain what the problem is there." Sinking beneath the water, he captured her hand and kissed the palm.

  "Because I can't afford to forget who I am!" She tore her hand away from him. "We're in Russia, Charlie! We walked right into a trap tonight because we weren't bloody thinking. We don't have time to... to do this. Look at your eyes. You're not in control right now. And neither am I."

  Charlie drew back, swallowing hard. She was right. There was no color in the world, only shadows carved of black and white. The craving had slipped its leash, burning through him like wildfire.

  And he couldn't allow himself to lose control.

  Fear cut through desire like a knife.

  He hadn't been this on edge in years.

  "We can't afford to make this mistake," she said, and then she fled from the pool with a flash of her rounded bottom, leaving him hard and swollen.

  And shuddering at the thought of how close he'd come to giving in to the hunger inside him.

  Lark slammed the door to her bedchamber behind her, unable to stop trembling. She'd fled from him in only a towel, grateful everyone else must have been asleep, including the servants snoring in their chambers.

  Her lips were soft and swollen, and the pit in her lower abdomen ached mercilessly.

  He'd kissed her.

  Charlie had kissed her, and somehow she knew she'd never be the same.

  "Don't be a fool," she whispered, pacing the room and searching for her bloody nightgown. "This is wrong. This is reckless. You can't afford to forget yourself right now."

  Dragging her nightgown on did little to still the racing beat of her heart—sh
e wanted to go back down there and throw caution to the wind and take everything Charlie had been offering, even if it was only for one night.

  Lark stared at herself in the mirror, capturing her own gaze.

  Stormy eyes, glazed with desire.

  Grigoriev eyes.

  Lark closed them.

  "I know you inside and out," he'd said.

  But he didn't. He didn't know a damned thing about her. Lark was merely a creation, a mask.

  She'd spent years in Whitechapel easing into her new life. At first she'd never stopped looking over her shoulder for the blue bloods that had killed her family, but when Charlie arrived in her life, she'd begun to relax.

  She'd lost herself in being a young girl, challenging Charlie to races over the rookery rooftops, and laughing as she dunked him in the river. Being with Charlie made her forget the past. It made her forget everything. She'd felt like a normal girl with a normal life ahead of her.

  For the first time in years, she'd lost the haunted, ever-watchful feeling that dogged her every step. Though her nightmares hadn't disappeared altogether, sometimes she dreamed of lying on a rooftop arguing over the shapes they saw in clouds instead, or waking up on her birthday only to be chased by Charlie in a pink nightrobe. Silly, carefree dreams, like the kind she'd had before she turned seven.

  She'd been happy.

  And happy meant careless.

  "Be careful," Tin Man had told her one night after a particularly foolish escapade earned them both a thrashing from Blade.

  At first she'd thought he was warning her to stop creating havoc in the Warren. Blade ruled the rookeries with an iron hand, but he was lenient when it came to members of his own family.

  Unless they stepped too far over the line....

  "I know you feel safe here," Tin Man signed, his entire expression mournful. "I don't want to take that away from you. But you can't afford to draw the wrong sort of attention. The stunt you and Charlie pulled today? It's got people talking. People outside the rookeries. I know you think throwing that screamer into the heart of Kowalski home territory was funny as hell, but the Kowalski gang's allied with the Orlov Eagles. You cannot afford to bring them sniffing around."