To Seduce a Rogue (30 page)

Pleasure

Enjoyment or satisfaction derived from what is to one’s liking; gratification; delight.

The room was spinning, the floor beneath her as soft as cotton, the air entering her lungs as thick and ambrosial as syrup. She let her mind reject conscious thought until she was simply a mass of nerve endings. The side of her breast tingled from the nip of his teeth, her nipple puckered from the brush of his hair against it. But,
oh
, the triangle at the juncture of her thighs—a place of mystery to her before this night—burned and throbbed. From the stroke of his thumb and the repeated glide of his finger.

She shut her eyes, as tight as she could, and colors swam before her. The scent of liquor and smoke invaded her nose. She moved her mouth to his neck and licked, tasting soap, salt and a light tang she could not define.

Him.

He pulled away. As she opened her eyes, he settled back and it was then she felt him probing at her entrance. He was incredibly, indescribably hard. He rubbed against her, then captured her lips as he guided himself in. Slowly, deliberately. She felt herself enfold the tip of him. Would he fit? Did it hurt him, this tightness?

As if in answer, he groaned against her mouth. “Finally, by God, I am going to make love to you.” He lowered his mouth to her ear. He kissed her earlobe tenderly. “Trust me.”

She did, bringing her hips up to meet his as he thrust forward. The discomfort was short-lived, totally overwhelmed by the reality of
him
sliding into
her
. She wanted all of him: in her, on her, around her.

She simply wanted all of him.

His firm, warm weight pressed her to the floor, his hard length sliding, inching, ever so gradually until their hips met. She rubbed against him then, welcoming the crispness of the hair on his groin and chest.

Curiously impatient for movement, she urged him in whispered demands. His thrusts increased in speed and depth. She met him each time, running her hands restlessly along his back, his buttocks. She didn’t have to think about how to coordinate with him, this dance of theirs came naturally.

The rug beneath them rippled, pulling the bedside table from the wall. A vase fell to the floor where it shattered into a thousand crystal pieces.

She scarcely noticed, concentrating on following his lead, nothing more. Lifting to meet him, opening, accepting, clenching, allowing room for nothing else.

They were a perfect fit.

He had begun to murmur words to her, words she neither wanted, nor needed, to understand.
He
was finally with her. Jared Chase was with her, and she wanted to shout with wonder.

“Let it come,” she whispered. “Let it come.”

His arms quivered. He shuddered and panted above her. “Dreaming of this. Of you. Of us.” He groaned and his back stiffened. “Sorry, I cannot, cannot...”

She fit her mouth to his, twisting her hands in his hair. She did not want to hear his apologies.

Not now. Not ever.

He shuddered and lowered himself to her, plunging into her, she suspected, as far as he could go. Then, with a shout, he collapsed atop her, the weight of him the most wonderful thing.

If she lived to be one hundred, she would never hope to experience anything like this again.

“Am I too heavy? Can you breath?”

She shook her head weakly. Hummed a negative reply low in her throat.

Likely unsure how to interpret her response, he rolled to his side and gathered her against him. She sighed and pressed her face in the crook of his neck, lazily stretching her arms around his back. She was thankful he was quiet, because she could think of nothing to say. What could augment the most sensual, tender experience of her life? She didn’t want to explore the reasons; she just wanted him to hold her. She wanted to smell the scent of soap in his hair and feel his skin cooling where it touched hers.

As her heartbeat slowed, she relaxed. He kissed the top of her head and lifted her arms from his neck. She curled into him as he picked her up from the floor. Lowering her to his bed, he pulled a sheet over her and climbed in behind her, dragging her into his arms.

She snuggled against him and closed her eyes, hoping for more dreams of unbridled passion.

* * *

Charlie sat up, her hair hanging in a tangled mass in front of her face. She flipped it away and glanced about, dazed and a bit confused to see she was back in her room, in her bed.

What had awakened her?

The window banged against the wall in answer to her question. As she slid from the bed, her nightdress bunched around her waist. She tugged it down, glad she was wearing it. Obviously, Chase had dressed her and placed her in bed, as if she were a child. Her sleep had been as restful as a child’s.

As restful as if she had been thoroughly made love to, then allowed to fall asleep in her lover’s arms.

She giggled. Was she actually embarrassed by being put to bed? By a man she had been intimate with? She leaned from the window, her toes curling against the cool floor. A dismal day looked back at her. She sighed. A sunny day would have been so much better. She feared the drabness would match Chase’s mood. Was he going to want to talk with her? She honestly didn’t know. Neither of them had planned this; neither of them was willing to let it go too far. However,
she
wanted it to go a little further. Heaven help her if last night was the final taste of him she was going to have.

She searched the riverbank for a view of the factories Chase had described during one of their conversations on the train. The thick layer of mist hovering over the water obscured her vision. A flash of black near the river’s edge caught her eye. She froze, her breath stalling in her chest.

It was Chase, dressed in his favored attire: tight trousers, lawn shirt, Hessians. He walked along, slowly, his head bent, his arms crossed behind his back. A large dog trotted in circles around him, trying to gain his attention. She watched as he curved from the bank, taking a path leading into a patch of pines on the far reaches of his property.

Without questioning her motives, she ran to the wardrobe and threw open the doors. After pulling off her nightdress, she slipped a cotton dress over her head.

She stopped at the door and threw a quick glance at her bare feet. Mrs. Peters had taken her boots and done heavens knew what with them. Now all she had was a pair of flimsy satin slippers. She would probably ruin them, trudging along a muddy river bank.

She tiptoed along the hallway, pausing at the top of the stairs. No chaperone in sight. With a whispered sigh of relief, she hurried down the staircase and through the door. As she crossed the yard, she looked ahead for Chase, but he had disappeared into the trees. She skirted the bank and entered the path where he had, threading her way along the narrow trail.

She stepped neatly over a puddle, then grimaced as a piece of pine straw pricked her foot. Ah, Mrs. Peters and her silly slippers.

Upon entering a small clearing, she stopped, startled to see the river once again. The path had wound right back to it. On a sunny day, this would be a lovely spot. A silent sanctuary, thick pine branches providing the perfect canopy.

Chase was there, crouched upon his haunches, tossing a stick to the dog who dashed after it with a joyful bark. The animal grabbed the stick between his teeth, then flung himself into the river, where he yipped and splashed before returning, soaking wet and shaking, to Chase.

“Whoa, boy, are you trying to soak me?” Chase laughed and threw it again. Further this time, into the edge of the water.

She hadn’t noticed last night, but he had been to the barber. His hair was much shorter. He looked different...more aristocratic if that were possible. More beautiful. She stood there, observing him, as he laughed and tussled with the dog, whom he referred to only as “boy.” Her gaze captured him for a later sketch: the wind-driven dance of dark hair, the flex of muscle in his arms and shoulders, the curve of his firm buttocks outlined by tight cotton. And those wondrous hands, the long, lean fingers. Fingers that had touched her,
inside
...

She must have made a noise because the dog barked once and ran to her, clearly delighted to have another playmate.

Chase paused and dropped his head. She watched his chest expand as he took a breath. Then, in a sudden movement, he stapled his fingers upon the ground and pushed himself up, brushing his hands on his trousers as he turned.

Her gaze met his—a searing, ardent exchange as dense as summer heat. She flashed a quick smile, which he did not return. Sighing, she bent and picked up the stick “boy” had brought to her, throwing it into the trees.

She looked up to find Chase had come closer, although his gaze had trotted off, after the dog. “Is he yours?” she asked instead of anything she might truly have wished to ask.

He turned, an impassive expression fixed on his face. She would have given a half eagle to know what his mind was creating like a little factory inside his head. But, the look he presented to her was the same old look: aloof, restrained. Inexplicably disappointed, she glanced away. She would damn well hide her emotions if he was going to so blatantly hide his.

Think nothing, nothing, nothing, Charlie
.

“The dog isn’t mine, not really anyway. He just shows up from time to time, stays at the stable. Mrs. Beard is sneaking scraps to him, I gather. So, the mutt feels quite welcome.”

Charlie took a deep breath, unable to keep her promise of a moment ago. “Are we only going to talk about that dog?”

He grimaced. “Charlie, you are the most brazen woman I have ever known.”

“You seemed to appreciate my brazenness last night.”

“Good God.” He threw up his hands as he pivoted from her. Stalking to the river’s edge, he kicked a rock into the water.

She followed, desire and frustration building inside her. “Are you going to act like last night didn’t happen? Can you dismiss what is between us so easily?” She halted as she reached him, her shoulder brushing his arm as they stood staring at the water. “Is it always like that?” she finally whispered.

“No, it’s not always
like that
.” His voice was thick, hoarse.

He
had
felt some of the same emotions, which made this a little easier. “I” —she perched her fists on her hips, stuck out her chin and turned to face him— “I want more.”

He threw her an incredulous look while making a poor attempt to contain his laughter. “Oh, Charlie,” was all he managed to utter.

Her face burned with embarrassment, but something deep within made her continue. “This is not funny. I’m here to offer you an arrangement, of sorts. Yes” —she nodded— “an arrangement.”

“What kind of
arrangement
?”

She cleared her throat and swallowed. How did one
propose
this? “Well, I...” she shrugged. “I am not planning, I mean when I get back.” She frowned, beginning to get angry that
she
had to do all the work to initiate their arrangement. “There
is
no one in Edgemont, do you understand? Oh, hellfire!” She threw up her hands.

He struggled to appear apathetic, he really did. But she could see the hint of a smile tugging his beautiful lips high. “You know what I mean,” she said and stamped her foot. He wanted her! She knew that. Maybe as much as she wanted him. He just seemed so hesitant. Which was not a sentiment she associated with him.

“Chase?”

“Hmmm?”

“Quit rubbing the scar.”

His gaze flew to hers as he flung his hands apart.

“You don’t have to worry,” she said, a perceptible note of strength snaking through her words.

When he continued to stare at her without uttering a word, she struggled to think of a delicate way to state the obvious. Honesty, as usual, won. “I think you’re worried about me being alone after this.”

He picked up a rock, then stood and twisted as he skipped it across the water. Tap, tap, tap, plop.

She followed suit, jerking her wrist as she snapped the rock from her hand. Chase’s gaze traveled from her to the water. Tap, tap, tap, tap, plop. He grinned as he cast her a sidelong glance.