Heat speared through him, lust ground at his control. Her body called him. The nip at the waist of her waistcoat, the flare at her hips, the soft rounding of her belly. So many gorgeous lines and curves to follow. Unable to keep himself from touching, Wulf reached out with his good hand, set his fingers lightly on her waist.

Her breathing quickened, and her eyes went dark.

“Now that your injury is tended, what shall we do?” A feline smile moved across her face. “Games, perhaps?”




CHAPTER 6




BEA SET her lips to his, took and tasted, simply because she wanted to. Caution be damned. The iron kettle on the floor was ignored, the shirt he’d discarded only a whisper in her mind.

Instead, the heat of him thrilled. The scent of him made her yearn.

And his mouth. It gave sweetly and still greedily consumed. He tasted of winter. Of lust. Of need. She wanted more before she even understood the want. Every inch of her body was lit with fire as brilliant and hot as the flame in the hearth.

Wulf’s face tipped up toward hers. The hand at her waist curled around to her back, drew her closer as his injured arm rose. A warm, rough palm pressed against her cheek, his thumb feathering across her skin.

His strong thighs came together, holding her in place but not trapping her. Relishing the hard muscle against her softer curves, she let the sensation settle into her body, let it fuel her mouth. She moved her tongue over his lips, then pressed inside to tease.

Every movement simmered in her blood.

“Madame Highwayman,” Wulf murmured. “Your mouth is more dangerous than your pistols.”

In one strong, fluid move, he rose to his full height, the expanse of his chest filling her vision.

She had to touch.

His skin was smooth and hot. Muscle rippled beneath her fingers, the heat of his skin warming her cold fingertips. Though she felt the strain of his control, he waited. Daring, tempting, and releasing her all at once.

“Just how much do you want to play?” The rumble of his deep voice vibrated against her palm. “How far do you intend to go?”

“I don’t know yet.” But she knew how far she wanted to go.

“Decide.” The tone of his voice lowered as he stepped closer, and she dropped her hand.

He was barely an inch away. She wanted to touch again. More. Drawing her gaze upward, she let it linger on his mouth. Considered just what to do. Then two strong, callused palms cupped her face. Firm, hot lips bent to hers. Claimed.

His mouth sent lightning straight to her toes. Wrangled so much need and brought it to the surface. She could not stop her hands from roaming toward his shoulders, curving them around his neck. Settled her fingers in thick strands of blond hair.

Tugged a little. Just because.

His low, needy growl followed, and his mouth nipped once in response.

Suddenly she could not touch enough of him. Her hands roamed over his skin, down the muscled torso to grip his waist. The buttons of the fall-front breeches were just there, so she flicked them open. The breeches slipped to the floor to reveal—everything.

Long torso, strong thighs, and a body more than ready for her. She took him in her hand, reveled in the soft skin and hard strength.

“It is to my benefit you were only half-clothed,” she murmured.

“And mine.” Wulf’s hands circled her waist, cupped her bottom and drew her close.

Bea abandoned her grip and pressed against him, the length of his arousal hard against her belly. She wanted him inside her, yet wanted this moment—this night—to last so much longer.

Wickedly, she grinned up into that lean, handsome face. “I have decided, Highrow. Making love is exactly what I will be doing tonight.”

APPROVAL ROARED THROUGH HIM.

He had wanted more of her than just a few kisses, a few touches. Had struggled against the fierce demand for more. He would have only gone as far as she would have allowed, but he was ridiculously satisfied by her choice.

He may not have survived otherwise.

Fueled by the haze of lust rushing through his blood, Wulf slanted his mouth over hers, continued to press that warm, feminine body against his. But it wasn’t enough to drown in the scent of her, the taste of her mouth.

He had to touch.

Running his hands over rounded hips, over the soft waist, he aimed for the buttons on her waistcoat. Quickly unfastened the tiny fabric-covered discs. She shrugged out of it herself, in between feathering kisses over his jaw. The nibbling touches pulled a growl from him and he began to untuck her shirt before the coat had even dropped to the floor.

White cotton followed dark wool a moment later, and she quickly removed the simple shift beneath her shirt, then her breeches—until she was standing naked before him. Gold and pink in the firelight, gaze fixed on his and her full mouth lifting with wicked invitation.

The body hidden beneath the men’s clothing was alluringly feminine. Heavy breasts, soft thighs. Dangerously curved and rounded. This was no slender willow, but a magnificent, lush woman.

Woman.

She might be the embodiment of the word.

Gorgeously confidant, she prowled across the room to one of the trunks. He had the pleasure of watching her round bottom as she retrieved a pile of blankets. She quickly spread one, then another, on the floor before the hearth. The remainder she laid aside, neatly piled for future use.

Neither of them was cold now.

“Come.” Passion swirled in the word, seemed to rise from her skin as she held out a hand for him.

Wulf accepted, wanting his hands on every inch of her body. She drew him down to the blanket, then ranged herself over it. Stretched her arms over her head and let him look his fill at a body he had not known he would crave so deeply.

He did. Crave her. Want her. Need her, as he needed his next breath. Everything he knew had tumbled away with the whirlwinds of snow, leaving only this passionate, powerfully sensual woman.

He could not quite regulate his breath, or control the lust pounding through him. He slid his hands over her body, listened to her purrs of approval. He took one breast in his mouth, tugged lightly at her nipple, and reveled in the tremble of her thighs even as she gripped his hair.

So responsive, so uninhibited. A man could lose himself in her passion.

He forgot everything beyond the circle of firelight, beyond the velvet of her skin, the heat that gripped him when he entered her. Her sigh of welcome shook his soul, her soft limbs drawing him in until he did not know where he was—except with her.

When his mind whirled like the storm outside and his blood burned like the fire indoors, he allowed himself to be lost in her.




CHAPTER 7




THE WOOD BLAZED ONCE MORE as Wulf added fuel and stirred the coals back to life. Bea snuggled into the blankets he’d covered her with and let her gaze roam over his naked body. He was almost too exquisite to look at. Hard, lean, muscled. He had been a solder—a spy—and it showed still, even if he had been home for a few years. Certainly, he did not appear to be a duke.

But then, he was not supposed to be, until fate had played its hand.

“Do you miss your brother?” Bea wished she had not spoken the words as soon as they tumbled from her lips. The question was unpardonably rude, the answer entirely too private.

But he was staring at her over his shoulder, beautifully naked and carefully tending the fire. Everything about him had stilled, and she wondered if he had forgotten his important bits were not far from the flames.

“You know of my brother?” He set the poker aside and drew away from the hearth. Crawling over the pile of blankets and Bea herself, he settled himself beneath the covers and drew her close, leaving her near the warmth and his back to the cold room.

She resisted for a moment, but it was too pleasant to ease against his frame. To accept the heat of his body, the way his chest fit against her back. Watching the flames, aware of Wulf just behind her and doing the same, she said carefully, “I know you are not the firstborn.”

Crackling flames filled the silence.

“I am sorry, Highrow. I should not have asked.” Guilt rippled through her satiated body. “Please forget I did so.”

“No. It is a good question, and I do not shy away from the truth.” He dropped a kiss onto her bared shoulder, as if he had done such a thing a thousand times before. “I miss my brother very much, though not due to anything related to the dukedom. I simply miss my brother.”

Everything in her sighed with sympathy. Poor Wulf.

“You were close.”

“Very, but I rarely took the opportunity to return home once I became a spy. I had found a purpose in serving my country and pursued it relentlessly.” The arm around her waist tightened, drawing her closer still to his hard, heated body. “He was gone just a few years later. I received word it was a fever of some kind.”

“And so, you became the duke.” Bea stared into the flames, trying to imagine such a moment. She loved her brother, though she did not always like him. Still, if he were gone, she would be mired in grief.

“And so, I became the duke.” There was no bitterness in his voice. Instead, a deep sorrow coated his words. “My brother loved the land, the family. The title was at risk, and the history that went with it. I came home—to honor him. The family.”

“You gave up espionage,” she murmured.

“Family is more important.” The hand circling around her waist drifted up to cup her breast. Easily, once again as if he had done so a thousand times before. But it was both the first time and the last, so Bea let herself enjoy the sensation of his callused hands on her skin. “Now Napoleon’s missives have been exchanged for the grain yield.”

“Do you miss it?” she asked.

“I miss my brother more.” His fingers toyed with her nipple, each touch sending sparks through her. “Nor does it matter any longer. That life is gone. Forgotten.”

“Nothing is ever forgotten. It is only behind you.” Shifting within the circle of his arms, Bea turned to face him. Stared hard into those deep blue eyes. “Sometimes, you need to look behind you to determine where you are going.”

“A philosophical highwayman.” In the shadowed half-light, his face might have been carved from stone. Rough and strong, and blessed by the pagan gods.

“I am a highwayman of many parts.” She pressed her lips to his. Softly, because she felt the hurt that still reverberated through his body. “You did what was right, coming home. You will continue to do what is right as the Duke of Highrow. Your brother would be proud.”

“I hope so.” He nibbled at the corner of her mouth, sending little shivers right down to her toes. “The wind has died down.”

She had forgotten the snowstorm and the world beyond the warm cottage. It seemed as if, for a brief time, nothing existed outside the circle of golden firelight. Only the two of them, warm and naked and cocooned in blankets.

But morning would come, and with it a return to Lady Beatrice Falk, a spinster in her twenty-seventh year, and the commanding Duke of Highrow.

There would not be another man like him in her life.

No lover before, no lover after, could compare to Wulf.

“Dawn is only a few hours away,” she whispered, cupping his cheek so the rough stubble brushed against the palm of her hand. “Will you make love to me again? Once more before the night is over?”