Page 13 of Some Like It Wild (Kincaid Highlands #2)

P amela opened her mouth but Connor’s hand was there, warm and firm against the parted softness of her lips, stifling any sound she might have made.

He leaned close to her ear, the silky rasp of his voice raising gooseflesh on her arms. “Don’t scream, lass, or you’ll bring the whole house down on our heads.”

Given that a notorious highwayman was sitting on the edge of her bed with his hand over her mouth, it occurred to her that screaming just might be the wisest course of action.

But when he slowly withdrew his hand, she only whispered furiously, “What do you think you’re doing?”

His dimple made a devilish appearance. “Sneaking into my betrothed’s bedchamber to steal a good-night kiss?”

He was dressed as he had been at their first meeting—all in black, one with the shadows. His hair was loose, its unruly tendrils framing his face. He still smelled like fresh pine and wood smoke. She could not help but wonder if he still tasted like whisky and danger.

She propped herself up on her elbows, shaking her hair out of her eyes. “How did you get in here?”

“Through the window.”

She followed the direction of his gaze, her mouth falling open in surprise. The window that had been safely secured only minutes ago was now standing ajar, inviting in a cool night breeze and any scoundrel or rogue who happened to be passing by.

She snapped her mouth shut and returned her wary gaze to his face. She couldn’t afford to forget that he was a thief any more than she could afford to forget that he was a man accustomed to taking what he wanted, consequences be damned.

“Did you ever think of using more conventional means—like the door ?”

He scowled. “Where’s the challenge in that? Besides, it would hardly do for some footman or maid to catch me sneaking into my fiancée’s room in the dead of night. We have to think about your reputation.”

“Oh, I’m sure you already have everyone thinking about my reputation. My reputation as a man-hunting, gold-digging little strumpet who’s set her greedy cap on snaring a duke.” Remembering that Sophie was slumbering in the next room, she lowered her voice to a hissed whisper. “What on earth possessed you to tell them you were betrothed to the penniless daughter of an actress?”

“Ah, but you forget, lass—you’re not penniless anymore. That reward would make quite a handsome dowry.”

“As if I would squander it just for the privilege of marrying you!”

He gently cupped her cheek in his hand, tracing the plump curve of her bottom lip with the callused pad of his thumb. “I could have told them we were already wed. Then you’d be sharing my bed on this night.”

“Oh, I might be sharing your bedchamber, sir, but never your bed.”

As Connor gazed down into Pamela’s upturned face, her defiant words were belied by the shimmer of uncertainty in her eyes, the inviting way her lips parted ever so slightly beneath the coaxing pressure of his thumb. In that moment he could barely remember his paltry excuse for coming here, could almost believe he really was an overeager groom desperate to sample his bride’s charms. There wasn’t a man alive who would condemn him for that—not when Pamela lay rumpled and warm beneath his hand, her eyes snapping with amber sparks and her unbound hair cascading like mahogany silk down her back.

He wanted nothing more than to bear her back against the softness of the mattress with the hard length of his body. To bury his face in the sweet- smelling silk of her hair and fill his hands with the ripe sweetness of her breasts. To ease up her nightdress, coax her creamy thighs apart and take her like a thief in the night. To slip away while she was still aching for his touch, leaving her to wake in the morning and wonder if it had all been some extraordinary dream.

But Connor had learned long ago that whatever he stole now, he would have to pay for later. And as he gazed down into Pamela’s wary eyes, he was afraid the price for one night in her arms might be more than his heart was willing to pay.

He reluctantly lowered his hand, telling himself he must have imagined the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “You’re the one who warned me I’d still be a wanted man in London. What better way to ward off all those eager young women than to let them believe I’m already taken? Then we can focus all our efforts on finding your mother’s killer.”

“And once we do? What then?”

He shrugged. “You can break my heart. Beg off our engagement and leave me a wasted shell of a man ruined for any other woman.”

She lowered her lashes, uttering a soft laugh. “As if anyone would ever believe a woman like me would refuse a man like you.”

He tilted her chin up with one finger. “Well, in that case…”

Then he did what he’d been aching to do from the moment he’d slipped into her chamber. From the moment her sister had interrupted them on that cold, rocky road in Scotland. He twined his hand through the silky coils of her hair and touched his lips to hers.

Pamela shuddered as a tide of yearning, unexpected and powerful, swept through her. This time there was no Sophie to save her from her own folly with a well-timed blow from a parasol. There were only the two of them and the coaxing sweetness of his mouth against hers.

She couldn’t have said how she ended up flat on her back beneath him. One minute she was still propped up on her elbows, the next her arms were twined around his neck, her fingers tangled in the coarse silk of his hair. He was a shadow covering her, blocking out the moonlight as he pressed her deep into the softness of the mattress with the long, hard length of his body.

His mouth slanted over hers again and again, deepening his kiss with each pass until she welcomed the smoldering velvet of his tongue into her mouth. He tasted even better than she remembered—smoky and sweet and intoxicating. She moaned against his lips, no longer able to resist tracing the edge of his chipped tooth with her tongue.

That single shy motion dragged a ragged groan from his throat. “Och, lass, what are you tryin’ to do? Drive me wild?”

When his mouth descended on hers again, she knew she had succeeded without even trying. His kisses were no longer tender and coaxing but fierce and hungry, demanding a response she was only too eager to give. He possessed her mouth like a born thief, stealing her breath, her heart, her will to resist him.

She didn’t even protest when he eased her nightdress off her shoulder so he could press his lips to the delicate wing of her collarbone, taste the pulse throbbing beneath the gossamer skin of her throat. His teeth tugged at her earlobe, sending a dark shiver of delight pulsing between her thighs.

His mouth caught her moan, feeding it back to her with a ferocious tenderness that left her limp with yearning. Made it even easier for his knee to nudge those thighs apart so he could settle his weight between them. He rocked against her, his kiss mimicking the motion with each rhythmic thrust of his tongue, until those shivers of delight began to multiply into something even more extraordinary and far more dangerous. She heard herself sob his name in a voice that didn’t even sound like her own.

Despite everything that had passed between them, it was still a shock when his hand dipped into the bodice of her nightdress and closed over her breast, bringing them flesh to flesh for the first time. He filled his palm with the fullness of her breast and gently squeezed, then brushed the callused pad of his thumb over the rigid bud of her nipple, sending a fresh throb of desire deep into her womb.

Shame began to war with Pamela’s pleasure as she realized the worn folds of her nightdress and the thin buckskin of his trousers were all that separated her from ruin. Had her mother once surrendered to such a magnificent man, never knowing that he wouldn’t just be the first, but the first of many?

Pamela’s dismay began to swell into panic. Her hand closed around Connor’s wrist, but she might as well have been tugging at a tree stump. “Please, Connor, no! Please don’t!”

Connor was so drunk with desire that it took him a dazed moment to realize Pamela’s hand was seeking to drag his fingers away from the softness of her breast instead of urging them closer. That she was no longer begging him to continue, but to stop.

He slowly lifted his head to gaze down at her, both of them going so still that the only sound in the room was the harsh rasp of their breathing.

With his hand still cupped around the glorious fullness of her breast and his groin aching in the cradle of her thighs, he wasn’t in any mood to play fair. “You promised me all the willing women I cared to woo.”

She drew in a shuddering breath. “Is that what you’re doing? Are you wooing me, Mr. Kincaid?”

Her words cut him to the quick. Only seconds ago she had moaned his Christian name as if he had the power to satisfy her every desire. “If you must know, Miss Darby , I’m not in the habit of wooing women.”

A heartbreaking little laugh escaped her. “Of course you’re not. They probably woo you.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m in the habit of paying for them.”

Pamela’s eyes widened, her beautiful, well-kissed mouth forming a soundless “Oh.”

Although he made an earnest effort, he was still too aroused to keep the rough edge from his voice. “What do you want from me, lass? Flowers? Tender words? Promises I won’t be able to keep?”

He would give her all that and more if she would just let him slip her nightdress over her head so she could be naked beneath him. So he could be inside of her. Hell, in that moment he’d have promised her the dukedom itself had it been his to give.

When she finally spoke, her words were little more than a whisper. “I want you to go.”

Even as she uttered the words, Pamela wished she could take them back, wished she didn’t have to see the icy mask settle over his face, leaving it as beautiful and merciless as it had been the first time she’d glimpsed it in the moonlight.

He was up and off of her in a heartbeat, leaving her shivering in the cool night air. She sat up in the bed and raked her tumbled hair out of her eyes, wishing desperately for the courage to call him back.

He turned at the window, a shadow framed by moonlight. “If I were the real marquess, could I command you to let me stay?”

Pamela hugged one knee to her chest, finding it a poor substitute for the warmth of his body. “If you were the real marquess, you wouldn’t want to stay. You’d have no need of a woman like me.”

Although she would have thought it impossible, his voice deepened even further. “Oh, I have need of you.”

Then he was gone, leaving her to collapse on the mattress, her lips still yearning for his kiss, her body still aching for his touch.