The Rogue's Proposal (13 page)

He moved his lips to the edge of her mouth. “You taste so good, Em.” He groaned, then
licked the shell of her ear. “So good,” he whispered.

He felt her shudder under the palm that he’d pressed to the small of her back. He
moved that hand now, lower, until it cupped the taut, round flesh of her buttocks.

Untwisting his hand from her hair, he dropped that arm, too, until he was cupping
the globes of her arse in both hands. Kissing her jaw, her cheek, the side of her
nose, he ground against her.

She gasped. God, he loved that heavenly sound. “You’re an angel,” he murmured.

Taking handfuls of her nightgown, he pulled it upward until he felt the bare skin
of her buttocks, and squeezed it.

She nuzzled her arse into his hands, then grabbed him around the neck and pulled him
in, kissing him deliciously, her tongue making little darting explorations between
his lips.

“Em,” he murmured between kisses. “God, Emma.”

He’d squeezed her bottom hard, so now he tried to soothe the area with gentle strokes
of his fingers. Then he dropped her nightgown and moved his hands to her chest, untying
the ribbons that closed her neckline.

“Take this off.” His voice shook. His fingers shook. His grip on his control was too
weak, too tenuous.

God. He was such a damned disaster. A wild, feral animal, struggling against these
base urges. Trying—and failing—to be a good man. A solid man. Like his brother. He’d
never be like his brother.

He would hurt her. He’d hurt Emma like he had everyone else.

He dropped his hands from her nightgown.
No.
This was wrong. Like every other decision he’d ever made in this damned cursed life,
it was wrong.

E
mma saw the rising turbulence in his blue eyes. She saw the fear and the shame.

She still didn’t completely understand this beautiful, tortured man, but after this
morning, she comprehended so much more.

How could she convince him to stop fighting with himself? How could she force him
to believe that his desires were not evil? That she wanted to explore all these things
with him, the consequences be damned?

She kissed him hard, remembering the cloak he’d given her. Remembering those little
things he did for her all the time. “Lock the door, Emma,” he’d told her on the second
night. Earlier that same day, he’d wanted her to stay inside the inn so she wouldn’t
be seen with him. He’d punched Smallshaw because the man had maligned her honor.

And today he’d helped a woman carry her heavy baskets across town. He’d held Emma’s
hand when Macmillan had exposed her husband’s true nature.

He. Is. Not. Evil.

She wanted him desperately. She wanted to lie with him, then sleep naked in his arms.
She wanted him to tie her to the bed and blindfold her, and do whatever else he wished
to do to her. She wanted to throw off her nightgown, bare herself to him, and let
him have his wicked way with her. In whatever way he wanted.

She
craved
it. Every inch of her body craved it. Her heart and her soul craved it. Why wouldn’t
he believe?

He took a step back, pushing her arms away from him and pressing them to her sides.

“No,” she said on a groan. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He gazed at her, that turmoil running rampant in his expression.

“You’re too good—” he began.

She cut him off by dropping to her knees in front of him. “Please, Luke. Please take
me to bed. I am begging you. I need you tonight. Part of me will die if I can’t have
you.
Please
.”

Slowly, terrified, her heart beating so rapidly she thought it might jump out of her
chest, she raised her head. He was gazing down at her, his fists clenched at his sides.

Something in his expression had changed. Softened.

“Please,” she whispered. She looked up at him, pouring all her hope and desire and
need into her gaze.

Please, Luke. Don’t turn away from me. Don’t go downstairs. Don’t get yourself so
drunk you stop fearing what you might do to me…

“I want to be yours tonight,” she whispered. “Completely yours. I’ve never wanted
anything more.
Never
.”

He sank to his knees in front of her. His turbulent gaze had calmed into something
sharp as a blade. He was determined, intent.

Hot.

“You’ll regret this.”

“No.”

“You’ll hate me eventually.”

“Never,” she said. She meant it with all her heart.

His hands were on her, dragging her to her feet. Her nightgown gaped open at her chest,
and he lifted the hem, then pulled it up. She raised her hands, and he removed it
with jerking motions, then tossed it aside. Then he said, “Stand still,” the tone
of command in his voice unmistakable, and he stepped back to look at her.

His gaze raked over her. Hot and hungry, it traveled up and down, leaving burning
trails of heat and desire in its wake.

“God,” he rasped. “You are so beautiful. So. Damn. Beautiful.”

The way he looked at her made her
feel
beautiful. And desired, and so feminine.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered.

Instantly, she backed up until her bottom touched the bedclothes. Then she scooted
onto it, sitting on its high edge.

“Lie down,” he directed her, his blade-sharp gaze never leaving her body.

She watched him as she obeyed, feeling the heat of his hunger as his gaze swept over
her body once more.

He came to the edge of the bed and stood there for a long moment, looking down at
her in silence. She shuddered. She hadn’t expected this, lying here completely naked
while he stood over her, staring. She felt so exposed.

Then his hand rose to cup her cheek, forcing her to look at him. His gaze softened,
and suddenly he wasn’t that predator she’d met on the first night, but the multifaceted
Luke she’d grown to care so much for.

“Do you know how lovely you are, Emma? That was my first thought when I saw you. That
you were the loveliest thing I’d seen in a very,
very
long time.”

His voice was raw. There was an honesty in it that she’d never heard from anyone else.
His tone elicited some deep, almost painful emotion she’d never felt before.

He reached toward her. “Come here. Move closer to the edge so I can touch you.”

Staying on her back, she scooted toward the edge of the bed as he tucked his arms
under her and helped her move toward him. His gaze traversed her body yet again, his
expression possessive, his hand cupping the top of her knee protectively.

She had done this to herself. She had opened herself to him, given herself over to
his hot gaze…and whatever else he chose to give her. The most shocking part was that
she wanted him to partake of her body. He gazed at her like she was a tempting morsel
of food, and she wanted to provide him with the most delicious meal he’d ever tasted.

His fingertips skimmed over her hip bone, and she shivered. No one had ever touched
her there. Even though she’d been married, there were so many places she hadn’t been
touched.

“I want to feel every part of you,” he murmured. “Kiss every inch of you.”

“Please,” was all she could manage over the enormous lump in her throat.

She was begging. Over and over. Just like he’d promised her she would.

He trailed his fingertips down over her hip and the front of her thigh, over her knee
and shin and to her feet. He lifted her feet one by one, then kissed the tops of the
one closest to the edge of the bed, running the flats of his hands up her calf and
shin until he bent her leg at the knee. Then his lips ran over the side of her calf,
soft, tickling. The dampness of his tongue swiped over her flesh. Finally, he raised
his head and looked at her with hooded eyes.

“Do you know how much I want you?”

She gazed at him, wondering if he knew how much
she
wanted
him
. She shook her head.

He chuckled. He kissed the side of her leg, up and over her thigh. His mouth was like
velvet. The sensation so foreign but so exquisite she couldn’t contain the little
moans that escaped from her throat with every press of his lips.

He kissed her hip bone, then moved closer toward the triangle of hair at the apex
of her thighs. She tensed in anticipation, and he looked up at her, his gaze hungry,
his breath hot on her sensitized flesh.

“Do you want it, Emma? Do you want me to kiss you there?”

She shuddered all over. She’d learned long ago that it felt good to touch herself
there. Sometimes, she’d rub her fingers through that slick flesh and imagine a man’s
mouth touching her there, kissing her.

She never, ever had believed that it might someday actually happen.

“Emma?”

Hardly able to breathe, she nodded.

His lips curved into that wicked, sensual, self-possessed grin he’d given her that
first night and so many times since. That smile that made her insides melt and heat
radiate through her body.

In one smooth, graceful motion, he was up on the bed beside her, moving over her.
Distractedly, she realized he was still fully dressed. But she didn’t have time to
give a second thought to that, because he moved down her body, pushing her legs apart
with his hands and settling himself between them, looking down at her body with a
wicked glint in his eyes.

She was…overcome. A part of her felt shy. She’d been indoctrinated to avoid showing
her
ankles
to men, and now he not only had access to a view of both her ankles, but also her
calves, her knees, her thighs. Her
sex
.

But another part of her felt victorious. That part gloried in the heat of his gaze
and the hungry look in his eyes. Everything he did, every movement he made, was for
her. He’d called her beautiful, and for the first time in her life, she believed it.

He kissed her skin, starting with a spot on the inside of her thigh she’d never known
was so sensitive. He moved up her leg, nipping the flesh, then soothing the burn with
soft kisses.

She lay back on the pillow, her eyes sinking shut. Sensation traveled from her thigh
to her core, heating, coalescing into a tight, toe-curling ball of fire somewhere
below her navel.

He licked the inner part of the very top of her leg, and she let out a low moan. “Please,
Luke.”

“Please? What are you begging me for, Em?” His voice was slightly muffled against
her skin.

“I…don’t know.” She had no idea. She was on the verge of some kind of precipice, and
she wanted to grip his hand and jump with him.

“Kiss you?” He kissed the inside of her upper thigh. So very close to her sex, which
was now pulsing with need.

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Lick you?” The flat of his tongue moved over her skin. So hot and warm, stoking the
fire inside her.

“Yes!”

“Where, Em? Where do you want to be licked?”

“I…don’t know…,” she choked out in frustration.

His hand closed over the top of her leg, hot and dry, and her skin was so sensitive
her body gave a little jerk.

“I think you do know,” he said wickedly. He looked over her body at her, and he raised
a brow. “How will I know how to please you if you don’t tell me?”

He was playing with her. And she hadn’t been lying, really—she truly didn’t know
exactly
where she wanted his mouth. But she certainly knew the general location—that place
that was wet and aching and pulsing, waiting for…for…
something
.

For him
, that place of power within her whispered.
It’s waiting for him. Tell him.

“Here,” she whispered. She moved her hand to cup the place between her legs, slipping
her fingers slightly into the folds and trying not to squirm at the sensation of her
own touch. She was wetter than she’d ever been before, and if she thought her inner
knees and the skin of her thighs was sensitive, this place was burning with sensation.

Of course she was sensitive. Of course she was wet. Lukas Hawkins, the most intriguing,
most beautiful man she’d ever known, was making love to her.

Luke sucked in a breath. His eyes were on her fingers, watching them intently. She
pressed harder, sliding her fingers through the wetness. “Here, Luke,” her voice was
huskier than usual, rasping with need.

His tongue moved over his lower lip, leaving a glistening sheen, and then he lowered
his head to press a chaste kiss to the top of her hand. Then he took her hand and
moved it to her side, holding it firmly in one of his own. With his other hand, he
pushed her thigh open wider. For a long moment, he gazed at her.

“You have such a pretty pussy, Emma.”

Oh, God. He was staring at her, not touching her. She’d never felt so raw and open.
Like she was one single, exposed, shuddering nerve.

“Have you ever looked at it?”

She tried to wiggle her hips, close her legs, but his hands were firm on her, pinning
her to the bed.

“Have you? Have you ever used a mirror to look at your pussy?”

If a combination of mortification and lust had ever killed anyone, she’d drop dead
at this moment.

“Tell me.” His voice was firm, brooking no argument.

Was this what he meant when he’d talked about his tastes? To her knowledge, carnal
relations had been simply about the physical congress between a man and a woman. She
wasn’t aware that people actually spoke to one another in the throes of lust. Luke
was turning this into an erotic conversation, and she had no idea how she felt about
that.

Vulnerable.

The word popped into her mind. She’d never enjoyed that feeling of vulnerability that
tended to creep up on a woman in this world. She’d always fought against it, tried
to be strong, tried to take care of everything after her mother died.

This kind of vulnerability…it was deeper and more intimate than anything she’d ever
experienced. She was helpless, defenseless against him, against his touch, against
his mouth, against his penetrating blue gaze.

And she wanted
more
.

She was tired of being in control. Of caring for her father, worrying about her sister.
Running a household, paying debts. Thinking of how to save her family, how to locate
Roger Morton and find a way to return her father’s money to him.

Right here, right now, she had no responsibility, none of that crushing weight that
had strangled her for the past year. Right here, right now, Lukas Hawkins was commanding
her. She had surrendered control. Of the situation, of her body, even of her mind.

And she loved it.

“Emma?” His voice was ripe with warning. “Answer me. Have you ever looked at yourself
here?”

“No,” she whispered.

He let out a breath. Of relief? She couldn’t tell. “It’s pink, such a deep pink, it’s
almost red. Take a white rose petal and a red one. Combine them, and that is your
color.”

Slowly he released her hand, then touched her, moving his fingers through her slickness
just as she had moments ago.

She quivered under his touch, feeling the edge of his fingernail scrape gently over
her. “You’re so wet,” he said gruffly. “So swollen. God, Emma, you’re so responsive.”

His words, his touch. Her mind was swirling. The world was quickly fading away around
her. There was only Luke and the way he was touching her, only the sensations tightening
her body and shuddering through her.

His fingers moved to circle an area so excruciatingly sensitive, her hips bucked.
But using his free hand, he pinned her against the mattress. He circled the tiny area
again, and she gasped. “Do you know what this is?”

“N-no.” She gulped in great breaths. What he was doing was beginning to feel like
some kind of teasing torture. Would it ever end?