Rogue of the Isles (43 page)

He broadened his smile into a roguish grin and was pleased to see her sea-foam gaze flicker in reaction. Enjoying the stunned look on her interesting face, he decided to see how far he could push the encounter. He gestured toward the door behind her with a sharp nod of his head and repeated his question.

“Anything interesting?”

She opened her lovely mouth as if to speak. When no sound came out, she closed it, took a deep breath and tried again. This time when there was no sound, she clamped her lips shut and eyed him warily. A subtle crease found its place between her brows.

The women of Leif’s acquaintance would not be caught dead displaying such an artless combination of embarrassment and helpless pride.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to call you out for misbehaving. I happen to appreciate bad behavior.” He smiled at her guarded expression. “Especially in fair ladies.”

“No,” she interjected abruptly. Her cheeks blushed a bright pink, and instead of detracting from her appearance, it made her more endearing. “You do not understand. It’s not…it is not what it looks like.”

There was a thread of emotional strain in her voice. Strain and the delightful lilt of an Irish brogue that unfurled in a lovely cadence.

He felt an urge to put her at ease, but he was not the comforting sort.

He cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. “You weren’t listening intently at that door just a moment ago?”

The woman’s stiff spine slumped just a touch before she straightened again. She waved a slim-fingered hand toward the door at her back with a graceful turn of her elbow.

“Well, obviously I was listening, but it was with no malicious intent, I swear it.”

“You were drawn in by irresistible curiosity, then?” he teased.

The woman licked her lips and her pale-green eyes slid to the side as she tried to find a way to answer him without incriminating herself any further.

“They must be talking about me again.” He offered with a swaggering grin that usually made women twitter with captivated interest. “You can admit it. I am a fascinating subject. But whatever they are saying, it is only half true. The more scandalous half, they know absolutely nothing about.”

His charm had no effect on the girl as she pursed her lush lips in growing distress and shook her head. A few strands of strawberry-blonde hair slid from her chignon to caress her pale cheeks.

“No, not you,” she insisted with a note of distraction. She paused to draw a swift breath and her hands fluttered before she clasped them together and continued in a nervous rush of words. “I do not even know who you are. They are talking about me. About my future. Or rather, whether or not I am to have a chance at a future.”

The smooth feminine texture of her faint accent slid like soft silk over Leif’s senses. If it were possible to bathe in the warmth of the rolling and dipping sounds he would have stripped naked then and there.

“Of course,” she went on, her anxiety seeming to loosen her tongue, “I would not typically listen so rudely to a discussion clearly meant to be private. Such behavior is simply inexcusable. It is just that…the conversation currently taking place in that room is infinitely important. At least to me,” she added slowly as her elfish features folded into a fierce little frown and she tilted her head to eye him critically. “But you don’t really care about any of that, do you?”

Leif blinked, jolted by her sudden sharp perception. In truth, he had only been half-listening to her run off of words. Why did women always feel such a need to explain everything? The entire time she had been talking, his attention had been ensnared by the movement of her lips, the full bottom one in particular, the delightful nervousness in her fluttering hands and the way that in spite of her obvious innocence and utter lack of social polish, or perhaps because of them, she kept her pale-green eyes fastened to his face.

Forcing himself to recall what she had said, he saw no reason not to reply honestly.

“You are right. Your explanations are lost on me. I am in no position to judge another’s behavior. I have done far worse than eavesdropping in my lifetime.” He folded his arms across his chest in a casual posture. “Hell, I’ve done worse already this morning.”

“Afternoon,” the Irish lass corrected, obviously comfortable with having found her voice.

Leif grinned and shook his head. It was not the first time he’d been corrected in such a manner. “I have been out of my bed for barely an hour. It’s morning.”

Her expressive gaze flashed with surprise. “And you have already done worse?”

Leif laughed at the innocent curiosity in her question. He couldn’t help it. The girl was so refreshingly…fresh.

“Irish, you have no idea,” he murmured in a sensual drawl. “I’ve committed half a dozen sins in my mind during the last fifteen minutes alone.”

He kept his voice low in the way women appreciated on a visceral level. Years ago, a female of intimate acquaintance told him she could reach climax by the sound of his whispered words alone. Though he managed to prove her statement true, Leif certainly counted it an exception. Of course, that didn’t stop him from developing an arsenal of vocal variations for use toward other purposes. To relax and sooth, tease or cajole.

Her mouth dropped open at his bold insinuation, but she did not soften to his tone. Perhaps the trick was lost on innocent ears. Her stunningly clear gaze met his with more self-possession than he expected.

“You are a rogue,” she stated with solid conviction.

He smiled at the stony expression that hardened her sweet elfish features. The harshness only accentuated her obvious vulnerability.

“Among other things,” he replied with a careless shrug.

His expression was neutral and his movements relaxed as he lengthened his body and stood from where he had been leaning on the arm of the sofa. His approach was slow as he crossed the boundary of propriety, closing the distance between them that a man with even the slightest sense of social decorum would have maintained.

Her slim posture stiffened as he neared, and though it was subtle, Leif noticed that she pressed her back more securely against the door and the light in her eyes turned wary.

But she didn’t step away, didn’t retreat. He liked that.

Caution wasn’t her only reaction, he noted as he came to stand at her side and lean his shoulder against the solid wooden door. The black centers of her eyes had dilated until there was only a narrow ring of the soft crystalline green surrounding them. Her lips were parted and he could hear the whisper of her breath as it slid swiftly past her teeth.

He drew in the air that drifted in the space between them. Her personal scent soaked his brain and sparked a flash of dark yearning at the back of his skull. The sensation was pleasurable near to the point of discomfort. She smelled like a field of wildflowers after a summer rain. Sweetly delicate, fresh and crisp with a subtle note of tempting earthiness.

Leif’s lips curled into a bitter smirk at the flight of whimsy. Women did not smell of wildflowers. Expensive French perfume, even more expensive French wine, and almost always eventually sweat and sex.

But not rain-soaked wildflowers.

A shadow fell over the bright beauty of the young woman’s eyes. Her teeth closed over her full bottom lip as if she were holding something back, and when she spoke, her voice was cool and masked.

“Do you find this type of thing amusing?”

He cocked a brow at her question. “What type of thing?”

She lowered her fine brows over her expressive gaze and pursed her lips together in a way that should have given her a sour appearance. But Leif looked at the disapproving shape of her full mouth and felt only an intense desire to kiss her. He glanced up from her lips and was stopped by the flash of ire in her gaze.

She was irritated with him.

It took him by surprise—her annoyance and the realization that he had caused it. He did not irritate women. He charmed them. Usually quite effortlessly. He was handsome, roguishly wicked and exceptionally well-versed in all forms of seduction, from soft and sweet to dark and licentious. He knew what he was about. He had been playing this game for many years and with women far more experienced than this pure Irish lass.

Not that he had been trying to seduce her, but if he had been, it should have been easy. Her youth, lack of sophistication, obvious innocence and naiveté. She should have been receptive, warm and practically falling into his arms by now.

“This—” she indicated pertly with a sweeping gesture of her slim hand, “—being inappropriate, shoving me off balance to see how I react.”

The young woman was proving to be disturbingly perceptive. Considering the fact that he often used manipulation and distraction when dealing with members of the fair sex, a perceptive female was not something he relished.

“Is that what I was doing?”

She gave him a gentle little frown that showed more than words could what she thought of his prevarication. “You must think me a foolish woman if you believe I would not notice the glint of ridicule in your gaze or the derision twisting your lips.”

Leif laughed then and watched as her frown deepened. Too perceptive by far.

Rogue of the Isles

Cynthia Breeding

He’s sworn to protect her from any danger…even himself.

Rogue, Book 2

What a pity Jamie MacLeod had to be such a good-looking man. And so tall. With such broad shoulders. Because he’s quite possibly the most annoying male Marissa Barclay has ever met.

No matter what her sister’s new husband seems to think, Mari has no need for his brother, a hulking, kilted Highlander, hovering over her through London’s Little Season.

Family or nae, Jamie has enough on his plate overseeing his family’s English estates without the added annoyance of keeping an eye on Mari. Especially since she seems as determined to slip by him as he is determined to do his protective duty. In truth, it’s quite a job keeping the willful little minx out of trouble.

But when an old enemy strikes at the heart of the MacLeod family, Jamie whisks Mari away from London’s glitter to the wilds of his homeland. Where a stormy love blooms…and danger lurks in the hills.

Warning: This wee book contains a stubborn English lass and a braw Scottish lad with bull-headedness in his blood. Aye, and romps in the heather ye’ll not want yer mither tae be seein’.

eBooks are
not
transferable.

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

Cincinnati OH 45249

Rogue of the Isles

Copyright © 2013 by Cynthia Breeding

ISBN: 978-1-61921-545-0

Edited by Heidi Moore

Cover by Kim Killion

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: September 2013

www.samhainpublishing.com