Wicked Pleasures (6 page)

Why did she feel like she knew this man, this ogre,
who kept her against her will? How could she desire him, yet hate
him all at the same time? Before she could stop herself, she lifted
her head and kissed him. His lips opened and his tongue darted
inside her mouth, dueling with hers. He lifted his chin—both were
breathless. “Roark…” his name fell from her.

“I’m a fucking goner,” he whispered.

His hand fell to her waist and he undid the button
and zipper of her jean. The next thing she knew, his hand was
inside her panties and his finger was knuckle deep inside her
aching pussy…thrusting and rubbing while his thumb flicked her
clit. She rolled and circled her hips, wanting him like she’d never
wanted anything in her life. Burying her nails into his shoulders,
she clung to him as tingles spread through her.

He removed his hand and she thought he’d taken her
oxygen with him. There was urgency in his gaze as he moved away.
Then it struck her…she would have had sex with him, not once, not
twice, but as many times as they could have endured.

Shame swept over her.

What was happening to her? She wanted to go home.
She wanted safety with—

Bronte’s brain went blank. Who did she want safety
with?

No one came to mind but Roark.

****

Roark smoothed his hand through his hair as Bronte’s
musk scent tickled his nostrils. His cock was so hard he thought
he’d explode into a million pieces. He could have taken her, he
knew it, but he wanted it to be different, yet he wasn’t sure how.
Damn, he was letting his rough exterior turn soft. Isn’t this why
she’s here? To reproduce so they could make right what they’d done
wrong?

He lightened his weight slightly off her small
frame. He didn’t want to hurt her, nor would he ever, no matter
what, yet she had a way of driving him to insanity.

Staring down at her, he thought she seemed calm, but
he knew better. He could see the panic in her eyes, assuring him
she wasn’t done fighting, especially after she’d succumbed to her
longing. He could sense her thoughts, and the longer they were near
one another, the capability grew stronger.

Her beauty was growing on him. He’d thought she was
skinny, too pale and lacking strong hips for delivering a healthy
baby. His body betrayed his first thoughts. Her long hair, flowing
like a black satin sheet across the arm of the couch, tempted him.
He wondered what it’d feel like to slide his fingers through the
strands. The color of her eyes mesmerized him. And for a woman of
her size, she sure did pack a wallop. Her strength was
unexpected.

She moved under him, pressing her hip into his cock
and it stayed hard and ready for pleasure. He found it suitable. A
hard on meant he found her sexually attractive. He was a giving
lover and he wanted to give her satisfaction. There was another
emotion, deeper in the pit of his stomach that he didn’t like.

He pulled himself back emotionally.

There was no room for feeling. The relationship he’d
had once upon a time destroyed enough lives and brought on
devastation. He had only a matter of time to rectify the
damage.

Producing a child would be the only way to save his
people. He wasn’t a mean man, yet he must prove to her the
important role she’d played in the downfall of loved ones.
Unfortunately, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. At the moment,
he was sure Bronte would rather see him burned alive than believe
the truth.

This wasn’t how their meeting was supposed to
transpire…

If only he could tell her the truth and she’d
understand…and not push him away.

“Move off me!” Bronte snarled. “You disgust me.”

Damn woman!
He just stared at her. She was
too much trouble. He had the right mind to say the hell with his
lineage and wait out the days in peace until his life ended. Yet as
quickly as the thought crossed his mind, he realized that was not
an option. He had others to think about and he was the only one,
along with Bronte, who could release the spell that had blasphemed
his family.

In her defense, she didn’t know what she’d done. She
had no memory.

“I’ll move if you agree to conduct yourself without
hurting me. No further warnings are in order,” he said.

There was a long second’s hesitation before she
finally said, “I’ll agree if you tell me why I’m here.”

The pleading look in her eyes made him weak.
“Patience is very important in this. I can tell you some, just not
all.” He figured that should placate her for the time being. “Yet
first, we have to dress the wound. We can’t have you bleeding
everywhere now can we.”

“Fine.” Her muscles relaxed, one by one, underneath
his body.

Suddenly, he hated to move. He couldn’t stay in the
horizontal position all day, even if it felt enjoyable. He rolled
off her and pushed himself off the couch. She sat up, fixing her
jeans while giving him the evil eye. He’d have to watch her. The
quicker he dressed her hand the better, and the safer his nuts
were.

He grabbed the first aid kit off the side table
where he’d placed it earlier and gathered the needed items from the
container. Taking her hand into his, he pushed away the yearning in
the pit of his stomach to touch other places of her body. Her
penetrating glare didn’t deter him either. He examined the healing
wound and was quite proud of himself. It’d been a while since he’d
had to stitch a cut. Infection hadn’t settled in. “I know you’ll
disagree, but I did very good work.”

“And so could a doctor, a
real
doctor, not a
pretend one.” Her nose wrinkled.

“What are you complaining about? I didn’t charge you
a dime and you got one of the best night’s sleep you’ve had since
your mother died ten years ago.” He felt her jerk and knew he’d
crossed a line. He looked at her and swallowed. This was a new
expression marring her delicate features. Heartache was evident in
her trembling bottom lip and moist eyes.

“How did you know about my sleep problems? Are you
guessing?”

Crashing thunder sounded from outside, rattling the
window. He guessed it suited the mood on the inside. He squeezed
ointment from the white tube onto the stitches and spread it onto
the area, careful not to hurt her. “I know everything about
you.”

“My mother’s death was front page news. She’d done a
lot of wonderful things for the community. And you could presume
that I don’t sleep, unless you have used your freaky way of popping
up here and there and snuck into my room at night.” Her voice was
husky.

He wrapped her hand with fresh gauze. “Bronte,
before I brought you here I was certain this is where you need to
be. The decision to have you here wasn’t an easy one. Everything
had to be just right. I took great care in planning for your
visit.”

“This is not a visit and
you
didn’t bring me
here. Your thugs did the nasty work.”

“I’m sorry that my men were too rough. I’m afraid
they don’t know their own strength when it comes to humans. I
wanted to come myself, but I haven’t been out of the house for
almost six months.” He realized he’d said too much. He couldn’t
force her memory.

“Humans…not leaving the house for six months…is this
an episode of the
Twilight Zone
?”

“
The Twilight Zone
?” He raised an
eyebrow.

“The TV show. You’ve never watched it?” she
asked.

“I don’t watch TV.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why do I feel like I know you?
Have we met before? Something seems familiar about you, but I can’t
place it.”

“That’s a tricky question. One I can’t answer, at
least not now.” He laughed when her mouth fell open. He was glad
she didn’t follow through with a string of four-letter words like
he knew she’d wanted to. He appreciated the silence as he put the
tools away. He finally said, “Come now, I’m starving. You must be
too. It’d be a misfortune if you lost any more weight.”

“My body is just fine the way it is, thank you.”

He didn’t have to look to know she was pounding him
with a heated stare. He kept his back to her as he crossed the room
toward the door. “So you say. It’s not fitting for a woman to weigh
so little. How will you carry a baby with no nourishment available
to feed a child in your womb?” Her snort cracked the air.

“I could carry a baby with no problem. I eat
healthy. I work out. I have a strong body. I’ve never had any
health conditions. And why the hell would I care what you think?
I’m only saying that if I have a baby, but I won’t, it certainly
wouldn’t be yours anyway.” Her chin was at a challenging slant.
“Arguing is useless.”

“Unless you call being a workaholic a serious
issue,” he said. “That is a health risk and the dark circles
underneath your eyes are a red flag that you’re malnourished.”

“That’s none of your business.”

He turned to face her. Her hands were on her hips
and there was a slight pout to her bottom lip. He found it
engaging, in an odd way. “Your blood pressure is rising,
sweetheart. That’s definitely not good for the body. And no, it may
not be any business of mine, but why are you hiding from
people?”

“I’m not hiding. That’s a crazy assumption.”

“You work more than twelve hours a day. You say you
have a boyfriend, but what sort of man is happy with only seeing
his partner every few weeks? When you’re in love, you desire to
spend as much time as possible with that person.”

“I’m not in love—”

He smiled. She’d fallen right into the trap.
“Exactly. I made my point. Why waste your time?”

“You don’t know me or Gage.” She folded her arms
over her chest.

“I do know you, but you’re right, I don’t know
him.”

“And my point was, I will never have sex with you,
and we will never conceive a baby.” Her chin was set in a
determined angle.

“There you go using that word
never
again.
Such negativity. How about for the next few hours we call a cease
fire? I’m famished.” He grabbed her hand and was grateful that she
didn’t resist as he led her out of the room, down the hall and into
the formal dining room.

His cook was placing their plates of chicken,
potatoes and rolls on the table when they walked in. “Just in
time,” Roark said. The smell of the meat made his mouth salivate.
Bronte pulled her hand away. He saw the uncomfortable look she gave
him and then the curious slant of her eyes as she looked at the
cook. “Bronte, this is Miss Deveraux.”

The grey haired woman turned and greeted them with a
bubbly laugh. Her cheeks were crimson and she wore her usual,
heavily starched, blue and white trimmed uniform. Her apron was
pristine. She was spotless and didn’t appear to have cooked
anything. “Hello, Bronte. Is it okay if I call you Bronte? I don’t
want to show my bad manners. I just think you have such a beautiful
name.”

Roark watched Bronte. Several different expressions
flitted across her face but he knew what rolled around inside her
mind. He bent and whispered into her ear, “You can tell her
whatever you like. She won’t help.” She snapped him a look of
complete rage. He shrugged. “Don’t be pissy with me. What were you
expecting?”

“That you’d have dropped dead by now.” She held
death in the grip of her gaze.

He smiled. “I thought we agreed to peace?”

“If you remember correctly, I didn’t agree to a
peace of nothing.”

He didn’t respond. “Thank you, Miss Deveraux. It all
looks delicious. You’re free to go.” He gave her a nod and she
disappeared in through the swinging doors leading into the kitchen.
He went to the head of the table and sat down as his stomach
growled. Grabbing his fork, he dug into the thick breast of chicken
when he realized Bronte was still standing near the door with her
arms crossed over her chest. Peering at her over the meat, he
thought she looked like a child who was throwing a stubborn fit. He
set his utensil back down and sighed. “What’s wrong now?”

“I’m not eating,” she stated defiantly.

“Come and sit. Try a bite. Miss Deveraux is an
excellent cook.”

She shook her head, sending tendrils of hair
whipping around her cheeks. “No.”

“Bronte, think of the baby,” he encouraged.

“Are you a complete lunatic? I’m not pregnant nor
will I ever be by you.”

“Suit yourself, Bronte.” He got up and went to her.
He easily lifted her into his arms and started for the double doors
leading outside.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Outside,” he answered.

“I’m not going out there. It’s pouring rain.” He
felt her body tighten as she clutched at his shirt.

“You won’t melt. Plus, it won’t hurt you to get
cooled off.” He pushed open the doors and with her still in his
arms, he ignored her protests and walked out into the rain.

“No! Oh my…this is ridiculous.” She snuggled her
body closer to his as she wiped the water from her face. They were
soaked in seconds. He lowered her to her feet, but she made no move
away from him. She brought her chin up and her gaze narrowed.
“You’re even crazier than I first thought.”

The anger was gone from her expression. Wetness
dripped from her eyelashes and she was beautiful. “It’s okay,
Bronte. Life is about enjoyment. When was the last time you played
outside in the rain?”

There was hesitation. “When I was about seven. My
mother and I used to run and jump in puddles,” she said as her eyes
sparkled.

He laughed. “Come along.” He grabbed her hand and
pulled her into the yard. Their bare feet sloshed in the grass.
“Let’s find a puddle for you.”

“I’m not playing in a puddle, Roark.” She buried her
feet into the ground as if to prevent him from moving her.

“Here’s one.” He picked her up again and ran. He
dropped to his knees into the water and it splashed up onto their
bodies. For the first time, he heard her laugh and it made him
happy, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. “Are you ready
to go back in?”