Mission_Improper

by Bec McMaster

  his face to still the heated echo of his father's fist.

  That soured his thoughts. Instantly he was

  back there, slamming into the door in his father's

  study, too small, too weak, too pathetic to strike

  back.

  Byrnes turned away from the memories,

  forcing them into that little locked box in his mind

  where he could pretend they didn't exist. He felt

  ill, as he always did when he thought of the

  viscount, but controlling it was easy. Lock it away.

  Lock it up tight. Don't ever let it out.

  The guilt was not so easy to hide.

  "Am I hurting you?" Ingrid's voice helped

  draw him into the present. She gently wound clean

  linen around the gauze that she'd packed over his

  wound. A chill told him that the craving virus was

  flooding back into the inflamed skin. By the end of

  an hour, there wouldn't even be a scratch.

  Which made this a complete and utter waste

  of her time.

  He said nothing though, because he quite liked

  those warm hands on his skin. "You're not hurting

  me."

  The tension that had radiated through her

  shoulders seemed to ebb.

  "Were you fretting?" he teased, then instantly

  wished he hadn't. Dark lashes fluttered down over

  her gorgeous eyes, but she couldn't hide how upset

  she looked in that moment. The bottom of his

  stomach dropped, much like it had when he

  rappelled down through the core of the staircase.

  Because the answer was yes. And he didn't

  know what to do about it.

  "Ingrid," he said hesitantly. "I'm incredibly

  difficult to kill. It’s fine.”

  "I wasn't there," she growled, throwing the

  small scalpel aside and pressing her hands to her

  thighs. "And all I could hear was gunfire, then you

  and Charlie come bursting out, pushing at me to run

  and blathering about vampires, and you're

  bleeding, and you wouldn't let me see to it in the

  carriage—" She pressed her curled fists into her

  eyes, turning away from him.

  It was the most extraordinary thing. Byrnes

  stared at her bowed back, thinking through a

  response. The most immediate one was another

  jest, but she was genuinely upset.

  Nobody had ever been upset about his

  injuries before. Nobody had ever cared enough.

  There was a strange feeling in his chest, like a

  lump. Perhaps of coal, since he didn't have a heart.

  "Ingrid," he said, sliding down the bed toward her

  and cupping her arms from behind.

  "Don't hold this against me," she growled,

  bowing her head lower. "I'm verwulfen. I can't

  help feeling this way, this—"

  "Upset?"

  "It doesn't mean anything," she pointed out.

  Byrnes turned her around, holding out his arm.

  "See...." The scent of blood had vanished. "Just a

  scratch. Almost gone already, though I'll thank you

  for your ministrations. And I wouldn't hold

  anything against you. I like it when you get angry."

  Reaching out, he cupped her face in his palm. "I

  like the fact that you care enough about me to grow

  agitated when I'm injured—"

  "Byrnes—"

  "You care. Don't lie. It's written all over your

  face."

  That didn't soothe the savage wild he saw in

  her eyes. Ingrid was close to the edge tonight, and

  one push would rouse her fierce verwulfen nature.

  Sliding his hands down her arms to soothe her, he

  instinctively kissed the tip of her nose. "After all,

  how could you not? How could you resist me?”

  Ingrid couldn’t fight the faint tug of her lips

  upwards. “I’m glad that someone thinks you’re

  wonderful. Too bad it’s only you.”

  He rubbed her arms, laughing under his

  breath. “You think I’m wonderful. Admit it, Ingrid.

  You wouldn’t be in here fussing over me if you

  didn’t.”

  “Arrogant fool.” She set her hand to his chest.

  “And you like me fussing.”

  True. He smiled and tugged on a lock of her

  hair, which only earned him a swat with her hand.

  “Ouch,” he said, drawing his arm against his

  chest.

  Instantly she was all contrition. “Oh, I’m

  sorry! Did I hurt you? Did I—”

  He used the moment to capture her in his

  arms, dragging her half into his lap. “Yes, you did

  hurt me. Kiss it better?”

  That earned him a narrow-eyed look, but she

  didn’t push him away this time. Instead her fingers

  toyed with his collar and she glanced down. “I

  never thought you’d have this side to you,” she

  admitted.

  “Roguish?”

  “Playful.”

  That made him thoughtful. He nibbled on her

  fingertips. This was more than pleasant. Seeing her

  eyes light up verwulfen bronze made his blood

  sing through his veins. Teasing her had begun to

  feel like the highlight of his day. But he wasn’t

  about to admit that. “You should see me in bed,” he

  told her instead.

  Ingrid sighed. “You’re the most frustrating

  man I know.”

  “That's unlikely to—"

  The kiss took him by surprise. Her fists

  curled in his open shirt and her soft lips brushed

  his. Byrnes had missed the minute change in her

  expression that preceded this. He stilled, letting

  her draw back, and tasting the soft wash of her

  breath on his sensitized lips.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, glancing up at him

  from beneath those dark lashes with a teasing glow

  in her eyes.

  “Liar. You’re not sorry at all.” Byrnes

  brushed his mouth against her cheek, nuzzling

  closer to her lips. “You do realize that’s not going

  to end there.”

  He felt her smile. “Isn’t it? Maybe I don’t

  want it to.”

  For too long he’d been kept at arm’s length,

  determined to be patient and outwait her. No more.

  Byrnes slid his hand up to caress her nape and

  drew her mouth to his. She tasted both sweet and

  sinful, her mouth opening to his as he deepened the

  kiss. The first lash of her tongue felt like it stroked

  along his cock. Byrnes slid his spare hand up her

  thigh, his fingers sinking in a little harshly as he

  fought to contain himself. Christ. His body ignited

  as Ingrid slid fully into his lap, straddling him. The

  kiss became hungrier. Deeper. Possessive. And it

  was moving in a clear direction.

  Maybe I don’t want it to?

  The game slipped away, the challenge, the

  conquest.... He was surprised by how much he

  wanted this. Her. Just her. Hands hesitating on her

  hips, he drew back at the thought.

  "I haven't been drinking tonight," she

  reminded him in a soft voice, as if she thought that

  the reason he'd withdrawn.

  Well, now. He swallowed, every wicked

  little thought that had sprung into mind at the

>   Garden of Eden echoing loudly in his head. He

  knew what she was offering. Everything. It

  lingered in her heated gaze, in the gentle way she

  traced the half-open collar of his shirt. Ingrid knew

  exactly what she wanted, and she was determined

  to get it.

  And again he hesitated. What was wrong with

  him? There was a nervous pit in his abdomen,

  instinct whispering through him like it sometimes

  did when he knew he was in danger. But there was

  no danger here. Only Ingrid, with the candlelight

  turning her skin to molten gold, her natural perfume

  hovering in the air like a smoky lure and the

  shadows growing deeper, darker....

  No danger. But he felt like he hovered on the

  edge of taking a momentous step forward, and he

  wasn’t certain what that meant.

  "You want me to tup you," he said, and his

  cock jerked at the words. As far as his body was

  concerned, it was all in. Who could blame him?

  Ingrid was absolutely gorgeous; all Amazon legs,

  generous breasts, and muscular litheness. A

  Valkyrie in human form. And all his...

  "Maybe I'll tup you," she whispered, a palm

  pressing against his chest as he slid back on the

  bed, and she rose over him.

  "What about our challenge?"

  She kissed the words from his lips, her

  fingers trailing down his shirt and stroking the hard

  flex of his abdomen. "Maybe I changed my mind?"

  He couldn't fight it anymore. His mouth took

  hers, hard and demanding. His fingers were in her

  hair, gently tugging the honey-gold locks from their

  braid and tangling the soft strands over her

  shoulders. He wanted to pause, to drink in the

  sensation of her hair against his skin, but Ingrid had

  him by the lapels. She muscled him back against

  the wall. The bronze ring around her pupils was

  heating, stealing through the hazel of her eyes, as if

  the berserker fury roused within her. Then she was

  nipping at his throat, tearing at the buttons there as

  if to get at his skin. Byrnes tilted his head back,

  one hand sliding through her hair and cupping her

  nape.

  Sweet heaven. It had been an age since she'd

  been in his arms. Too long. Far too long.

  He gave himself over wholly to her, and

  Ingrid yanked his shirt from his leather breeches. It

  was as if a dam had broken somewhere inside her.

  And he liked it.

  "Yes? Or no?" she whispered.

  "Maybe," he breathed, to toy with her.

  Firm hands pushed him down flat onto the bed

  and then a pair of hard-toned thighs straddled him.

  His back hit the pillows, her knees sliding deep

  into the coverlet on either side of his hips.

  He certainly wasn't going to fight it. Byrnes

  curled a possessive hand around her hip, resting it

  on her arse. Their eyes met, and then she fisted

  both hands in the center of his shirt, and tore it

  clean up the middle.

  "I'll buy you a new one," she whispered, a

  heated flash of her eyes sweeping over him before

  she leaned down and kissed the side of his throat.

  Her touch was ravenous as she slid his shirt off his

  shoulders, licking at his neck and then suckling

  hard.

  Hell. His eyes rolled back in his head. Being

  ravished by Ingrid was definitely an experience he

  wouldn't say no to.

  "That's okay," he breathed, a shock of feeling

  shooting through him as she bit him. His fingers

  curled into the flesh of her bottom, his hips

  thrusting up in reaction. "You can tear my shirt off

  me anytime you like. But don't think I won't be

  returning the favor."

  The leather protective overcorset she wore

  was smooth beneath his hands. All of these fiddly

  straps and buckles. He wanted to explore more, but

  she was determined to have her own way.

  Which was quite fine by him, to be honest, if

  only that little doubt hadn't reared its head again.

  This wasn't surrender. This was Ingrid

  scratching a physical itch, and he had the sickening

  feeling that tomorrow she would buckle herself

  back into her protective corset-armor and lift her

  brow at him as if to say, What? Nothing would

  have changed. He'd have gotten what he wanted,

  she'd have gotten what she wanted... and yet the

  goal posts had shifted somewhere deep inside him.

  Grabbing her by the wrists, Byrnes rolled

  them until he lay nestled between her parted thighs.

  They both panted, and Ingrid arched up beneath

  him as if to demand to know why he'd stopped.

  Part of him didn't know why he'd stopped.

  "I've changed my mind," he told her. "This is

  cheating. I still have two challenges to go."

  Only this time, winning his way into her bed

  wasn't the prize.

  "Byrnes!" Her wrists lifted off the bed as she

  fought him, and she was very nearly strong enough

  to push him away.

  But he kissed her throat, feeling the kick of

  her pulse against his lips, and trailed lower, lower,

  heading for the smooth slopes of her breasts.

  Perfect ground to wage his campaign.

  "Ah, ah, ah," he told her, pressing her into the

  mattress and kissing his way down her throat. "I

  didn't say I intended to forgo the pleasure entirely.

  Just that I hadn't earned the right to fuck you."

  "I don't care! Byrnes!" Ingrid writhed beneath

  him, then gasped as his lips nibbled over the soft

  fleshy curve of her breast. "This is ridiculous. I

  said yes!”

  Not on her life. Stubbornness reared its head.

  He was going to win her over properly. As much

  as he desperately wanted to sink his cock into her

  wet heat, that would... not be right. Not yet.

  "Tempting," he whispered, "but I think I enjoy

  torturing you. Call it payback." After all, he wasn't

  about to admit what had caused this little change of

  heart, at least not until he'd had time to examine the

  issue at leisure himself.

  Ingrid pushed up onto her elbows stubbornly.

  "I'm fairly certain I could talk you into it." One

  hand slid between his legs and caressed the hard

  bulge of his cock through the leather as her eyes

  blazed with triumph.

  Fuck. Byrnes swallowed. "I'm fairly certain

  you could." He bit the tip of her nose, teeth grazing

  lightly against her skin. "But what's the rush?"

  Trailing his fingertips down over her breast, he

  paid close attention to the soft leather covering her

  nipple. "Don't you want to have a little fun first?"

  He finally found the buckle at the side of her ribs

  that held her leather corset in place, and released

  it. "I do."

  That caught her interest. "Define 'fun.'"

  He smiled. "Off," he said, and Ingrid

  practically ripped her leather corset off and threw

  it across the room.

  Frustration, thy name was verwulfen. Byrnes
<
br />   leaned closer, daring to meet that incinerating gaze.

  "I never understand you," she growled. "I

  practically handed you... me on a platter."

  "I'm just slowing us down," he murmured

  against her lips. Such soft lips. "It is going to

  happen. One day."

  "I think you enjoy torturing me. And yourself."

  "Is this torture?" Resting on one elbow, he

  slid his other hand up the rumpled linen of her

  chemise, his thumb splaying into the groove of her

  ribs where her heart lay. The swell of her breast

  rode up, drawing his gaze. Then his mouth.

  "Yes," she breathed, sinking her fingers into

  his hair as he kissed his way between her breasts.

  "Torture most profound. An ache so sweet that it's

  almost painful."

  "Do you think that I don't feel it too?" He

  nosed aside the soft linen of her chemise. Her

  nipple sprang to view, rosy and peaked and aching

  for his mouth. His cock pulsed inside his pants.

  "Do you think that I’m not aching to be within

  you?”

  “Byrnes!” She undid the buttons on her

  breeches, then wriggled out of them, revealing

  dangerously long legs encased in delicate

  stockings.

  "Imagine," he breathed in her ear, as his hand

  slid down over the curve of her hip and began

  edging her chemise up, "what it's going to feel like

  when I'm finally inside you."

  Ingrid moaned. “You talk too much.”

  “Oh?” He laughed and tugged her chemise

  lower, revealing the perfect arch of one smooth

  breast. More than a handful. “Didn’t you know that

  anticipation is one of the greatest parts of

  seduction?” So saying, he tugged her chemise

  another inch lower, until the lace neckline hovered

  on the tip of her puckered nipple. “Now look at

  this,” he breathed, brushing his lips over the lace.

  Ingrid had frozen, barely daring to breathe.

  Her hips shifted restlessly but she didn’t take her

  gaze off him.

  “It looks… soft, and yet hard.” Dragging the

  lace lower revealed her nipple, hardened into a

  bud. He blew over the tip of it, smiling evilly. “It

  looks… delicious.”

  “Byrnes, you—”

  He closed his mouth around that aching bud

  and she gasped, her hands sliding into his hair.

  “Oh, oh God!”

  Taking it between his teeth, he rolled it gently

  as Ingrid thrashed beneath him. Slowly his hand

  crept below the hem of her chemise, teasing at the

  flesh there. He was certain she’d stopped