Page 37 of Road Trip With a Rogue

He turned away to hide the throbbing evidence of his arousal, although she must have felt it when he’d lain on top of her. His stupid body didn’t seem to know the difference between fighting and foreplay.

With Daisy, there was hardly any difference. He wanted her with a desperation that was shocking.

He’d been awake for far longer than she had, and he’d reveled in the unfamiliar sensation of waking with a woman in his arms. He’d never invited any of his previous lovers to sleep in his bed or to linger once their mutual pleasure had been achieved.

But holding Daisy felt scarily right. Her curly mop of hair had tickled his chin, her body had nestled into his as perfectly as an acorn fitting into its cup.

Being wicked, he hadn’t bothered to deny himself the temptation of touching her while she slept. He’d skimmed his palm over her thigh and into the dip of her waist, stealing the knowledge of her curves with guiltless pleasure. His finger had traced the side of her neck, and she’d shifted restlessly as he’d stroked the petal-soft skin of her cheek and touched the corner of her mouth.

When her pink lips had parted on a restless sigh, he’d snatched his hand away, fearful of being caught even as he weighed the possibility of stealing a kiss.

He’d known the instant she woke. She’d tensed, and he’d feigned sleep, his heart pounding in anticipation as he waited to see what she would do. He’d felt her slideher hand beneath her pillow, but the sweet press of her breasts against his chest and the slide of her leg against his when she’d turned over to face him had been incredibly distracting.

He bit back a smile at the way she’d outsmarted him. He hadn’t expected the knife. God, he loved her spirit.

He crossed the room and kicked the fire back to life, giving her space. Distance was probably a good idea.

“I’ll go and see about breakfast.”

The thump of the water jug against the drawers was the only indication that she’d heard him.

Chapter Eighteen

Daisy pulled the travel blanket around her shoulders and stared sightlessly out the window as the carriage rattled and bounced along the road. She’d had numerous stupid ideas in her time, but this one, asking for Vaughan’s help, was definitely the stupidest.

Why had she thought she’d be immune to him after all these years? If anything, she wanted him more than she had at eighteen, now that she knew precisely what men and women could do together.

What she could do withhim, if she just accepted his offer.

His words had been swirling around her head for most of the day, and try as she might, she could only find one counterargument: What if she allowed herself to make love with him and it was so good that he ruined her for any other man, ever?

That was a ridiculous hypothesis, of course, but there was just something about his innate confidence that made her think it could be a possibility.

There was no danger of her falling in love with him. He was an arrogant, high-handed beast. Even if hehadprocured a hot stoneware water bottle for her feet and this lovely warm blanket to ward off the chill as they traveled increasingly farther north.

He was riding again this afternoon, almost as if he was avoiding her, but every time she spied him, her body reacted with irritating predictability. She wanted him. Just thinking about his hard frame against hers this morning made her hot and shivery at the same time, as if she had a fever. Desire pulsed low in her belly, a wicked chant that sang in her blood.

When he returned to the carriage at Harrogate she opted to ride, but the bracing fresh air didn’t cool her ardor. If anything, she felt invigorated, ready for a fight. She returned to the carriage at the next stop, and her awareness of him seemed unnaturally heightened. She tensed every time he changed position, or coughed, or turned a page of his book. She kept sneaking glances at his long legs as they stretched out between them, kept thinking about those fingers of his, touching her skin.

This had to stop. She needed to get away from temptation.

“How far are we from your estate?” she demanded. “You said it was in Yorkshire. Past Harrogate. Aren’t we almost there?”

He glanced up from his perusal of theRacing Postand blinked, as if he’d forgotten she was even there.

Beast.

“Oh, we passed the turnoff a few miles back. Just after Scotch Corner.”

“But… why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged. “You’ve been extremely vocal on how you need to arrive at Gretna before poor love-crossed Verity and Percival.”

“Violet and Peregrine,” she corrected.

“Whatever. I assumed that speed was of the essence. Hiring a horse or finding a carriage would just waste even more time.”

Daisy narrowed her eyes at him, deeply suspicious. “To what do I owe this sudden helpfulness?”