Three Redeemable Rogues

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Her body wasn’t her own.

  He knew where she ached, and knew how to touch her, and she couldn’t have stopped him even if she’d thought to.

  But she didn’t.

  She had wanted this all her life and just hadn’t known it... or him.

  He was kissing her so wantonly... biting so softly... as though she were his coveted feast...

  He knelt before her suddenly, clasping her to him, and she gasped in shock as his lips touched her bosom... then his hands, and her breath left her in a rush as he dipped a kiss between the valley of her breasts, letting his tongue slide down where no man had ever kissed her before.

  Sophie was deliciously scandalized.

  Her skin prickled with pleasure and she lifted her hand to his head, urging him to give her more. She knew instinctively that he could... that he would, and she wanted it with every fiber of her being.

  His lips skimmed her breasts, kissing and gently nipping, and Sophie’s heart somersaulted against her ribs. She was vaguely aware that he lifted the hem of her dress, his fingers lightly caressing her calf. He continued to lift it... as he kissed her belly... moved down to her thigh ... His tongue caressed her inner thigh, and Sophie swallowed the objection that came to her lips.

  Her heart hammered fiercely.

  His fingers skimmed the curls at the juncture of her thighs and she gasped in shock that was too laced with bliss to speak out in protest. Instinctively, clinging to a shred of modesty, she pressed her legs together, though not entirely to stop him. It only managed to intensify the feeling ... and trap his hand between her legs.

  He wiggled his finger, brushing her most delicate spot.

  “Oh my!” she exclaimed, and felt her eyes cross with a pleasure so keen it was almost pain. She leaned back on the desk then, bracing herself with trembling arms, lest she faint. The room went dim, and she was aware only of the man nestled so intimately between her thighs.

  He peered up at her, his green eyes burning with something like... hunger.

  “Spread your legs for me, Sophia.”

  Sophie’s heart jolted at the request. But she was powerless to deny him. His gaze demanded it and she wanted to give him everything he wanted ... anything he wanted. She swallowed any protest she might have uttered.

  Her legs trembled as she obeyed and he rewarded her with the most wickedly pleased smile Sophie had ever beheld. It made her belly flutter with anticipation.

  “That’s it, flower,” he encouraged her. “Open for me.”

  He teased her ... there ... and Sophie’s breath caught at the intensity of sensation that exploded everywhere he touched.

  “Jack!” she cried out, and sought his gaze.

  His eyes glittered like jewels. He didn’t stop. He continued without mercy, his fingers dancing magically, eliciting the most delicious sensations she had ever felt in all her life.

  “Oh my!” she said again, and thought she would die. “Jack!” she hissed, and it might have been a protest but her body arched toward him, urging him on. Her legs spread of their own accord, opening to him like a blossom to the sun.

  Her head fell backward, and her breath faltered as he lifted her skirts higher.

  And then she felt something so delightfully sinful that she wanted to cry out in ecstasy. His mouth replaced his fingers... his tongue moving over her with such slow precision that Sophie thought her heart would stop completely. His tongue danced where his fingers had, teasing her. And then he suckled her, and Sophie couldn’t bear it any longer. Unable to speak, she cried out for mercy.

  She fell backward as a finger slipped within her body, gently, caressing until she was oblivious. And then something suddenly burst within her, and she cried out with a joy so intense that she could scarcely contain it.

  She heard his answering gasp and felt his ardor as he continued to devour her.

  Her own cry of release played like an echo in her ear. As she lay there on his desk, Sophie was aware of only two things... no, three...

  One, she had never felt so cherished in all her life. Though she knew it was an illusion, an afterglow from the intensity of her pleasure.

  Two, she seemed to have given him something he’d desperately wanted, because he was kissing her sweetly still and didn’t seem to want to stop.

  And three... she seemed to have his quill embedded in her spine ... but be damned if she cared if it skewered her completely through.

  At the instant, she was floating on clouds.

  Chapter 21

  Jack sat at his desk, trying to make sense of the words jumbled before him.

  He was reading through reports that had been made by colleagues... accounts that had been lambasted and tossed away as inconsequential or erroneous simply because they did not comply with the accepted theory of human evolution.

  He was trying to read them but he could scarcely concentrate over the sounds coming from the other half of the room.

  Sophia was preparing for bed.

  But he didn’t feel the least bit tired.

  In fact, he could barely sit at his desk; he was so tense. He couldn’t stop remembering the taste of her... the feel of her sweet shudders as he’d brought her body to climax.

  His own body was in dire need of relief... relief only she could give him.

  His vision blurred and his concentration was reduced to nil.

  She was washing.

  He could hear her too clearly; buttons being unfastened, the rustle of falling garments, water splashing...

  She was painfully quiet otherwise.

  He tried to concentrate on his work, forcing his attention on the papers before him.

  It was his contention that the Mayan civilization, to have evolved to its final state of technological advancement, must have had ample time for said evolution...

  Water splashed behind the curtain.

  Where was she washing?

  Images taunted him—soft dark curls—he craved the taste of her all over again. Swallowing, he closed his eyes for a moment, and, when he reopened them he tried harder to focus ...

  It was difficult to believe that, as the present theory would have it, a Mesoamerican civilization could have developed to such a degree as had the Maya if man had migrated to the continent as late as only ten thousand years ago.

  Sweet... she was sweet.

  He blinked away the powerful image of her lying back on his desk... and ignored the evidence of his arousal.

  Sophie’s presence was driving him absolutely insane.

  What was she doing? Her silence was maddening.

  Should he speak to her? Tell her good night? Why the hell was he suddenly behaving as though he were some kid with his first crush? She was a Vanderwahl, sure enough, but those beautiful legs had not too long ago been wrapped around his neck, while her soft passionate cries had filled his ears.

  Annoyed with himself, he refocused his thoughts, tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk.

  The Mayan accomplishments left Jack incredulous. They had developed knowledge never obtained by comparable civilizations. Their system of mathematics could express sums in the millions, and they had understood the concept of the quantity of zero a thousand years before anyone else. Among their many other accomplishments, they’d developed a calendar accurate for four hundred million years, and their measure of the year was only a small fraction off target from the actual. An infant society, so to speak, would not have had the necessary time to advance to that point—at least not without outside influence.

  Those had been the seeds Penn had run away with... literally.

  Having worked closely with Jack, Penn had presented to the board Jack’s precise body of thought, except that he hadn’t truly understood the gist of Jack’s theory. It was Penn’s contention that because the Mayan civilization never seemed to move beyond the Stone Age—never employing the wheel for any sensible purpose, or developing a phonetic alphabet—the Maya must have been handed their knowledge by sources outside their own culture.


  Having had access to Jack’s reports, Penn had shot down Jack’s theory point by point before the board, twisting his own arguments against him in the name of religion, to such a degree that Jack found it an insult to his intelligence and a crippling blow to progress. As it was, it wouldn’t have been easy to convince them of the validity of his own theories, but after Harlan had finished with them, they hadn’t even been inclined to hear him out.

  Even though Jack had proof to offer.

  The reports he had in front of him by trusted colleagues gave evidence that strongly implied anatomically modern man had inhabited the continent from a far earlier date. That led Jack to believe it more likely that the Maya had indeed developed on their own. But with that theory, he had committed a professional sin: He had dared to question the standard institution.

  It seemed incredible to Jack that evidence such as this, given by respected researchers, could be dismissed in favor of that given by someone like Penn. Though Penn’s evidence was minimal, relying almost primarily on religious parallelisms, it was he who had received the grants for continued research, and Jack who had been left to flounder.

  Jack believed it was because Penn’s research not merely supported the accepted theory of evolution, but favored religious doctrine. And it galled him, not that Penn’s theories were given credence—all evidence should be considered—but that Penn’s theories and those like his were the only ones given any credit at all.

  Jack sure as hell didn’t mind being wrong.

  In fact, he’d proven himself out of countless theories. But he damned well didn’t like being told he was wrong even before he’d set out to do his job—by men who considered themselves the ruling elite.

  The curtain opened abruptly.

  Sophie stood there, dressed in her tattered nightgown, and somehow still managed to look regal.

  Despite his mood, the sight of her brought a smile to his lips.

  Sophie smiled back at him.

  He was leaning wearily on his desk, chin in hand, staring at his papers with that provoked look he usually reserved for her.

  “What is it you’re studying?” she asked him, resisting the urge to go and peek over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to appreciate her interest in his work, but her curiosity was addling her. She just couldn’t help herself.

  “Work,” he said simply. He continued to smile at her, and Sophie’s cheeks heated.

  He’d been far more receptive to her since their encounter that afternoon—a positive change—but Sophie couldn’t quite enjoy it. She didn’t like this sudden shyness that had come over her in his presence. She couldn’t even seem to glance his way without blushing, and the more care he took to put her at ease, the more embarrassed she became.

  Jack MacAuley had seen far more of her than any man had a right to, and her behavior had been abominable. Her thoughts were muddled. Something so beautiful couldn’t possibly have been wrong... and yet she was technically still engaged to Harlan... at least until she faced him. She hadn’t any right to indulge in such unseemly behavior with anyone at all.

  And yet, though her cheeks burned, she couldn’t find true regret for what she’d done.

  The very sight of Jack made her heart catch.

  He set down his papers, giving her his full attention.

  Sophie smiled shyly at him and approached the desk under the pretense of looking at Harlan’s picture. Lifting it up, she smiled contentedly at her own handiwork, then set the picture down, tapping it thoughtfully before she glanced back at Jack.

  He was watching her intently, secretly amused by something. About what, Sophie had no idea.

  His brows lifted. “You can’t wait to see him, I take it?”

  “No, I really can’t,” she admitted, and it was the truth. She couldn’t wait to read him his own treacherous words and then fling her ring into his face. Let him give it to one of his precious native girls!

  “It shows,” he said, peering at her. Suddenly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Sophie made an effort to appear serene. She wasn’t prepared for explanations just yet.

  Somehow, all of it made her feel a bit of a failure.

  Her mother had sometimes cautioned her not to show her true nature, because she was certain Sophie would never keep a man. Her temper was too quick, her interests too masculine, and her hair never remained in place. She reached up and pulled the ribbon from her hair, letting the strands fall free. She’d spent an inordinate amount of time trying to make it presentable, but why even try to restrain it?

  It wasn’t her fault that Harlan was a philandering fool!

  “So...” She toyed with the pale ivory ribbon, wrapping it around the thumb of her hand. “What are you working on?” she persisted, hoping her question would turn the attention away from her.

  Jack was looking at her far too knowingly and it made her nervous.

  “You really want to know?”

  “Of course,” she told him. “I’d not have asked otherwise.”

  “I was reading through reports made by colleagues.”

  “What sort of reports?”

  “Evidence discovered along the North American continent which indicates a much older indigenous peoples than is normally accepted.”

  Sophie unraveled the ribbon from her finger. “In other words ... the natives have been here much longer than we think?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I see.” She was truly interested, but although her fiancé was an expert in the field of anthropology, she hadn’t the first inkling how their studies were performed. Harlan never talked to her about anything. “And how would you know such a thing?”

  He pushed a paper at her. “Take this article, for example...”

  Sophie turned the paper around. It was titled “A Relic of a Bygone Age.”

  “That particular article appeared in Scientific American, on June 5, 1852.”

  Sophie read the scribble at the top of the page, written in what she supposed was Jack’s hand, Metallic vase from Precambrian rock.

  “A bell-shaped vessel was thrown from the rock in the explosion highlighted in this article.”

  Sophie scanned the letter, and asked with surprise, “In Massachusetts?”

  Jack nodded portentously. “Yes, indeed. The body of the vessel resembled zinc in color and on the side was a design inlaid with pure silver. Around the bottom ran a vine, also inlaid with silver. The chasing, carving, and inlaying were done by a skilled artisan. It was blown out of solid pudding stone, fifteen feet below the earth’s surface. That stone dates to the Precambrian Age, which makes it over six hundred million years old.”

  Sophie’s brows drew together. “That’s remarkable!”

  “Yes, it is,” Jack agreed. “The standard view is that Asian hunters and gatherers crossed the Bering Strait about twelve thousand years ago.”

  “That is quite a discrepancy,” Sophie remarked.

  “An incredible discrepancy. But that report hardly stands alone. There are dozens of the like.”

  “Amazing,” Sophie said with awe.

  Hungry for more knowledge, she glanced longingly at the stack of reports Jack had guarded so fiercely.

  “Would you like to read them?”

  Sophie blinked at his question and tried to gauge his expression. Was he serious? Or merely teasing her? “Really?”

  He nodded, and she gasped in surprise.

  “You truly don’t mind?”

  He merely smiled at her question and pushed the stack towards her. “Only if you promise to take them straight to your bed and read them there, and nowhere else.”

  Sophie broke into a wide smile.

  “And no lanterns within five feet,” he demanded further.

  Sophie laughed, although she wanted to take offense. She couldn’t. If she were Jack, she doubted she’d let herself anywhere near them.

  “And no water, and no ink anywhere near it! And when you are through you are to place them back in my drawer in a tidy fashion.”
>
  “Good lord!” Sophie wanted to laugh out loud. “I am not usually so prone to disasters,” she assured him.

  His brows lifted and his smile widened as well. He sat back in his chair, staring at her, and said very decisively, “I don’t believe you.”

  Sophie took his papers before he could change his mind, lifting the heavy stack to her breast, hugging them. There was really nothing she could say in her own defense, but she could certainly prove it by putting them neatly back into his desk before morning.

  “Thank you, Jack,” she offered with an appreciative smile.

  He nodded, staring at her still, and his smile seemed suddenly wistful, “Good night, flower,” he said.

  Sophie’s heart leaped at his endearment.

  She met his gaze, swallowing. It was the second time he’d said that to her ... and it made her heart beat just as fiercely the second time around. Although they were standing at least six feet from each other, the mere memory of the first time made her body instantly warm, and the look in his eyes seized her breath.

  She felt suddenly dizzy.

  “Good night, Jack,” she said in a rush, and practically ran to her bed, drawing the curtains shut behind her.

  Chapter 22

  Jack sat watching the curtains long after she’d closed them.

  Ridiculous as the notion was, he envied that stack of papers she had embraced so protectively.

  He could see her silhouette against the makeshift curtains, a gift of the lanterns she had lit on the far side of the room. She was curled up in her hammock with his papers braced on her lap, reading.

  He couldn’t help but watch her as he put up his own hammock and readied himself for bed ... and wonder. Did Penn know what a gem he had in Sophie?

  He was pretty sure she wasn’t snooping for Penn, and if she was, he doubted she would find anything in those reports that Penn wouldn’t at once scoff at. The man’s mind was closed. There was nothing to be lost in letting her read them, and his views weren’t any secret, either. But he didn’t want to believe any longer that she was in cahoots with Penn.