Seven Nights in a Rogue's Bed (Sons of Sin 1)

Jonas caught Sidonie as she staggered under a vicious blast of wind. In his grip, the sleeve of the greatcoat was soaked. He wouldn’t send a dog into this weather. She jerked away. “I told you to leave me alone.”

He tightened his hold and waited for her to regain her footing, even though she bristled with resentment. Only then did he release her.

He’d dismissed the greatcoat as poor protection, but wearing nothing but silk trousers, he endured the weather’s full force. What bloody imbecile chose Devon in November for a tryst?

They staggered onto the lawn. The power of the wind caught Jonas unawares. Struggling to stay upright, he heard Sidonie cry out. He turned, the rain so thick it distorted vision. Through the downpour, he saw Sidonie crouched on the sodden grass, rain pounding down on her bare head. He’d reached the limit of his strength. Sidonie must be past exhaustion.

“Hell’s bells.” He set down the lantern and strode to where she huddled, her body forming a defeated curve.

This madness had continued too long. Whatever he did, she couldn’t hate him more than she did at this moment. He braced against the wind and bent to scoop her into his arms.

“Don’t touch me.” She began to struggle but was too weary to make much impression.

“I’ve had enough of this,” he snapped, firming his grip. “You can’t make it back to the house on your own two feet.”

“I can,” she protested, but the memory of her fall was too fresh for defiance to gull him.

“I’m not standing here freezing while we quarrel.”

“You’re such a bully.”

He sighed. “Give it up, Sidonie. I know I’m the big bad wolf and you wish me to Timbuctoo, but bear with the touch of my foul hands until I get you inside.”

Jonas waited for argument, but she’d reached the end of her strength. His heart gave a great thud of victory as her cold hand curved behind his neck. Juggling wet coat and wet Sidonie, he collected the lantern. “Take this.”

Without speaking, she held the lantern as steady as she could while he battled forward. She wasn’t a featherweight and with the wind and the saturated greatcoat, he struggled to advance.

The terrace doors banged in the wind as he shouldered his way inside. Sidonie reached past him to tug them shut behind them. Even though the storm lashed windows and rattled doors, the silence in comparison to outside was shocking. A silence heavy with a thousand things unspoken.

“You can put me down now,” she said shakily, wriggling.

“Be still.” His shoulders ached and his legs felt fit to collapse, but he wasn’t letting her go. He strode through the hall to the staircase, leaving a string of puddles behind.

“I can walk,” she insisted.

He wanted to disagree. Then recalled how his recklessness had driven her outside. Feeling sick to his gut at his arrogance, he stopped and carefully placed her on her feet. Only to watch good intentions disintegrate.

She wavered, her eyes fixed on his face. He wished she wouldn’t look at him like that. As though she expected him to fix everything. He couldn’t fix a damned thing.

“Oh,” she said on a soft gasp. Her frightened gaze clung to his as she crumpled with an oddly graceful movement.

“God give me forbearance.” He grabbed her before she hit the ground. He lifted her again, his grip slipping on wet skin. “Don’t argue.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she said in a muffled voice.

His movements were clumsy with exhaustion. But he wouldn’t relinquish her under threat of torture. Devil take her, she belonged in his arms, even if this was the last time he ever held her.

When Jonas entered the bedroom, he felt her stiffen. “No…”

She didn’t trust him. He couldn’t blame her.

Very gently he settled her on a chair near the fire. “Bella, you have no reason to believe me, but I swear on my mother’s grave that I’ll let you sleep in peace after I’ve got you dry and warm. Right now, you’re freezing and wet as a herring.”

She stared at him. He had no idea what went on behind that glazed brown gaze. Finally she gave an abrupt nod. Her teeth were chattering and blue tinged her lips. “Very well.”

He helped her out of the greatcoat. Her hands were white with cold and her movements uncoordinated. Manfully he kept his eyes on her face, not the curves beneath her shredded clothing.

He crossed the room to grab a pile of towels from the washstand. He flung one around his neck and gently began to dry Sidonie with another. Apart from her shivering, she remained still as a doll. The first towel was soon saturated and he reached for a replacement.