Page 70 of To Catch A Rogue

Nothing.

She could practically imagine the stunned look on his face and smiled to herself. Then the door cracked open—as she'd known it would—and Charlie slipped inside.

Wind dashed his blond hair across his brow rakishly, and his shirt was unbuttoned to his collarbone, as it always was when he was at home. The strong muscles of his throat dipped into a hollow at the base she suddenly wanted to taste. Every time she saw him she wanted to touch him.

Her girlish feelings for him had all been innocent—dreams of kissing him, at most. But now she felt a restless, furious itch of pure lust whenever she looked at him. Especially after the feel of his skin slick against hers in the baths, and the heated way he'd pushed her against the pool walls, his tongue tangling with hers. The hunger pushed against the insides of her skin, demanding she give in.

There was nothing innocent about those memories.

Nothing innocent about her desires now.

She wanted his hands on her skin in places she'd never been touched.

She wanted to explore every inch of him with her lips and mouth. To make him beg for mercy.

And she wanted to curl in his arms and lose herself forever.

"Would you like me to take my shirt off so you can get a closer look?" he mused, splaying his arms wide. "The way you're staring is a little indecent, my dear. Especially forjust friends."

Lark looked swiftly away, toying with her brush. "I think that would be unwise."

"Oh, I know." He slipped up behind her, leaning over her shoulder and plucking her fan up for a closer look. "Who knows what would happen if I was to strip to my skin? Might be a repeat performance of the other night, sans the actual baths, but we wouldn't want that, would we?"

He flipped the fan open, the feathery fronds brushing against her throat. Their eyes met in the mirror, and she could see he meant mischief.

Lark swallowed. Hard.

She could feel him at her back. Not quite caging her in, but making her aware of him. All that hard muscle surrounding her. All she had to do was lean back and she'd be in his arms.

Lark ducked under his arm and escaped, sweeping toward the corner as she rubbed the goosebumps from her arms. "I think one of us wants that."

"Sorry," he said, sounding completely insincere as he snapped the fan shut and discarded it on the vanity. "Didn't mean to make you blush with all this talk of delicate matters."

"I'm hardly a complete innocent, Charlie." Lark sank into the stuffed armchair, letting her legs dangle over the edge. "I grew up in the rookeries, remember?"

Just what was he up to?

He settled at her feet, one arm slung carelessly over his knee. He trailed his fingertips along her shin, so lightly she could barely feel it. "How could I forget? Remember the time you dared me to steal Miss Jasmine's garters?"

Lark winced. "How was I to know she was currently entertaining?"

"Thatwas an education," he mused. "I spent over an hour trapped in her wardrobe while she explained the fine art of fellatio to her latest client. With a practical demonstration. I used to fantasize about her garters for hours after that."

"I know." Lark rolled her eyes, trying to ignore her hot cheeks. "You practically tripped over your own feet whenever she crossed the street. And is that why you used to lock yourself in your bedroom with one of her silk stockings every night?"

"I was fifteen," he protested. "I'd suddenly become rather... intensely focused on a certain aspect of life. I was curious how it all worked."

"Quite the slow learner then. You locked yourself away every night for months."

He shot her a roguish smile. "Oh no, it only took me an afternoon before I'd worked out the basic mechanics. But you know me." His voice lowered. "I like to be thorough in my practical application."

Lark flushed. True. When Charlie focused on something, it was almost to exclusion of all else.

Like Miss Jasmine.

And then Annie Chambers, the baker's apprentice, the summer he turned sixteen.

And then Dot Milkens, who'd lured him behind the clock tower a month later.