Elizabeth gave him a puzzled glance. ‘Have you decided the sea looks too cold to come in, after all?’
He raised dark brows. ‘Is that a challenge, Dr Brown?’
‘Could be, Dr Sullivan. Or is that Lieutenant?’ She arched auburn brows.
Actually, it had been Captain…‘It’s just plain Mr nowadays,’ he confirmed dryly, before turning away to pull the black T-shirt over his head.
My God! There was no way Elizabeth was able to hide her gasp of horror as she saw the scars that marred the muscled strength of Rogan’s torso.
There were several long puckered scars on the long length of his back that looked as if they might have been made by either a knife or a whip. But it was the ones on the front of his body that caused her the most alarm. Three perfect, tiny scars that were obviously bullet holes—one in his stomach, another in his left shoulder, and another just above his heart!
‘Rogan?’ Elizabeth’s gaze was fixed on those scars as she fell down onto the sand beside him, raising an involuntary hand so that her fingers almost touched them. ‘What happened to you?’ she breathed shakily.
‘Obviously, I was shot.’ He gave a hard and humourless smile. ‘It happens when you’re a soldier, Elizabeth.’ He gave a dismissive shrug.
She gave a slow, disbelieving shake of her head, a sick feeling in her stomach as she continued to stare at those scars. As she imagined the bullets ripping into Rogan’s flesh!
Flesh Elizabeth could no longer stop herself from touching as her fingertips moved tentatively over the scar above his heart, feeling the hard ridge of skin that had healed over what had obviously been a life-threatening wound.
She moistened dry lips. ‘I—How long ago…?’
‘I left the army five years ago.’
She shook her head. ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
Rogan sighed. ‘You should know by now that I don’t like answering questions.’
Elizabeth swallowed hard as she looked up at him searchingly. ‘Is that why someone shot you? Because you refused to answer their questions?’
He moved away from her impatiently to stand up, his expression grim as he unsnapped and took off his own jeans before dropping them on the sand beside his T-shirt.
Elizabeth made no effort to get to her feet when she saw there were yet more scars on his upper thighs. ‘Rogan—’
‘You know, most women find my battle scars a turn-on,’ he said cynically as he looked down at her.
Those blue eyes snapped with impatience. ‘Women who perhaps don’t have an imagination that allows them to realise the pain you must have suffered.’
‘This conversation is over,’ Rogan snapped coldly.
‘You could have died—’
‘But I didn’t.’
‘Rogan—’
‘Give it up, Elizabeth,’ he growled with finality. ‘Come on, I’ll race you to those flat rocks at the mouth of the cove!’ He attempted to distract her as he threw his sunglasses down on his towel and ran across the sandy beach to the water’s edge, before turning to see if Elizabeth had taken him up on the challenge.
She was only a couple of paces behind him, those blue eyes glittering determinedly and her cheeks pink and glowing. ‘The conversation isn’t over, Rogan.’
‘It is if I say it is,’ he insisted.
Their gazes continued a silent battle for several long seconds, before Elizabeth finally gave a terse nod. ‘Last one to the rocks has to carry both rucksacks back up the cliff to the house!’ she shouted in challenge, and she streaked past him to dive smoothly into the virtually calm sea and start swimming.
Rogan remained on the beach watching her, her strokes smooth and powerful as she set off towards the rocks half a mile or so away. He wasn’t in the least surprised that Elizabeth swam as she did everything else: with capable efficiency.
That same capable efficiency that had told her Rogan’s wounds hadn’t been inflicted in any normal combat…
‘What are you? Olympic level?’ Elizabeth was panting hard as she drew herself up onto the flat rock before collapsing beside Rogan. She had barely swum half the distance to the rocks before Rogan had overtaken her, and he had been sitting here for several seconds watching through narrowed lids as she completed her swim.
Elizabeth now studied him from beneath her own lowered lashes…
Wet, Rogan’s hair was black and silky where it rested long and damp on his shoulders. Water glistened on his deeply tanned scarred body, and the dark hair on his chest tapered down until it disappeared beneath a pair of black boxer-style swimming trunks that clung revealingly to his hips and thighs.
The ragged heaviness of Elizabeth’s breathing was suddenly no longer due to the exertion of her swim!
‘Not quite Olympic level,’ he answered, with a shrug of those broad shoulders.
Elizabeth eyed him ruefully. ‘Just another one of those “useful” skills you learnt in the army?’
His mouth thinned. ‘Yes.’
‘You weren’t just another soldier, were you?’ she asked slowly, knowing that the skills Rogan had so far shown didn’t quite match up to that role.
The scars she could see on his body had only confirmed her suspicions.
He had lowered his lids over the darkness of his gaze. ‘I told you, I’m not going to talk about this any more today, Elizabeth.’
‘Or ever?’
‘Or ever,’ he confirmed.
‘Because, as you said, you would have to kill me if you did? Or because you just don’t want to?’
He turned to stare out across the ocean. ‘Maybe both…’
‘Maybe?’
His eyes were hard as onyx as he turned back to look at her.
‘Why the interest, Elizabeth?’
Her eyes widened at the accusation in his tone. ‘You don’t imagine that I’m trying to get information out of you for the other side, do you?’
Rogan gave a hard, humourless laugh. ‘Who is “the other side” nowadays, Elizabeth? I don’t know, and I’m pretty sure no one else does any more, either.’
‘In other words, it could very well be the woman lying beside you…’ Elizabeth said thoughtfully.
He gave her a sideways glance. ‘Is it?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ She sat up to express her indignation.
‘Is that what I’m being?’ Rogan mused. ‘Ridiculous? What did my father know about you when he hired you? Come to that, what do I know about you?’
She glared at him. ‘That I live in London. That I teach History at a university there.’
‘Those are only the obvious facts, Elizabeth,’ Rogan pointed out wryly. ‘Who are your associates? Your friends? What are your political leanings?’
‘I don’t have any political leanings—all politicians are as bad as one another, from what I can tell,’ Elizabeth said. ‘And my associates are highly qualified people as dedicated to teaching as I am.’
‘And your friends…?’
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably under the sudden intensity of that dark gaze. ‘I have a couple of female friends from school that I keep in touch with…’
‘What about men?’ Rogan probed softly. ‘Who do you sleep with? Share pillow-talk with?’
‘Pillow-talk?’ she echoed breathlessly.
‘If you prefer it, post-coital conversation,’ Rogan drawled.
‘I don’t!’ Elizabeth said frowningly.
Rogan turned so that he was now lying only inches away from Elizabeth, their thighs almost touching. ‘You don’t prefer it, or you don’t engage in post-coital conversation?’
‘Both!’ In spite of the coolness of the early-morning air, Elizabeth suddenly felt very warm. Because of Rogan’s close proximity? Or the intimacy of their conversation?
‘Is the latter because you don’t have a man sharing your bed at the moment, or do you just prefer not to talk after sex?’
Her cheeks burned. ‘Stop interrogating me, Rogan!’
‘Believe me, it’s preferable to what I really want to do!’
Elizabeth’s gaze avoided Rogan’s as she saw the heat that had suddenly entered those dark, caressing eyes. Instantly making her aware of how her breasts were clearly outlined by the clinging material of her black costume, the nipples pebble-hard and aching!
She moistened salty lips. ‘It’s probably time we were going back now—Rogan?’ Her gaze was raised to his in alarm as he reached out to curve his hand about the nape of her neck. ‘Rogan!’ But she could only protest half-heartedly as that hand tightened and he began to draw her inexorably closer to him.
Elizabeth couldn’t move, felt totally captivated by the intensity of his eyes as his gaze so easily held hers. Her lips were already moist and parted as his mouth claimed hers. First gently, searchingly. Then hungrily as he opened her lips even further at the same time as he pulled her into his heat and curved her body into his much harder one.
Her response was instant. Spectacularly out of control, and her hands moved up his chest and she clung to those wide muscled shoulders as Rogan’s lips continued to devour and claim hers.
She didn’t have the will-power to protest as Rogan lowered her back down onto the flatness of the rock, was too lost in pleasure as they kissed with lips, tongues and teeth. Fiercely. Hungrily. Elizabeth’s hands moved restlessly across Rogan’s back, tracing and caressing each and every scar in a way that seemed to increase the hunger of his mouth as it moved passionately over hers.