Page 12 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

Perhaps there was something she could do to ease the girl’s unhappiness.

She would speak to Jon on the matter. But he’d no doubt counter in that oh-so-practical way of his that the child did not want for anything.

And she supposed he’d be right. He would see to it that Carrie had everything a child could need or want.

When he’d bundled the girl off to bed, she’d seen the affection in his eyes.

Jon cared for the child, and he would never deny her anything.

.. anything he could buy, that is. She knew full well that he could not spare much time for Carrie.

After all, the duties of his position at Mason Enterprises took precedence over most anything.

She’d learned that bitter lesson when he’d left New York.

Fluffing her pillow, she allowed herself another sigh.

She doubted Jon would ever be convinced to devote more time to the child at the cost of his business ventures.

The very thought of it would be laughable if it were not rather sad.

But perhaps—just perhaps—she could impress upon him the importance of selecting a nanny with a kind heart.

A kind heart. She smiled to herself, the words playing in her thoughts as she drifted off to sleep. How very rare.

*

Sprawled on his back, Jon stared up at the darkened ceiling of his bedchamber.

He was bloody exhausted. And yet, sleep would not come.

Blast his uncooperative male body. And his unreasonable masculine mind.

Despite his best efforts to rein in his thoughts, his mind wandered to images of Belle. Again. And again.

He’d never slept under the same roof with Belle.

Not even when they’d shared passionate kisses—and more—during those days and nights in New York.

Memories flooded his brain. Holding her in his arms. Kissing Belle until she sighed with longing against his mouth.

Her soft, velvet voice, telling him she wanted him.

Only him. Just as he’d wanted her, and only her.

But he forced the images aside, banishing them to the recesses of his thoughts.

It was bad enough when they heated his dreams. But in his waking hours, he would not succumb to the longing he was determined to keep dormant.

He’d put all that behind him. Hadn’t he?

Not that any of it mattered. Belle was not here by choice. A moment of fear had driven her into the Rogue’s Lair, a desperation compounded by the realization that the man she’d left behind was in active pursuit. She’d come here tonight out of need. Out of self-preservation. Nothing more.

He’d brought her here to protect her. Not to relive the past. Still, he’d been a fool to think he would be immune to the beauty of her soft smile.

To the subtle aroma of lavender on her skin.

To the memory of how it had felt to hold her in his arms, so close he could feel the rise and fall of her breaths.

The mere thought that he’d have a moment’s peace with Belle this close was bloody absurd.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it now, was there?

He rolled onto his side, thumped his pillow, and closed his eyes.

All the while, his thoughts swirled. The first thing he needed to do was plan for her security.

He’d see to that in the morning. One of his business associates had opened a quaint hotel off the beaten path.

Surely, she’d be safe there. Of course, he’d see to it she was registered under an assumed name, with an imaginary husband’s moniker listed for good measure.

And he’d arrange for a companion for her, a woman who’d draw little attention to herself and possessed the necessary skills to swiftly deter an attacker if the situation called for action.

He knew just the person for that role. Now to hope that Mrs. Johnstone was in the country and wasn’t still running about exploring some ruin or another.

He pounded the feather pillow again. Again, his mind wandered to Belle.

This time, his thoughts took a different path, picturing the compassion on her face when she’d encountered little Carrie.

She’d seemed to instinctively know how to comfort the child.

Blasted shame he did not possess that talent.

With another thump on the pillow, as if for good measure, he flopped onto his back.

In truth, what did it matter if he possessed a knack for comforting a child?

It wouldn’t be long before Belle’s life had returned to her charity balls and Carrie would be off to another home, one far more suitable for a wee girl than his.

Macie’s correspondence had made it clear she and Finn would be happy to adopt the girl.

And then, he could attend to his duties without even a slight touch of guilt.

The child would be happy with his sister.

And his life would be back to normal. The chaos would be behind him. Just as it should be.

Bloody odd how the thought brought him no joy.