To Seduce A Rogue (Southern Heat Book 1)

by Tracy Sumner

  “And your father?”

  “When we returned home, he was furious. My brother, only six or seven at the time, had taken to calling me Jared, too. I had taken to the name myself. In fact, I pitched a fit when anyone called me Adam. My father included.”

  He met her gaze as his smile disappeared. “My father never relented. He was the only person in my family to address me as Adam after that. That’s the reason for my byline. I started writing under my full name, but after my father’s first eruption, he asked that I change it to A. Jared Chase. Did not want to tarnish Uncle Adam’s name.” He dusted his hands on his thighs. “He seemed to have forgotten my uncle was a gambler who died a penniless drunk.”

  “Why do you let people call you Adam then? I mean, if you don’t like it?”

  He took no time to think about this at all. “Charlie, haven’t you noticed yet? I don’t care. What people call me or what they think. All I care about is my work.”

  She capped the ointment and placed it in the tin box. “I’ll say it again: I don’t believe you. You’re a good person, better than you think.”

  “You only think you see it.” He handed her a strip of cloth that had fallen to the ground. “You’re the misunderstood one. This town has a goddamn angel under their noses, and they don’t even know it.”

  She shifted her attention to packing the medical kit.

  “Who’s running now, Charlie?”

  She snapped the kit shut as if he had never spoken. “I’d leave Taber here for the next day or two. I’ll check on him before you move him and periodically until the wound heals. Put this ointment on morning and night. And keep the stitches covered. The swelling should go down in a day or two.”

  He moved in, crowding her. His thigh brushed hers as he captured her chin, tilting her face high. “Are you running?” A smile spread across his face.

  “I’m not running,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  She licked her lips. “I’m not running.”

  “Yes. You are.”

  “No. I’m. Not.”

  “Temper. Temper.” He was baiting her. He knew it. Anger would trot her sweet, swinging bottom right out of the barn. And some depraved part of him wanted to punish her for knowing him so well. “You don’t want to be called a hypocrite, now do you?”

  She shoved him back and leaped to her feet so quickly he was left holding air. The barn door slammed behind her.

  Adam brought his hands to his eyes and rubbed until colors collided behind his lids. He opened his saddlebag, grabbed the flask tucked in the side pocket and took a long gulp. The liquor did little to assuage the hollow feeling in his stomach. When he remembered Charlie’s expression as she said he did not look like an Adam.

  His mother had always said the same thing.

  With a curse, he hurled the flask against the wall. His gaze fell to the row of stitches on Taber’s flank.

  He had hurt her.

  When she had done nothing more than help him.

  12

  Aspiration

  Strong longing, desire or aim.

  The night was a typical summer night. The heat you’d paid for so dearly had not disappeared, yet it had mellowed. It was leaner. The breeze now had more room to move.

  Charlie guessed this was why she loved winter so much. It was often a pale and brittle time, but a time of open spaces and the crisp sting of life.

  How many months before winter and the end of this night?

  She sighed and glanced at her soiled dress. She would have smiled if it were funny. She was ten years old again.

  Another summer dance, and she was the dirtiest child there.

  She would be the first to admit that she wore conventional behavior like a dress two sizes two small. It fit improperly and was uncomfortable to boot.

  She stepped back as Myra Hawkins danced by in Chester Dole’s awkward embrace. Charlie hid a smile as Myra glared at her mother. Chloris Hawkins sent Myra a tacit reply only a mother could give. The Hawkins were slipping in the proverbial hook.

  Charlie waved as Kath and Miles sailed by. Kath’s full, mint-green skirt billowed about her. Spotless. Charlie shook her head in bewildered awe.

  Jake Marston slammed his foot to the ground as a high note crept through the crowd, signaling the end of the spirited folk song. Breathless couples stopped in place and broke into raucous approval. Charlie joined them.

  Charlie’s father had delighted in dancing with her to Jake’s music. There was some indefinable, rock-solid...security in dancing in your father’s arms.

  Unconditional love and acceptance.

  Was that what Chase had hungered for as child?

  She stole a quick glance at him. He stood across the way, leaning with casual grace against a tree, his feet crossed at the ankle, his arms folded over his chest. She knew him well enough to recognize boredom with the conversation going on around him. Her Uncle Hubert, dressed and stuffed like a Sunday turkey, raised a hand as he explained something repulsive like the latest banking resolution.

  The Charleston Mercury had reported the issue, and Chase wanted to be right behind them. Would the old Sentinel—a newspaper not controlled by political associations—have pursued the story so aggressively? She wondered if Chase’s delegation of the story to her was a lesson in the making.

  She watched as he expelled a breath and rolled his eyes at her uncle. He tightened his arms around his middle but said nothing. She wanted to laugh at his predicament.

  Or punch him.

  He was infuriating, and his conduct bordered on boorish.

  But she understood he was trying to push her away. Even if the way he was trying to do it angered her, the decision was surely for the best.

  In the clandestine darkness, she could study him. And admit her attraction. The moonlight complimented his skin and the hint of auburn on the tips of his hair. She almost laughed with him as he smiled with a flash of white teeth, at last showing interest in the conversation.

  Chase was avoiding her.

  What did she expect after she ran from the barn? He’d bullied her into leaving before something dreadful happened. Only, she should have handled the situation better.

  She should have called his bluff.

  “Mind if I interrupt?”

  Charlie released an appreciative breath. “Are you joking, Kath? Pull up a chair.”

  Kath dropped to the chair, nearly upending it.

  Charlie glanced at the glass in her friend’s hand. “Kath, how much have you had to drink?”

  A loud hiccup. “Oh, dear me.” Kath giggled and patted her lips. “I saw you sitting here all...by...yourself. Miles went to rescue Adam from the bank vultures. I think I saw Tom there, too. How boring.”

  Charlie patted Kath’s hand. “Yes. He can be.”

  “Has Tom been a pleasant escort?”

  “Charming as always.”

  She leaned her head on the chair and laughed. “Where, by the way, is my drink?”

  “I spilled it. So sorry.”

  “Should I get another?”

  Ignoring the question, Charlie took a covert sip of the “spilled” drink. She watched Chase laugh at something Miles said. True to his word, Miles had rescued him.

  Spoiling it all, a cloud of pink was descending upon the men. When Lila reached them, she slipped her arm through Chase’s. Adam looked down, but Charlie could not see his face.

  “She’s a viper, isn’t she?”

  Charlie snapped her head around. “Katherine Lambert.”

  “Oh, she is. I know Miles sparked her a bit. And now she has her claws sunk deep as dirt in Adam. Poor fella.”

  Charlie looked back to the three people glittering in the lamplight. “Yes, poor fella,” she whispered into the night.

  Adam took two steps from the keg and halted. Charlie was standing by Miles, her arm outstretched. Adam followed the direction and felt the pull of a smile. Kath was sound asleep in one of the chairs circling the dance floor.
His gaze traveled back. Miles was bowed with laughter, and Charlie wiped her eyes as she tried to control her amusement.

  Lila stood, stone-faced, like a queen viewing her court.

  Against his will, Adam observed the women, looking for a family resemblance, a shared trait, some commonality.

  Charlie’s eyes were full of emotion where Lila’s were taciturn. He would have thought he’d prefer Lila’s generous curves, the sensuality simmering beneath her skin, but Charlie’s intellect had caught him and was holding tight.

  But none of this mattered. He and Lila were the same: self-seeking, superficial, callous. They could toy with each other and survive. Survive like he and Marilyn had, like he had survived with all the others. Charlie?

  Toying with her would be a mistake. A mistake that would leave them both confused.

  He brought the glass to his lips and drained half of it in one swallow. The glow from the lanterns swirled around him as he resumed his step.

  He handed a glass to Miles. “Watch out, Toby poured a good one.”

  “And, you’ve finished half of yours already?” Miles’ gaze pegged Adam.

  “Just thirsty, old man.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Powerless to stop himself, Adam’s regard crept Charlie’s way. She was watching couples whirl about the earthen dance floor. He did not miss the agitated tap of her foot. What could he say to amend his earlier callousness?

  Unfortunately, Lila solved the problem in her own tactless way. “Are you having a good time, Charlotte?”

  Charlie’s back tensed as she circled to face them. Her expression looked as if she were preparing for a liberal dose of castor oil. “Of course. A wonderful time, Lila.”

  Lila sniffed into her glove. “Oh, well, I mean you haven’t danced much, and that makes the party.”

  “Yes, I suppose it—”

  “She keeps turning me down, so I guess Tom is the only lucky fellow tonight,” Adam said, not realizing the words were escaping until they did.

  Lila’s predatory observation bounced between the two of them. Miles’ sharp gaze did not miss much, either. A speak-first-think-later expression leaped into his eyes. Adam knew a comment was forthcoming unless he did something.

  “Miles, don’t you need to see to Kath?”

  “Heck, I reckon you’re right about that.”

  The simple reply didn’t fool Adam. He knew the questions were coming.

  Miles bowed. “I’ll see you soon, Charlie. Lila.” He nodded his head. With a wink to Adam, he strode in the direction of his inebriated wife.

  Lila clucked her tongue against her teeth. “Oh, that man is so rude.”

  “Not so much rude as honest,” Adam said.

  Lila clenched her fists. “Adam Chase! How dare you. Of all the...ohhh.” She leveled a scathing glare at Charlie, then stormed off.

  Adam turned to find Charlie’s glacial azure gaze trained upon him. He studied her face, moonlight casting shimmering ivory across her skin. His mind clicked off trite, meaningless explanations. One by one, he discarded them all. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

  He released a breath when she tilted her head, her teeth beginning a studious torment of her lip. She was considering his apology, which was good.

  Yet, he couldn’t quite ignore his reaction to what she was doing with her mouth.

  I didn’t think Chase was the kind of man to apologize, especially to a woman. Maybe it’s because I work with him. We do have to maintain a professional relationship. She frowned. Is that the only reason? Why—

  “You were doing fine there for a moment, but now you’ve gone galloping off on the wrong horse entirely.”

  She pulled her focus away from the study of her boots. “What?”

  “I said, you have it all wrong.”

  “Have what all wrong?”

  He sighed and ran a hand through his already tussled hair. “I didn’t apologize because we work together, although that would be a logical conclusion. I did it because—” He cleared his throat. “I did it because I was an ass, Charlie. You helped me with Taber, and how did I repay you?”

  His simple words ate at her anger. “I’m sorry, too.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry? You don’t have any reason to be sorry.”

  “Yes, I do. It seems our inability to establish close friendships is something we share.”

  He stared at her, his gaze questioning.

  A tingle of alarm—or was it excitement—danced along her arms, her back. The fine hair on her skin lifted. He had the power to devour a person with those eyes. They coaxed: tell me.

  Your hopes, your dreams, your fears.

  She almost cracked. Oh, what it would be like to share your life with someone.

  But Adam Chase was leaving.

  For a moment, Charlie had forgotten.

  Her hands crept into tight fists in the folds of her skirt, silk meshed like prisoners between the fingers. “You finish your story, I’ll start mine.”

  Startled surprise ripped across his face. The sincere promise in his eyes dulled. “Checkmate, Miss Whitney. A strategically placed offensive attack.”

  Guilt nipped at her. And relief. She looked away from the perceptive glint in his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He grasped her chin between rough fingertips. Her stomach churned as she surveyed his pale face and the muscle dancing along his jaw. He leaned in, close enough for her to smell the whiskey riding his breath. “Don’t lie to me. Run because you’re scared. Push me away with the truth. I can handle that. Use what you have to fight me, but don’t turn around and tell me I’m imagining the battle.”

  Closing her eyes, Charlie swallowed, her throat dry. She could smell him: leather, liquor, smoke.

  Oh, she wanted to lean into him and be consumed.

  He released her chin. She missed the contact immediately. Her heart beat a wild rhythm in her chest. She blinked, not believing what she was seeing: a tender smile crinkling the skin around his eyes in an endearing way she’d yet to notice. Is this the way it would be with him? New layers exposed, like a cocoon from a butterfly?

  Adam cursed once, then grasped her wrist and pulled her along behind him, leaving the party behind.

  13

  Hunger

  A strong or compelling desire or craving.

  “Where—”

  “Shhh.” Adam halted as a muffled sound pierced the darkness, and Charlie stumbled into his back.

  They stood behind a thick pine. He could hear someone on the other side.

  And if he wasn’t mistaken, it sounded like they were...

  Brushing past him, Charlie leaned, straining to see.

  He leaned, too, looking over her shoulder.

  Yep. Sounds like what it is.

  They dropped back in unison. A gasp slid from Charlie’s lips. Fearing she might say more, he slipped his hand over her mouth. When she started to struggle, he pulled her against his body and whispered, “Do you want to ruin their rendezvous?”

  Adam worked to control the urge to laugh as she stopped struggling and redirected her efforts into watching the couple twenty feet away, the only show of privacy layers of haze and moonlight.

  He also worked to control the heat that rolled though him. In reaction to the slim body pressed against his. The fragrance of roses rushed in to reprimand him for his folly. His arm dropped, releasing her.

  Charlie took a step closer. Whispers interspersed with ardent moans met their ears.

  Run, Charlie.

  His mind pleaded even as he reached for her with unsteady hands.

  You ran earlier; run now.

  But, he wasn’t about to let her go.

  To hell with her, then. To hell with them both.

  He pulled her hair free of its pins as he closed in on her. Her feet collided with his, and she stumbled against his chest. When she fell into him, he surrendered.

  With a groan of capitulation, he angled her head back and took her mouth. His tongue brushed
her parted lips, and surprisingly, she allowed him inside. The blood pounding in his head and the liquor flowing through his veins made the ground tilt—a startling, marvelous, scorching tilt.

  He stumbled back and almost took them both to the ground.

  Charlie moaned softly and gripped his sides, steadying him. Then worked her hands up his back.

  Who was this woman, opening her mouth beneath his? Experimenting and imitating, trailing her tongue along his lips? God, she tasted delightful. Tangy: whiskey and cinnamon.

  He wanted to sink into her, was trying to as he slanted his mouth over hers, deeper...deeper. His hands skimmed to cradle her face, the heat from her cheeks searing his skin. Her fingers dug into his back, almost clawing, as a tormented sound passed between them. Had the sound come from him or her? Hell, he had no idea.

  He kept telling himself to stop. Instead, he took the kiss further, momentum building, his passion racing nearly beyond his control. Soon, they would be on the ground or crushed against the tree, and he knew it would be a mistake, the biggest of his life. Irreversible. But, he wanted to experience this with her. And, God, it was glorious. Frightening. Enslaving desire and compulsion all jumbled together in one hot dream.

  Need had him trapped in its claws.

  Trapped.

  He pushed back, tearing his mouth from hers. Chest heaving, he gulped great breaths of warm, pungent air. Swallowing, he lowered his forehead to her upturned one, the sweat on their brows mingling.

  Her hands gripped his shirt. The need to hold her or drop to the ground assailed him. He had never imagined anything like this existed. Was there even a way to describe it? Like wildfire roaring across dry woodland? Like wind tearing through golden fields of wheat? No, no...no. This was deep. Savage. Frightening.

  He wondered if his body was his any longer.

  Her muscles rippled beneath his hands. Whether she knew it or not, he shook with tremors, too. He kept his head pressed to hers, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. His heart thudded as soap and roses filtered into his brain. Why couldn’t she reek of expensive perfume? He didn’t even like the stuff, and yet, he’d bought enough to flood an ocean.