Hero, Come Back (Cynster 9.50)

She peeked over the top of his handkerchief, and he could tell by her reddened eyes that she was trying to smile. “You’ve rescued me twice now, which is probably more than I deserve, and I must proclaim you my hero.”

“I think not. I’ve rescued you both times by damaging your reputation, and I’m afraid the last time rather badly, for I couldn’t threaten Mr. Murray as I did Jenour-Redmond.”

Dropping the handkerchief, she groped for Harry’s hand, grasped it, and raised it to her cheek. “You’re modest as well as kind.” She kissed his fingertips, then in imitation of his action the previous afternoon, she bit his fingertip.

His body jolted with the little shock of pain, and he watched with absolute astonishment as she swirled her tongue around the abused finger and briefly, with an innocent eroticism that brought him to immediate and desperate need, sucked the tip.

Grasping her shoulders, he swept her to her feet and into his arms. In the broad light of day, in the middle of the dining hall, he kissed her. Not as he had done the day before, with care for her inexperience, but with all the desperate need of his hungry body and his benighted soul.

She didn’t recoil. She didn’t complain. She embraced him with all her strength and answered him, taking his tongue within her mouth, allowing him to thrust again and again in a froth of madness and desperation. The delicious scent of her intoxicated him. Her body pressed against his made him vibrate with a boy’s eagerness. The way she answered him, with small moans and desperate writhings, gave him the strength of ten men. His manhood rose in reckless urgency, and it seemed as if he must have her, now, today, tonight… for always.

But he couldn’t. Jessie deserved more than a man torn between his duty to his country and to his family. More than the danger that trailed his every movement. As suddenly as he’d clasped her, he set her away. “Get away from me. I’m not a hero. I’m not who you think I am. You deserve better than me.”

She laughed, a clear peal of amusement that dismissed his warning. “Actions speak louder than words.” Her cheeks were rosy with excitement. “I have only one suitor left, and he more repulsive than the rest. But I doubt he’ll arrive until tomorrow. Will you spend the day with me, Mr. Windberry?”

“No. Absolutely not. We must never be alone together again.”

“I thought I would faint from merriment when that rock gave way and you slipped halfway down the cliff toward the sea.” Jessie grinned at Harry, taking the same delight in poking at his dignity as a boy stirring an anthill. “Your arms flailed like a fish’s gills.”

“Sophisticated of you.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “The whole incident would never have happened if you hadn’t been convinced that that fledgling would fall from its nest.”

“It was dangling precariously. When the slope collapsed and the bird flew into your face…”

“So apparently the bird could take care of itself.”

“If you hadn’t landed on the path below, you would have skied all the way to the beach on a tide of dirt.” She burbled with laughter.

Harry frowned. “You don’t need to announce it to the whole inn.”

She glanced around the long, candlelit veranda. Insects buzzed around the flames. Outside, the night was rich with stars, the kind of stars that bedazzled with their brilliance. They spangled the sky down to the unseen horizon, then dove below the inky ocean, extinguished by the depths. “There are only two other couples out here, and they don’t care a fig what we say or what we do.” They didn’t, either. One was an old married couple who didn’t have a speck of dignity and held hands between courses. The other couple, the maid had whispered, was on their honeymoon. The groom leaned across the table, speaking earnestly. The bride was blushing like a…well, like a bride, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Harry, aren’t they sweet?” Jessie had started calling him by his first name that day. One couldn’t speak formally to a man whose bottom one had dusted and whose trouser knee one had mended.

Harry didn’t even glance at the honeymooning couple. “Sublime.” He looked only at her, so intent, she might have been the only woman in the world.

A footman stood by the door to the dining room, ready to serve the guests as needed. The innkeeper brought forth the courses, one by one, filling the night with the scents of rare beef, succulent vegetables, and fabulous desserts. Now they lingered over a cheeseboard and two glasses of wine, listening to the roar of the waves and never wanting this day to end. Or at least… Jessie didn’t want it to end. She couldn’t speak for Harry. As bedtime approached, he grew more and more quiet, more watchful, as he wished for things he could not have.

But he could. She had made up her mind. “I’ve never had such a lovely day. You don’t really care that I laughed at you for falling down the slope, do you?”

“I wouldn’t mind… if I knew I could get my revenge later.”

In a voice as low and seductive as she could make it, she asked, “Is it revenge that you want? Really, Harry? Or is it something else entirely?”

She must not do seductive well, for he scowled. “Where’s your chaperone?”

“Miss Hendrika? She’s asleep.”

Harry started to stand. “I’ll see you to your room.”

“No!” Jessie caught his hand. She’d been as bold with him today as any wanton, and he’d kissed her as if he wanted nothing so much as to take her. And on the cliffs today, she’d caught him watching her, a predatory expression in his marvelous eyes. But tonight…he was resisting. If only she could make him stay for a little longer …She searched her mind for a topic of conversation. “You never told me why you’re here.”

He hesitated, then slowly seated himself again. “My mother sent me.”

“Your mother?” She knew how to do a conversational tone, and she put her heart into it now. She sounded interested, alert, fascinated.

“I went home to recuperate from an injury—”

“How were you injured?”

Again he hesitated. “It was nothing.”