To Seduce a Rogue (15 page)

“Miles, don’t you need to see to Kath?”

“Heck, I reckon you’re right about that.”

The simple reply didn’t fool Adam. He knew the questions were coming.

Miles bowed. “I’ll see you soon, Charlie. Lila.” He nodded his head. With a wink to Adam, he strode in the direction of his inebriated wife.

Lila clucked her tongue against her teeth. “Oh, that man is so rude.”

“Not so much rude as honest,” Adam said.

Lila clenched her fists. “Adam Chase! How dare you. Of all the...ohhh.” She leveled a scathing glare at Charlie, then stormed off.

Adam turned to find Charlie’s glacial azure gaze trained upon him. He studied her face, moonlight casting shimmering ivory across her skin. His mind clicked off trite, meaningless explanations. One by one, he discarded them all. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

He released a breath when she tilted her head, her teeth beginning a studious torment of her lip. She was considering his apology, which was good.

Yet, he couldn’t quite ignore his reaction to what she was doing with her mouth.

* * *

I didn’t think Chase was the kind of man to apologize, especially to a woman. Maybe it’s because I work with him. We do have to maintain a professional relationship
. She frowned.
Is that the only reason? Why
—

“You were doing fine there for a moment, but now you’ve gone galloping off on the wrong horse entirely.”

She pulled her focus away from the study of her boots. “What?”

“I said, you have it all wrong.”

“Have what all wrong?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his already tussled hair. “I didn’t apologize because we work together, although that would be a logical conclusion. I did it because—” He cleared his throat. “I did it because I was an ass, Charlie. You helped me with Taber, and how did I repay you?”

His simple words ate at her anger. “I’m sorry, too.”

He shook his head. “Sorry? You don’t have any reason to be sorry.”

“Yes, I do. It seems our inability to establish close friendships is something we share.”

He stared at her, his gaze questioning.

A tingle of alarm—or was it excitement—danced along her arms, her back. The fine hair on her skin lifted. He had the power to devour a person with those eyes. They coaxed: tell me.

Your hopes, your dreams, your fears.

She almost cracked. Oh, what it would be like to share your life with someone.

But Adam Chase was leaving.

For a moment, Charlie had forgotten.

Her hands crept into tight fists in the folds of her skirt, silk meshed like prisoners between the fingers. “You finish your story, I’ll start mine.”

Startled surprise ripped across his face. The sincere promise in his eyes dulled. “Checkmate, Miss Whitney. A strategically placed offensive attack.”

Guilt nipped at her. And relief. She looked away from the perceptive glint in his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He grasped her chin between rough fingertips. Her stomach churned as she surveyed his pale face and the muscle dancing along his jaw. He leaned in, close enough for her to smell the whiskey riding his breath. “
Don’t lie to me
. Run because you’re scared. Push me away with the truth. I can handle that. Use what you have to fight me, but don’t turn around and tell me I’m imagining the battle.”

Closing her eyes, Charlie swallowed, her throat dry. She could smell him: leather, liquor, smoke.

Oh, she wanted to lean into him and be consumed.

He released her chin. She missed the contact immediately. Her heart beat a wild rhythm in her chest. She blinked, not believing what she was seeing: a tender smile crinkling the skin around his eyes in an endearing way she’d yet to notice. Is this the way it would be with him? New layers exposed, like a cocoon from a butterfly? 

Adam cursed once, then grasped her wrist and pulled her along behind him, leaving the party behind.

Hunger

A strong or compelling desire or craving.

“Where—”

“Shhh.” Adam halted as a muffled sound pierced the darkness, and Charlie stumbled into his back.

They stood behind a thick pine. He could hear someone on the other side.

And if he wasn’t mistaken, it sounded like they were...

Brushing past him, Charlie leaned, straining to see.

He leaned, too, looking over her shoulder.

Yep. Sounds like what it is
.

They dropped back in unison. A gasp slid from Charlie’s lips. Fearing she might say more, he slipped his hand over her mouth. When she started to struggle, he pulled her against his body and whispered, “Do you want to ruin their rendezvous?”

Adam worked to control the urge to laugh as she stopped struggling and redirected her efforts into watching the couple twenty feet away, the only show of privacy layers of haze and moonlight.

He also worked to control the heat that rolled though him. In reaction to the slim body pressed against his. The fragrance of roses rushed in to reprimand him for his folly. His arm dropped, releasing her.

Charlie took a step closer. Whispers interspersed with ardent moans met their ears.

Run, Charlie
.

His mind pleaded even as he reached for her with unsteady hands.

You ran earlier; run now
.

But, he wasn’t about to let her go.

To hell with her, then. To hell with them both.

He pulled her hair free of its pins as he closed in on her. Her feet collided with his, and she stumbled against his chest. When she fell into him, he surrendered.

With a groan of capitulation, he angled her head back and took her mouth. His tongue brushed her parted lips, and surprisingly, she allowed him inside. The blood pounding in his head and the liquor flowing through his veins made the ground tilt—a startling, marvelous, scorching tilt.

He stumbled back and almost took them both to the ground.

Charlie moaned softly and gripped his sides, steadying
him
. Then worked her hands up his back.

Who was this woman, opening her mouth beneath his? Experimenting and imitating, trailing her tongue along his lips? God, she tasted delightful. Tangy: whiskey and cinnamon.

He wanted to sink into her, was trying to as he slanted his mouth over hers, deeper...deeper. His hands skimmed to cradle her face, the heat from her cheeks searing his skin. Her fingers dug into his back, almost clawing, as a tormented sound passed between them. Had the sound come from him or her? Hell, he had no idea.

He kept telling himself to stop. Instead, he took the kiss further, momentum building, his passion racing nearly beyond his control. Soon, they would be on the ground or crushed against the tree, and he knew it would be a mistake, the biggest of his life. Irreversible. But, he wanted to experience this with
her
. And, God, it was glorious. Frightening. Enslaving desire and compulsion all jumbled together in one hot dream.

Need had him trapped in its claws.

Trapped.

He pushed back, tearing his mouth from hers. Chest heaving, he gulped great breaths of warm, pungent air. Swallowing, he lowered his forehead to her upturned one, the sweat on their brows mingling.

Her hands gripped his shirt. The need to hold her or drop to the ground assailed him. He had never imagined anything like this existed. Was there even a way to describe it? Like wildfire roaring across dry woodland? Like wind tearing through golden fields of wheat? No, no...
no
. This was deep. Savage. Frightening.

He wondered if his body was his any longer.

Her muscles rippled beneath his hands. Whether she knew it or not, he shook with tremors, too. He kept his head pressed to hers, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. His heart thudded as soap and roses filtered into his brain. Why couldn’t she reek of expensive perfume? He didn’t even like the stuff, and yet, he’d bought enough to flood an ocean.

Taking another breath, he drew back. The bullfrogs and crickets seemed to be shouting all about them. How long had they been occupied? He glanced past the tree. The other couple had disappeared.

“Jared...”

Her sigh slipped to him on velvet currents. He let his gaze fall upon her upturned face. The wonderment reflected there was like a hatchet to his gut. “Oh, God, Charlie...no.” He didn’t want her to know him as
Jared
. Jared had been dead for years—had died in two parts—with his mother and with Eaton. That carefree boy had barely been a man when he disappeared. It was too late for him.

Reluctantly, the beauty of her face, bathed in moonlight, called his hand to her cheek. He trailed his finger along her jaw. “You are so damn beautiful,” he heard himself say.

“If you say so.” Breathless. Uncertain.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“I don’t know
what
I know anymore. I know my heart is racing so quickly that I feel a little sick. And exhilarated. And afraid. And wonderful. And...I don’t think you’re going to help me understand this, are you?”

He could hear the anger in her voice. He deserved it. “No,” he whispered.

She laughed, an awful, cold sound, and turned away.

“Wait.” He stepped forward.

She stopped. Their gazes met. “You didn’t like when I called you Jared, did you?”

He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“Answer me.”

He opened his eyes to find her gaze devouring him. If fear and defeat had not owned him at that moment, he would have smiled at her defiant stance, feet spread just so, fists curled, probably in anticipation of knocking his head off. He should have known Charlotte Whitney was not one to cry about a simple kiss.

Simple? Hell.

It was the most earth-shattering kiss of his life. The deepest emotion he had ever experienced with a woman—and all in the brief span of a minute. It was much more than he would allow himself to experience again. That seemed enough of a reason to give her the truth. “No, I didn’t like it.”

The only outward indication that she had even heard him was her sharp inhalation. “Thank you for that, at least.” She started back to the house.

He took a faltering step and asked, “Jared...why does that matter?” What does
he
matter?

She stopped but did not turn. He wanted to run to her, scoop her into his arms, and carry her back to his feather bed. Peel her clothes off one piece at a time, then lie between her beautiful legs. Make love to her and fall asleep with her heartbeat in his ears. It hurt to stay where he was and not go to her. He knew he could ask nothing of her.

Not unless he was willing to give.

She looked at the sky. She was not going to answer. Then he heard the words float to him on the wind. They tore through him like nothing had since that day and that damn bloody field where he had died with Eaton. “Jared matters, Chase, because he’s you. The real you.” Her form had dissolved into the mist before he claimed his next breath.