The Millionaire Rogue (27 page)

He lowered his lips to the top of her head and left them there as he led her across the deck. With the toe of his ridiculous gladiator-style sandal, he coaxed the tarpaulin to unfold into a nestlike circle and guided Sophia to its edge. She was breathing hard; even in the darkness he could make out the luscious curve of her swollen lips, the prick of her nipples against the gauzy fabric of her costume.

Hope swallowed, gritting his teeth at the anticipation that coursed through him. He grasped the edges of his tunic and made to pull it off; in his haste it got stuck on his head, and no matter how he tugged, he couldn't untangle himself.

Sophia laughed softly; he felt her hands on his tunic, gently removing his hands from the fabric before pulling it over his head.

“Thank God,” Hope breathed. He shook out his curls, wiping them back from his forehead, and lowered his gaze to see Sophia staring openmouthed at his naked chest. He felt himself harden even further—really, how was that even
possible
?—as her eyes traveled to the front of his drawers.

He made to cover himself with his hands, lest he frighten her away, but Sophia snatched his wrist.

“No,” she said. She stepped forward and slipped her first finger into the waistband of his drawers. “Let me, Thomas.”

Before he could stop her, Sophia dropped to her knees, digging the fingers of both hands into the waistband. With her thumbs she caressed the jutting points of his hip bones, slowly,
oh God
, so very slowly pulling down his drawers.

She coaxed them over the bulge; his cock pounced free, the drawers dropping silently to his feet. For a moment she drew back, her eyes widening as she took in his length, the enormity of his desire for her.

“Really, Sophia, you don't have—”

“Shh.” Splaying her palms over the hardened flesh just above his groin, she drew up on her knees. “I
want
to.”

He thought he might scream at the feel of her hands scraping down, down,
down
the length of his groin. She encircled the root of his cock in one hand, the shaft in the other; and then she was bending forward, pressing her lips to the head, kissing him as she looked up, curiosity sparking in those wicked,
wicked
eyes of hers.

He let out a long, slow hiss, drawing his thumb across her forehead.

“You feel so lovely,” he breathed. “So goddamn lovely, Sophia.”

Sophia did not hesitate, sliding open her lips instead, slick with the first show of his seed. Carefully, very carefully, she took his head into her mouth, one engorged inch at a time.

Hope sucked in a breath at the feel of her tongue on the very tip of his manhood, languorously, slowly caressing him. He watched as her lips stretched to accept him, digging a hand into her hair. He saw God, he saw stars, he had to hold on, she was so lovely, so beautiful, he wanted to remember every moment, every caress . . .

Her mouth felt hot and gloriously wet against him, tightening as she began to move, taking him deeper and deeper. He covered her hand at his root with his own, tightening her grip on his shaft, and together they moved, an easy, back-and-forth motion that had him growling with pleasure.

Sophia's rhythm increased, her eyes fluttered shut; he watched as she lost herself in him, her toga slipping from her shoulder. That
shoulder
. There was something distinctly erotic about her bare shoulder, the way her skin glistened in the gray-blue light of the moon.

He felt himself coiling with pleasure inside her mouth, the familiar tightening almost unbearable as he watched himself disappear past the silken caress of her lips. He was tugging at her hair now, the braids wound about her head falling free under the ministrations of his fingers.

Wave after wave of sensation washed through him, each more potent than the last. She was here, she was
his
, for a little while, anyway, and she was giving herself to him without reservation, without regret. Again his heart swelled. How he ached for her; how he would ache after all was said and done, when he belonged to the bank and she, to another.

He bit his lip, the stirrings of his climax becoming more insistent with each stroke of Sophia's tongue. He cupped her face in his hand, her eyes flying open as he guided himself out of her mouth.

His eyes on hers, he sank to his knees before her. His blood jumped at her heavy-lidded gaze, her swollen lips parted to reveal the tiniest sliver of white teeth. She looked beautiful. She looked . . . aroused.

He kissed her lips; he could taste the tanginess of his body in her mouth and on her tongue.

That tongue
. He caressed it with his own, great, sloping circles that had her moaning into his mouth. She arched against him, wild with need; he felt the insistent press of her hips against his cock.

Hope released her lips, trailing his own down to her shoulder. His fingers brushing her skin, he coaxed the toga off her arm and down her chest, his hands on her breasts as they surged free above the bodice of her toga. For a moment he held their heaviness in his hands, pressing his fingers into the silken skin; her nipples pleaded against the center of his palms.

“Thomas,” she whispered. “Please.”

He slid his left hand to the back of her neck and gently led her down onto the tarpaulin, leaning on his elbow above her as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. They landed softly on the deck, the tarpaulin sighing around them in the breeze.

Sophia arched against him, moaning softly into the darkness. She was clawing his chest with her fingertips, her nipples brushing against his skin as he brought his mouth down on hers. The kiss was savage and hard, mindless as they lost themselves to their pleasure.

He reached down, drawing up the skirts of her toga. He parted her legs and found the slit between her drawers; his fingers first encountered the curls of her sex, silken and slick.

And then.

And
then
.

Hope groaned, his desire spiking. She was very wet, her flesh swollen with need; she gasped as his fingers grazed the apex of her sex, the nub engorged and hard.

His cock throbbed against her leg; his blood was screaming.

He bolted upright, grabbing Sophia by the waist and settling her on her knees above him, her hair swirling around them in the breeze. Her legs were spread just above the tip of his hardened prick, so aroused, the anticipation so great it hurt.

“Thomas
,
”
she was breathing, her fingers finding purchase on his naked shoulders. He placed his hands on her thighs and squeezed her flesh.

“It's all right
,
”
he whispered in her ear, his lips catching on the sloped ridge of her jaw. She tasted of sweat, salt.
“I want you, Sophia. Let me have you
.
”

He took his cock in his hand and held it upright. With his other hand he coaxed her legs wider, guiding her down.

She reached down and covered his hand with her own, nestling the tip of his cock into the cleftlike opening of her lips. He cursed aloud, pressing his forehead against hers as they fought for the air between them.

Slowly, with excruciating tenderness, she sank onto his length. She felt exquisitely tight, stretching to take in the enormity of his desire. She sucked a breath through her teeth, but before he could ask if she was in pain she threw back her head and thrust downward, swallowing him to the hilt.

For a moment they sat motionless; he didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to ruin these last moments together, and so he waited to take her lead. When at last she brought her head up to look at him, her eyes were dark and wet. He saw a bit of pain there, pain that quickly faded to wild desire.

“Are you all right?” he asked, breathless.

Sophia dug her hands into the hair at his neck and rested her forehead against his. “Never all right. Never, never. Please, Thomas, don't stop.”

Hope slid his hands up her thighs and placed them on her hips. He gently coaxed them up and down, up and down, small motions at first that had him gritting his teeth to keep from climaxing then and there.

With his thumb he brushed the engorged space at the tip of her sex, now spread wide to accommodate his girth. As if he'd lit her body on fire, Sophia began to move on her own, rocking her hips against him.

He saw stars as he slid in and out,
in
and out of her slick warmth. His heart was beating so hard, felt so big in his chest, he thought he might explode. He dug his hand into her hair, fingering her loose curls down the length of her back.

Sophia arched against him, her head falling back as she bared her body to the night. Her breasts moved in time to her hips, and he bent his head to catch a pink nipple between his teeth. She moaned; he pulled back and swallowed.

Heavens, but she was beautiful. The way her skin shone beneath the light of the moon, the abandon in her dark eyes; her hair and her passion and the musky scent of her desire. He wanted her, he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything. He wanted her now and he wanted her after, he wanted her tomorrow, next week, next year.

Hope wanted her with him always.

His throat tightened. It was all too much; he couldn't breathe against the force of his emotion, the force of his body as Sophia swallowed him whole.

Hope was no fool. She was not his, never had been his. All he had was this moment, and their joined flesh. The exquisite sensations thrumming through him.

He felt her tightening around him, the first signs of her release. His pulse drummed in his ears. The tarpaulin fluttered in the breeze beneath their bodies.

He closed his eyes, willing her rising pleasure to blot out his grief.

H
ead thrown back, Sophia gazed at the night sky above through the heavy-lidded haze of her desire. She felt so full, so completely lost in Thomas and the rising beat between her legs, she imagined herself bursting into a white-hot spatter of stars, the force of her climax banishing her to the far reaches of the blue-velvet sky.

His hand was at her neck, pulling him toward her. She smelled his desire, sweat mingled with sandalwood, lemons. She tugged at his hair with her fingers, her hips rolling of their own volition over and through and with him.

Thomas was so large with desire it had hurt at first to take him inside her; even now her pleasure was tinged with pain, each stroke a lesson in patience. But with this thumb working her sex where their bodies joined, the pain only increased her desire.

And now he was trailing his lips down her throat, skipping to her shoulder before taking her nipple in his mouth. He ran his tongue over its hardened tip, scraping it with his teeth,
oh God, oh my God, I can't, I can't wait much—

Pleasure, blinding, complete, ripped through her, her legs bucking against the hardened plane of Hope's thighs. Sophia cried out, and cried out again, her blood rushing through her in a frenzied explosion of poignant sensation. Her limbs pulsed, painfully rigid against the force of her climax.

Vaguely she sensed herself pulsing around the length of Thomas inside her. He bit back a cry, as if she'd hurt him; and then he was lifting her off of him, his movements quick but gentle as he withdrew. She watched as he covered his manhood with both hands. He winced, face screwed tight with pain as he was overcome by his completion.

His seed pulsed through his fingers; she felt its warmth on the exposed flesh of her thigh.

“I'm sorry,” Thomas whispered, wiping it away with the edge of the tarpaulin. He was breathing hard, his massive chest rising and falling rapidly, the dark, curly hair sprinkled across its expanse tickling the tips of her breasts.

Sophia let out a breath, her heart suddenly heavy in her chest. She reached out, brushing a curl from his temple before taking his chin between her fingers.

“Look at me, Thomas.”

He looked at her from under his dark lashes. She saw her own pain reflected in the translucent depths of his blue eyes. Already she felt her desire rising again, her body's thirst for him only heightened by their coming together. She'd never known pleasure and happiness like she had with Thomas inside and around and with her. The completeness of it, the sheer expanse of it was terrifying. With his arms wrapped around her and his mouth on hers, she succumbed to who she was, whom she wanted. The worries of the world, the marquess and her family's falling fortunes, dissipated into the evening breeze. In those moments there was nothing and no one but she and Thomas and the love they shared between them.

Love.

Sophia blinked at the jagged pain that sliced through her chest; her eyes pricked with tears.

“Thomas, I—”

“Don't.” He held a finger to her lips. “Please, don't.”

And then he was taking her in his arms again, pulling the tarpaulin over them as he lay atop her. The canvas rippled above their heads in the breeze, blocking out the night sky.

Sophia stretched out her legs, stiff from exertion, as Thomas pulled her body against his. He pressed a kiss into her cheek, her chin, her forehead; he pried her lips open with his own, a depthless kiss, a desperate kiss, as if he knew it would be their last.

She melted beneath the weight of his body, the fleshy warmth of it. She closed her eyes and ran her palms over his shoulders down to his chest, memorizing every inch of his skin, every muscle and curlicue of hair. A tear escaped from the corner of her closed eye, trailing into her hair.

Sophia broke the kiss, pressing her cheek against Hope's as he wound his arms about her.

“I love you, Thomas,” she whispered.

Thomas started, drawing back to look in her eyes. His were wide and full, gleaming as if they might be wet. His eyes, they were so beautiful; so beautiful it made her ache.

He parted his lips, swollen from kissing her.

“Fire!”

The cry rent the silent night air, a strangled thing that echoed through the endless expanse of the Docklands. Hope's eyes widened; he threw back the canvas and sniffed the air. Sophia inhaled, the crisp odor of burning wood invading her nostrils; above Hope's head she saw the dim outline of smoke curling into the night sky.

Thomas snapped upright and was already shrugging into that ridiculous tunic of his.

“Bring water, quick! Fire!”

Sophia's heart turned over in her chest. If the night's previous mishaps were any indication, then this fire had everything,
everything
to do with their plot; she could only pray that Cousin Violet and the earl were far from it, though her every sense told her otherwise.

With trembling fingers, she tried to set her costume to rights, dropping the sleeve of her toga once, twice, damning it to hell on the third try.

Thomas reached over and tugged the sleeve back into place; Sophia barely managed to tuck her breasts into her bodice before Hope was lifting her to her feet. Together they scanned the horizon, the smoke growing thicker now.

“There.” Sophia pointed to an ember of color at the far edge of the void. Plumes of smoke rose to meet the sky; the back of her throat burned just looking at it. She could discern the dim outline of a ship, the tall shadows of its masts strangely angled, as if they were tilting into the water.

Thomas met her eyes.

They didn't have much time.

Scrambling down the makeshift ladder, Sophia leapt into Hope's outstretched arms. He caught her effortlessly, his thick arms holding her close for one breathless moment before he set her on her feet.

They took off at a sprint, Sophia working double to keep up with Thomas's enormous stride. She followed the outline of his shoulders through the maze of the Docklands, both of them slowing as their lungs filled with smoke.

For what felt like the hundredth time that night, Sophia panicked. She could hardly see on account of the darkness, and as the smoke thickened she worried she would be lost, and would never get to Violet, and Violet would be caught on a burning ship with no one but that bounder the earl to save her.

“Are we,” she coughed, “getting close?”

“Yes!” Thomas called over his shoulder. Seeing her distress, he slowed his pace and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “Stay close, Sophia. I don't want to lose you.”

Shouts rang out around them; the crackle and snap of burning wood filled the summer air, the once-cool breeze now humid with sweat and smoke. Sophia struggled to breathe, her eyes watering as the haze surrounded them. It was too painful to keep them open, and she stumbled blindly at Hope's side, leaning further and further against him the more her lungs burned.

“Sophia.” Hope drew to a stop. Choking, he took her hands in his face. “Open your eyes. Are you all right?”

“I can't,” she panted. The smoke was suffocating; she felt faint. “Leave. I won't leave Violet.”

“No.” Despite the thickness of the air, his reply was savage, sure. “I'm taking. You back.”

“You can't. Leave the diamond. And what. Of Violet!”

Sophia stumbled back as something—someone—ran headfirst into her chest, knocking what little wind was left from her lungs. She let out a strangled cry; an eerily similar cry rang out at her feet.

Violet
. “Violet!”

A stroke of implausible luck at last.

Sophia bent and helped her cousin to her feet, doing her best to wave the smoke from Violet's face as she coughed and sputtered.

Thomas was at her side in a moment, wrapping an arm about Violet's waist as she swayed dangerously close to the edge of the dock. “Are you. All right?”

Violet met Sophia's eyes through the increasingly opaque haze. “We've got. To go.” She waved a limp arm in the direction of—well, Sophia frankly couldn't tell up from down, left from right, so Lord knew where Violet was pointing—but she knew it was
away
from the French Blue.

Sophia looked at Hope. “But the. Diamond,” she panted.

Violet was shaking her head. “No, no. The ship. Is in flames. And sinking. With William—”

She collapsed against Hope, head lolling on the broad expanse of his shoulder. Violet, who only abhorred swooning ladies more than swooning itself, had
actually swooned
.

Sophia's panic returned full force. This was serious. More so because Cousin Violet had referred to the Earl of Harclay by his given name, a name even his sister Lady Caroline did not use in public.

Really, what the
devil
had happened in the hour since they parted company on the quayside?

Sophia moved to help Mr. Hope carry Cousin Violet, but he waved her away, scooping her into his arms instead.

“But the. Diamond,” Sophia said again.

Thomas shook his head. “Later. Let's. Go.”

They retraced their steps along the dock, Sophia keeping her eyes trained on Hope's bare heels lest she lose him in the thickening smoke. She could tell by his sagging shoulders that he was exhausted, but he trudged forward, their pace slowing to a mere crawl by the time they miraculously reached the quay. Sophia's eyes blurred even further with tears of gratitude. Only a few more feet, a few more steps, and then they could collapse into the hack, and after that it was only a few miles to home, to bed . . .

“The hacks.” Hope's head snapped left, snapped right. “They're gone.”

The breath left Sophia's body as she took in the empty lane before them. She dashed about in the darkness, peering past the warehouses into alleys and hidden alcoves. Nothing. She glanced over her shoulder; the burning ship was now fully visible, the flames licking the top of its mainmast as smoke billowed into the sky, obscuring the moon and stars. Somewhere in the darkness she heard the wailing of a siren; the fire brigade was on its way.

Behind Sophia, Hope cursed none too gently in a language Sophia was grateful she didn't quite understand. Something about pigs, and Mr. Lake's—was that
bones
or
stones
?

“Wait here,” she whispered, trolling further into the darkness.

“Don't you dare move, Sophia, it's not safe. Anyone could be about, what with those ruffians the king and Artois at large . . .”

Sophia ducked through an oiled canvas door that hung between two weathered clapboard buildings, finding herself in a dim, damp alley. Wading into the darkness, Sophia held her hands out before her.

Was that a muffled giggle? A beat later she heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a man's playful growl of pleasure.

“Hello?” she called out weakly, coughing. “I don't want to, er, interrupt . . . whichever activity in which you are engaged . . . but I'm looking for my friends, you see . . .”

Sophia's outstretched hands encountered a hard, smooth surface, and a moment later the looming shadow of a hack came into view.

“Oh. Oh, thank God.” Sophia went to open the door. “Mr. Lake, I—
Mr. Lake
!”

He tugged his buckskins over his bare behind, clamoring to the edge of the bench inside the hack. His hair, usually clubbed back in an immaculate queue, was disheveled, sticking straight up around his head like a halo; though he shrugged into his coat, Sophia could see the smooth skin of a well-muscled chest peeking through the lapels.

“I'm sorry to, er, disturb you, but we need to go. Violet is ill—”

Lady Caroline glanced over the slope of Lake's enormous shoulder. Her hair looked even worse for the wear than her paramour's. “Is she all right?”

“Yes, I'll explain everything, but we
need
to
go,
now.”

“Right-ho.” Lake held out his hand, sniffing the air. “I say, what's that dreadful smell?”

By the time they reached Thomas and Cousin Violet, Lady Caroline was hopelessly tangled in her toga after Sophia's attempts to get her dressed; across from the cacophony of the makeshift dressing room, Lake fumed silently, his forehead gleaming with perspiration in the light of a passing lantern.

“Where the devil did you go?” Hope spat, handing Violet's limp body inside the hack. “What if we'd been tailed, and attacked on the quay? Don't tell me—” Hope's eyes slid from Caroline to Lake and back again, narrowing with suspicion. “Never mind. I don't want to know.”

Hope squeezed onto the bench beside Lake, called for the driver to keep moving. “No word of the diamond?”

Thomas shook his head. “The ship will sink, if it hasn't already. Violet told us virtually nothing; for all we know, Artois could've run off with the diamond before the fire started, or that Eliason chap could've jumped ship with it in his pocket. The French Blue could be anywhere by now.”

Lake pounded the wall with his ham-sized fist, and called for the driver to make haste. “Bloody perfect. We came so close. So
bloody close
.”