The Rogue's Fortune

“Hello, Mrs. Myott.”

“I hear you are engaged.” The caretaker’s tone was so casual she might have been asking what he wanted in his coffee. “Is this the lucky lady?”

“Yes.” Roark grinned down at Elizabeth. “Elizabeth, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Myott. Mrs. Myott, my fiancée, Elizabeth. I was giving her a tour of the apartment.”

“And you decided to start with your bedroom. Is she impressed?”

Despite their compromising pose, Elizabeth was beginning to catch Roark’s amusement.

“You’ll have to ask her.”

Cheeks on fire, Elizabeth cleared her throat. “It’s very nice.”

“Hopefully you’ll approve of the rest of the house, as well.”

Elizabeth poked Roark hard in the ribs, but although he grunted, he didn’t move. “I’m sure it’s lovely.”

“Should I start breakfast?”

“Give us an hour,” Roark answered.

“Very well.”

The slap of slippers against the parquet floor faded as the caretaker headed off down the hall.

He didn’t seriously intend to return to kissing her while Mrs. Myott started the coffee, did he? When his lips swooped towards hers once more, Elizabeth realized that’s exactly what he had in mind.

“Stop it,” she whispered, wedging her arms between them. “We can’t keep doing this. She knows we’re here.”

“She won’t come back if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

And that’s when Elizabeth shoved him aside and sat up. Roark rolled onto his back and grinned at her. The wicked light dancing in his eyes informed Elizabeth that he was teasing her. Well, it wasn’t funny.

And yet, he looked so damned appealing with his crooked grin and his hair all mussed from her roving fingers, she almost leaned down and kissed him.

“A cup of coffee sounds really good right now,” she said, ignoring Roark’s smug expression. “Do you think Mrs. Myott has started some?”

Since she’d already tossed casual and unaffected out the window, Elizabeth scrambled off the bed in an ungainly assortment of legs and arms. With her feet on the floor, she smoothed her rumpled hair and tugged to straighten her disheveled clothes.

Roark came up behind her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he nuzzled her ear. “No need to get all presentable on my account. I rather like you rumpled and out of sorts.”

“I’m not doing it for you.” She pulled out of his arms and headed for the door.

“You’re doing it for Mrs. Myott.”

“I’m doing it…”

“To make a good impression.”

Damn him for being right.

“You don’t need to worry,” he murmured, taking her hand to lead the way when Elizabeth stalled in the hallway, unsure which way led to the kitchen. “She’s going to love you.”

“It doesn’t matter if she loves me or not. We’re not getting married.”