The Jezebel (Taskill Witches 3)

“That will not be necessary,” Roderick replied before Maisie had a chance to speak for herself. “I am quite willing to assist the lady with her disrobing.”

Much as it was tempting to chastise him immediately, Maisie restrained herself until they were alone.

“I’m sure you are, sire,” the innkeeper replied, somewhat sarcastically, and then retreated.

As soon as the door was closed Maisie folded her arms across her chest. “You care nothing for any pride I might yet have maintained.”

“Ah, so you have abandoned your shame but not your pride?”

Maisie’s mouth opened. Then she thought better of saying anything, because he was right. It was the way of her k

ind. Those who were closer to nature did not see any shame in the act of lovemaking. It was a powerful, magical thing. Even more so when affection was involved.

“That innkeeper knows even less about you than I do,” Roderick continued, apparently relishing the taunt. “What is your honor to him or anyone we might encounter?”

There was truth in that, but she wasn’t about to agree, because it was obvious it stemmed from his annoyance that she wouldn’t confide in him. “You are a scoundrel.”

“I don’t deny it.” With that pronouncement he pounced, scooped her into his arms, carried her across the room and threw her on the bed.

Winded by his sudden action, she attempted to rise up and support her weight on her hands to glare at him. “No, instead you seem set on proving it.”

His gaze, heavy with lust, raked over her.

Maisie knew she should have been offended by his actions, but there was something deeply arousing about the way he handled her, as if he’d been harboring the need to strip her and make her his all evening. As much as she wanted to keep her private affairs private—and it was safer for him that way—she found it thrilled her immensely to have him so wild-eyed and possessive.

“You are a disagreeable wench when you want to be.”

“Why so,” she retorted, “because I know my own mind and don’t buckle under your questioning?”

He laughed and began stripping off his coat, neckerchief and waistcoat.

Maisie stared, unable to do anything else as he tore off each garment with speed, emphasizing his imminent intentions to bed her. When he lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, she almost forgot to breathe while she took in the sight of his bared chest in the candlelight. The way he stretched and moved made his muscles gleam, showing them to good advantage. No wonder he could lift her so easily, she thought. He was completely undressed before she had a chance to shift from the place he’d deposited her on the bed.

When he lifted his head and looked her way, his expression was both determined and roguish. His eyes glinted, and she knew he was about to pounce. When she tried to get up she was too slow, and hampered as she was by her rigid bodice and corset, he was on her in a flash.

“My intention is to pleasure you until you beg for mercy, but even then I don’t think I will be able to find it in me to give you a reprieve. You have driven me to distraction this evening and I intend to work off my lust most thoroughly, even if it takes all night long to do so.” He crouched over her on his hands and knees, like a wild hound that had pinned down its prey, his smile victorious.

Instinctively, she turned her face away, but her thighs squeezed together, her anticipation building all the while. How was it that it thrilled her to have him threaten her with a lack of mercy? She wanted to deny that, simply because he was so arrogant, so sure in his power over her.

“The idea appeals to you, my lady. I can see it in the flush on your cheeks.” With the back of his knuckles, he stroked the outline of her jaw.

The touch, gentle and subtly persuasive, inflamed her.

“You are so sure of yourself,” she taunted, then wriggled and rolled from beneath him, her aim to scamper away from the bed and make him wait a while longer, just to show him she could.

Roderick was up and after her before she’d left the bedside. One large arm locked around her waist and he hauled her back to him. She reached for something to hold on to, but he had her.

“I’m sure of what you need, Maisie.” He dragged her back to him, sat down on the bed and captured her in his lap. “I can tell you enjoy this tussle as much as I do.”

Before she could even try to resist, he’d reached around and was lifting her skirts.

The urge to spar with him did not decrease. “You flatter yourself, Captain.”

No matter how she tried to wriggle from his grasp, he was easily able to cage her in his arms, even while he hoisted her skirts up and bunched them at her waist.

His hands around the top of her thighs made her squirm again, but when she glanced down, she was mortified to see that her ungainly position on his lap exposed her private places. “Unhand me.”

“Oh, no,” he whispered close against her ear, “you are mine for the week. It is my fee, and if you kindly recall, those were the terms you yourself offered.”