by Lora Leigh
“Yes, a good man will keep you very busy,” Lucinda agreed. “Tell me, Rogue, who was the brute that left that charming little mark beneath your jaw?” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I hadn’t heard you were dating, dear.”
“I’m not.” Rogue cleared her throat. “It was an accident with my curling iron.” She twirled a curl nervously as she lied with zero guilt and a charming smile. “Nature isn’t always perfect. If you’ll excuse me now, Tabitha needs help.”
Rogue escaped, leaving Zeke to stare across the table at his aunt while Shane fought to hold back his laugher.
“I’m going to assume you have a reason for torturing Rogue,” he stated.
Lucinda’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t torturing Rogue, dear. I was merely chatting.” She looked to Shane. “Was I torturing the child?”
Shane shifted in his seat, glared at his father, and cleared his throat. “Maybe some,” he finally admitted, before Zeke received another of the boy’s accusing stares. “Maybe you should torture the guy that left the mark.”
Lucinda sighed. “If only I could learn for certain who did such a thing,” she said calmly. “Why, I called everyone I knew since first learning of it this morning. Didn’t you hear me on the cell phone, dear?”
“I did.” Shane ran his hand over his shortened dark brown hair. “Hours’ worth, Aunt Lucinda.”
“Exactly.” Lucinda sighed. “And the only man that she’s even been known to speak with for longer than a few minutes was your father.” She turned innocent eyes on Zeke. “You talked to her last night about her cousins’ deaths, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Zeke answered cautiously. Damn Lucinda, she was like a shark on the scent of blood.
“Did she mention who she was dating?” Supreme innocence filled his aunt’s face. The look was frightening.
“Nope, and I didn’t ask her.”
He’d simply more or less ordered her not to consider dating anyone. He couldn’t conceive the thought of Rogue in another man’s bed. In the years she had been in Somerset, there had always been talk, especially after those pictures surfaced, but nothing serious.
“Not that I’m sure it matters.” Lucinda shrugged.
“Meaning?” Zeke was nearly pushing the words past his lips now. What the hell was Lucinda up to? Hell, she was dangerous. He should introduce her to that Homeland Security special agent, Timothy Cranston; Aunt Lucinda could teach him a thing or two about interrogation.
“Wrong question,” Shane muttered as Lucinda smiled again. That smile was known to make grown men whimper.
“Well, after those horrible pictures.” She sighed. “Well, a man has to be careful, doesn’t he?”
Zeke drew in a long, careful breath as Tabitha moved toward them. The waitress carried menus, and behind her one of the young waiters was bearing ice water.
“Aunt Lucinda,” he said softly. “We don’t want to continue this conversation.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Of course not, dear. Is she a very good friend of yours as well now?”
Friend. No, he had never called Rogue a friend. A fantasy. A temptation. The one thing he couldn’t have and wanted more than his next breath. They were more than friends. They weren’t lovers. He couldn’t allow himself to step that close to her.
“Enough.” He stared back at her as Tabitha moved closer.
Lucinda sighed. Shane made that odd choking sound again as Zeke sliced his gaze to him. His son had his head down, his lips tight, but if Zeke wasn’t mistaken, that tight line threatened to turn to a smile. When Shane knew what the hell Lucinda was up to, and Zeke didn’t, it was time to worry.
But a part of him was fairly certain he knew exactly what Lucinda was up to. No one had seen a mark on Rogue’s neck before his visit last night, now, this morning, it was there, and obviously it had been seen by one of Lucinda’s gossip buddies.
He was going to have to be more careful with Rogue’s silken skin, he thought. It was tender, so damned sweet, and obviously he wasn’t nearly as careful with her as he had been with lovers in the past. Because Zeke knew better than to leave a mark. He knew better than to leave any proof that he had spent the night with a woman, that any woman held his attention. Especially considering the fact that Lucinda butted her nose into so much as the hint that Zeke could be involved with anyone.
She believed the only way he was going to be happy would be if he remarried. Despite her own unmarried state, Lucinda wasn’t happy unless everyone around her was enjoying connubial bliss.
As his father had once said, after Lucinda’s husband’s death, she had become damned strange. Fun. But strange as hell.
Silence filled the table as the waiter set water before them and Tabitha handed them their menus with her cheery little spiel on the chef’s specials. She took their drink orders, then moved away with a promise to return shortly for their dinner orders.
“She’s a pretty little girl, Shane,” Lucinda piped up. “You could do worse.”
“No, I couldn’t,” Shane muttered. “She’s older than I am.”
“So?”
“I have a girlfriend,” Shane argued.
“So?” Lucinda pressed again.
Shane looked to Zeke with that inborn desperate plea of a son to his father to save him from drowning. Zeke stared back at him silently. The little brat had left him floundering on his own beneath Lucinda’s less-than-gentle regard. Zeke would be damned if he’d save his kid now. Let him see how it felt.
“His girlfriend is barely seventeen, Zeke. Tell Shane that’s too young.”
“That’s too young, Shane.” Zeke wished Tabitha would get back with the whisky he’d ordered.
“Is not,” Shane stated with a long-suffering sigh. “It’s just two years. It could be worse.”
Zeke stared back at him.
Lucinda tilted her head quizzically. “How could it be worse, dear?”
Shane’s lips twitched. “It could be eleven years.”
FIVE
He should stay away.
Zeke parked his pickup at the back of the bar, wondering why he bothered. There was no way to hide the vehicle, and everyone that knew him knew what he drove off-hours.
He shouldn’t be here.
Flexing his hands, he reminded himself that he was just here to check up on her, make sure everything was okay. Her Harley was still at the restaurant. She’d hired a cab to return home after closing rather than calling him.
Striding to the back door he hit the intercom button and waited. He could have gone through the front and right up her stairs, but damn if he wanted to listen to more of Lucinda’s questions tomorrow.
The locks on the door clicked, a second later the panel was pulled open and Rogue stood before him, still dressed in that short, checkered skirt and heels, and the thin camisole she had worn under the long-sleeved blouse earlier.
“What do you want, Zeke?” she asked, her voice low, wary.
She looked good enough to eat.
He was going to at least taste.
He didn’t answer her. Catching the edge of the door he pushed inside before wrapping the fingers of his other hand around her wrist. He closed the door, locked it, then looked back at the open office door and the light inside the room.
“Working?” He stared down at her as he felt the slow slide of his control eroding into the dust.
“Does it matter?” Her lips twisted mockingly. “Ready for another slap and tickle, are you?”
He ignored the accusation; instead, he moved toward the room, holding her wrist firmly and drawing her with him.
Stepping inside, he came to a hard stop, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the man lounging back on the couch that sat against the wall.
Cranston was short, portly, his brown hair thinning, his expression as innocent and as unthreatening as a child’s. It was a damned good thing Zeke knew just how devious and cunning the Homeland Security agent could be.
“Sheriff? You’re putting in some long hours, aren’
t you?” Timothy Cranston rose from the couch, straightened his wrinkled jacket on his shoulders, and flashed Zeke a sly smile. “Rogue and I were just discussing the unseasonably cold weather.”
“No, we weren’t, we were talking about Zeke.” Rogue jerked her wrist from his grip and moved around him as Timothy chuckled at her revelation.
“Very well, we were talking about you.” He shrugged. “She has a very high opinion of you.”
“No, I don’t. I think he’s a prick,” she stated, a tight smile curling her lips as Timothy laughed again, his gaze thoughtful as it came back to Zeke.
“Good-bye, Agent Cranston,” Zeke stated, his voice harsh.
Putting up with Cranston’s bullshit wasn’t high on his list of priorities right now. He’d deal with him later; for now, he intended to deal with Rogue. The teasing little minx had flitted around the restaurant, like a flame-haired seductress while he had been there. Half the men in the restaurant had been panting over their meals, the other half were probably home jacking off to visions of lifting that little skirt over her ass and paddling it for driving them crazy. That was definitely what he would have been jacking off to. If he’d had the good sense to go home.
“Well, I can tell when I’m no longer needed.” Timothy adjusted the front of his suit jacket over his chest before picking up the overcoat he had laid on the couch beside him. “Good night, my dear.” He nodded to Rogue before turning to Zeke. “Later, Sheriff.”
“Much later,” Zeke assured him.
Timothy smiled again, one of those amused, condescending curls of the lips that never failed to raise Zeke’s hackles.
He had issues with the agent, serious ones, that weren’t being resolved anytime soon. He’d been working with Timothy Cranston for ten years now to break the Freedom League and its hold in the Kentucky mountains. What had he gained for his efforts? In the past two years, two operations had been conducted in Pulaski County that Zeke had been kept in the dark about.
He didn’t appreciate it. And now, six months later, he and Cranston were still at a stalemate over it.
“Soon,” Timothy corrected as he shrugged his overcoat on and moved around Zeke to the open door. “Very soon, Sheriff.”
The agent at least had the consideration to close the door behind him. Zeke went one better and locked it before turning back to Rogue.
She was no longer leaning against her desk. She had lifted herself onto it, sitting poised on the edge with her shapely, silken legs crossed. Red gold curls cascaded around her like silken flames of temptation.
“And I ask again, what do you want?” she asked archly. “Or did you decide to come by and torture me another night? Keep it up, Zeke, and you may find yourself shackled to a bed somewhere with your own handcuffs.”
He snorted at the threat. “I don’t think so.”
He watched her, simply watched her as the need to touch her grew like a sickness inside him. Staying away from her was impossible. He was learning that. The more he tried, the harder it became. The more he denied himself, the more he ached for what he shouldn’t have.
“You deliberately made me crazy earlier,” he accused her roughly. “Flipping around that restaurant in that little skirt, daring me to take you.”
Her brow arched. “Are you paranoid, Zeke? Maybe you just needed to see it as a dare so you could have an excuse to do something you were dying to do anyway.”
“And that would be?” He forced the words past his lips as he stepped closer.
Her tongue, damp and pink, flicked over her lips as her gaze lowered to his thighs, then back to his eyes. “You’re dying to have me, aren’t you, Zeke?” Her voice lowered, became tempting, seductive. “You want me so damned bad you can’t stand it, and you refuse to admit it.”
“Oh, I freely admit it.” There was no denying it.
Before he could curb the impulse he took the last steps to her, wrapped one hand around the back of her neck, tilted her chin back with his thumb, and lowered his head.
Spicy, consuming pleasure exploded through his senses as her lips parted for him. Hunger beat through his veins, surged to his hardened cock, and had him pulling her thighs apart with his free hand to get closer to her.
The taste of her was liquid hot as she arched against him, a surprised breath of sound barely escaping. Keeping her head tilted back, he devoured her lips, her tongue. He slid his hand up her thigh, touched the wet panel of her panties, and groaned at the heat he found there.
“You’re like an addiction.” He nipped at her lips as he released her neck, only to drag the hem of her camisole up, over the filmy lace of her bra.
“We’ll find you a twelve-step program.” She arched against him.
“Twelve steps to complete insanity?” he asked as his lips traveled along her jaw. “Fuck, Rogue. How the hell am I supposed to do my job when all I think about is the taste and feel of you?”
“Take breaks to feed the addiction?” Breathy, sensual, her voice had his body tightening further.
“That would be a hell of a lot of breaks.” It was a hell of a good idea.
Rogue tilted her head back as Zeke’s lips continued their campaign of complete sensory rapture along her jaw to her ear. Shudders of pleasure raced through her body at each lick of his tongue, each nip of his lips.
It was like being consumed by hunger, by the eroticism of the feel of him against her. The heat, the lightening stroke of rapture. God, she needed more. So much more that she arched closer to him and all but begged for it as the heat continued to build in her pussy, the tension tightening in her clit.
The feel of his calloused palm cupping her breast was enough to steal her breath. The stroke of his thumb over her distended nipple sent pulses of lightning-sharp sensation to attack her womb and her clit.
She was sinking in sensual overload. In the hunger that wrapped around her and sank into her flesh. Nothing mattered but his touch, his kiss. If he thought he was addicted, it was nothing compared to her need for him. She felt as though she were drowning in the pleasure, drowning in the complete abandonment of her body to his.
Sensation jerked along her nerve endings as his fingertips brushed between her thighs, then over the dampness of her panties. Heated and wet, her juices spilled from her shamelessly, preparing her for his possession.
Oh boy, she hoped he possessed her. She was about to explode with need. Tension built inside her, drawing her tight as her knees lifted. Her shoes dropped from her feet as she raked the backs against the desk and propped her bare heels on the edge.
“Damn you,” he growled, his head lifting as she leaned back and flashed him a wicked smile.
His fingers pressed against her pussy, rubbing the silk of her panties against her clit as she lifted her hips to him.
“That’s so good,” she whispered breathlessly.
“It can get better,” he promised.
She shuddered at the thought of it getting any better, then cried out in surprise as his lips lowered to the tops of her breasts.
He licked over the swollen rise of flesh above her bra. His teeth raked the sensitive flesh, and his fingers drew patterns of heated ecstasy on the silk between her thighs.
It was too much. Too much sensation. Too much need.
“Zeke, please.” Her head fell back on her shoulders as she fought to hold herself up. Palms planted on the top of the desk, her arms trembled with the effort to stay in place.
“What do you need, baby?” His cheek brushed over a hard nipple. “Tell me what you need.”
What did she need? She needed so much. She needed to be touched, everywhere. She needed to sink into his skin and never be without him.
“Tell me, Rogue,” he breathed over the hard tip of her nipple. “Tell me what you need.”
It was a dare and a challenge.
Rogue lifted her head to stare down at him, the effort it took to keep her eyes open sapping nearly all of her strength.
“Suck my nipple,” she demanded, not to be outdone
. “Suck it hard and deep, Zeke.”
His jaw clenched, his golden brown eyes seemed to flame with heat as his lips parted and a breath later covered one stiff peak and sucked it, lace and all, into the heated cavern of his mouth.
Her hips jerked, thrusting against his fingers as he lashed at her nipple with his tongue. Pleasure detonated through her, striking without warning and stealing her breath as his fingertips grazed the silk material covering her clit.
“Take the bra off,” she demanded as she shook beneath the caress. “Please, Zeke. Let me feel everything.”
She couldn’t take it off herself. If she moved her hands from their braced position she would melt on the table like hot butter.
“Oh baby,” he crooned as one hand stroked up her back, then around between her breasts. “All you had to do was tell me how you wanted it.”
He was teasing her, burning her alive.
The clip of her bra came free easily. Rogue fought to breathe as she watched him peel the cups back from her breasts, watched as her rosy nipples seemed to lift to him.
“How pretty,” he groaned as he tweaked one tight tip with his fingers. “So sweet and hard.”
“More,” she gasped. “Suck them more.”
His head lowered to one nipple as his fingers worked the other. Rogue shook her head as a cry spilled from her lips. It shouldn’t be this good. The pleasure shouldn’t go so deep that it bordered on pain. It shouldn’t dissolve any objection she had.
“Oh yes,” she moaned. “Oh God, Zeke. I need you. I need all of you.”
She needed him inside her, between her thighs. Her pussy ached, burned. She could feel the desperate emptiness there as she never had before, and the need to be filled rose to desperate heights.
“There, baby.” His head lifted as one hand pressed against her stomach. “Lay back for me.”
Lay back? Move her arms? She would be lost if she didn’t concentrate on holding herself up. She would lose her soul to him, and that couldn’t be a good thing.
His dark, knowing chuckle wrapped around her as his hands moved; they caressed down her arms, gripped her wrists, and pulled them free. And Rogue melted.