Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

She smiled. “My mother is our chief.”

He had taken her fingers and played with them. She was surprised she’d allowed him that, and then she realized she hadn’t allowed it—she couldn’t break away!

He let her hand go and sat back in his chair once more. “Is she now. Aye, ye ’ave been groomed for leadership. I see it in ye … but ye don’t want it, do ye?”

“No, I don’t want it.”

He tapped the table then and leaned towards her once more. “I’ll tell ye what, lass, for now ye can stay and keep the job, but I’ll be watching, and I don’t make ye any promises. I’m not sure how long this will last, for the sorry truth is I jest doona trust ye—not even a wee bit, lass. Can’t put m’finger on it, but there is something more here than meets m’eye.”

“I don’t much like being watched, or mistrusted.”

He shrugged. “Yer choice … that’s the way of it.”

Roxie sat thoughtfully looking at him as he picked at the food Anna had brought to the table while they were on the dance floor. She no longer had any appetite for her own and pushed her plate of half-eaten and now thoroughly cold food aside. She stood and said, “Good night, lord watcher of the manor.”

He stood and said, “May I take ye home, lass?”

“I have my own car, thanks.”

“Then let me follow ye home and make sure ye get in safely … on yer first night, ’tis the least I can do.”

What was happening to her? Everything he said and did made her feel like a bowl of mush. What she should have told him was that she was capable of taking herself home and seeing herself in safely. What she told him as she moved to leave was, “Sure.”

When he took her hand to lead her out, once again a charge of something snaked up her arm. This time she was aware it did the same to him, for their eyes locked.

“Coom then, lass,” he said, his voice low and husky, as he led her to her rental car. As he saw her situated in her vehicle he said, “Best be turning that thing in soon. No sense renting when I have a jeep ye can use.”

She smiled, not wanting to tell him that she liked her independence and could well afford her own expenses. Better not add that to the brew, for it would further his curiosity. If she was financially independent, again he would ask, why had she taken the job?

She followed him as he weaved his Jag out of the small village and took the main road to MacAdams Drive. When they reached the gate, she waited for him to use his remote, rather than use her own. The black wrought iron gate swung open, and she followed him through.

The gatehouse was about fifty feet up and to the left of the gate, with a short circular drive that led to the cottage’s front door. Roxie felt strangely excited as she pulled onto the gatehouse driveway. She parked her vehicle and waited for him to drive past her on his way up to his own house.

Instead, he pulled in behind her, and her eyebrows went up. Now what? She blinked, and he was at her car door. He opened it wide even as she pulled the keys out of the ignition, and he offered her his hand, Old World style.

She had the advantage. He knew nothing really about her, but she knew a great deal about him. She knew he was three hundred years old—talk about messing with an older man—however, it was difficult to keep that in mind when he looked to be in his late twenties. He had Old World style because our early years form who we are, and traditional manners were a part of who he was. Roxie found that she liked it—very much.

In spite of the fact that she liked doing things for herself, she felt a certain flutter of pleasure as he helped her out of the car and saw her to the beautifully arched oak door. The gatehouse was constructed of stone and had been renovated to retain most of its original structure and style. It was Old World and welcoming to the eye. The ivy that covered a good portion on either side of the arched door rustled in the breeze, and she found that the cottage was as lovely in the evening as it had been during the day.

A moment later he had opened the door and stood aside for her to enter first. She had to brush up against him in order to pass inside. A sensation rushed through her body, and a wave of heat infiltrated her loins. He made her feel hot, wet, and ready …

She had to get control. What was happening to her? She took in a deep breath and turned to him to say good night. Her mouth opened and stayed that way, but nothing came out.

All at once he scooped her into his arms, wrapping her in an embrace that left her breathless and wanting more. She knew she should object—damn, she knew she should run. Object, she told herself, but instead, her traitorous body pressed against his as he bent his head to hers and touched his mouth—oh, that sensuous mouth—to hers.

Her mouth was already open and ready for his kiss, and when that meeting took place, she lost herself to him. His touch vibrated wildly through her body as his tongue introduced itself to hers.

Run! her brain demanded. Run now … but how could she when rockets were blasting away any route of escape? Hunger real and overwhelming eclipsed all logic, all other considerations. She was hungry for this … no … for this from him, from this bold and feral man. Stop! her mind hissed. This is only because you haven’t been with a man in so long, she told herself … stop.

The mind is rarely in charge when the body is in need. She felt her thighs clench with a desire that was as primal as the wolf deep inside her demanding release. His kiss turned into two and three, and then suddenly, just as she wanted to tear off his clothes and have him, he was the one who pulled away.

And when he spoke he sounded as though he were panting—no, wait. She was the one who was panting.

He said, “Forgive me,” turned on his heel, and was gone.

She stood but reached for the wall to steady herself.

Holy shit! What was that?