Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(220)

“Hurry down the rope!” Maximus yelled up to her. “Send the little one down first!”

Already, the young woman was rushing the girl onto the rope, but the girl was frightened; she wept and struggled a bit, fearful of the general chaos going on around her. The young woman was firm, however, and she coughed, laboring against the smoke, as she forced the girl onto to the linen rope.

Once the girl was on the rope, she froze, crying, as the young woman encouraged her to slither down. Garran, seeing that the girl was very uncertain on the rope, positioned himself underneath her should she fall. His instincts had been correct, for the girl had hardly moved at all before she lost her grip and, screaming, tumbled right into his arms. A flailing fist caught Garran in the mouth, drawing blood, but he didn’t utter a word about it or even acknowledge it as he carried the girl away from the burning building. He was well clear when he set the terrified child to her feet.

“Are you well, lass?” he asked her, not unkindly. “Did you hurt yourself?”

The girl sniffled, wiping her running nose with the back of her hand. “N-Nay,” she stammered. “I did not hurt myself. But you must help my sister!”

She was pointing to the third floor where the young woman was trying to mount the rope. The smoke was thicker now, billowing out of the window in great black clouds and swirling around the young woman as she tried to get a good grip on the rope, repeatedly trying to get a grip on it. It became evident that her palms were sweating, or perhaps injured, because she was having a difficult time grasping it. The more she tried, the more it seemed to slip through her fingers.

Maximus was standing directly beneath the rope that the young girl had attempted to use. He could see that the woman was nearly swamped with smoke at this point and flames were beginning to shoot from the windows of the chamber next to hers. There was no more time to delay, sweating palms or no, and he took hold of the end of the linen rope, holding it steady.

“Lass!” he boomed up to her. “Come now! Use the rope!”

The woman was hurrying; he could see it. Her movements were quick, determined, yet futile in most instances. Maximus could see the orange glow behind her now as the flames made their way into her chamber and the woman, feeling the heat behind her, made a desperate leap onto the rope.

Unfortunately, her grip wasn’t very strong. As the flames began to flick out from the window, the woman tried to lower herself down the rope. She slipped but caught herself, desperately attempting to hold on to the linen that seemed as slippery as silk. Maximus held on to the other end of it, holding it steady, as she lowered herself slowly and precariously.

“That’s it, lass,” Maximus called up to her, encouragingly. “One hand over the other. Do not panic; steady, lass, steady.”

The woman was able to lower herself to the second floor level, which was a miracle considering her weak grip and uneven progress. She was valiantly trying to descend and Maximus watched her with some concern as she made progress. Gazing up at her feet and at the dark green surcoat as it blew about in the wind that the fire storm was creating, he realized he could see up her skirt and was trying not to look at her very shapely legs. He could also see the hem of her fine white shift and, as it billowed about, he’d caught a glimpse of naked buttocks.

Maximus wasn’t hard pressed to admit that he found the show tantalizing, but he knew his thoughts were grossly out of place considering the circumstances. Therefore, he tried to focus on her hands and the upper, well-covered portion of her torso. Anything to keep his gaze from wandering to her legs and smooth arse. Unfortunately, the Winds of Fate had other ideas.

Abruptly, the linen rope went slack as the fire burned through whatever the young woman had anchored it to. All Maximus could see was the woman as she came sailing down upon him; the skirt, caught by the wind as she fell, belled out and Maximus soon found his head covered by it. Her feet hit his shoulders and glanced off, her heels sliding down his shoulder blades as her bum came to rest on his collarbone.

It was a hard hit against his throat and he pitched backwards with the momentum of her fall, realizing that a woman’s pink, tender center was suddenly in his face. It was the only thing he could see. As he hit the ground, the woman fell atop him, her fuzzy notch squarely on his face.

Maximus lay there as the woman essentially knelt over him in an extraordinarily provocative position. From the way they had fallen, her skirts were tangled around them so she couldn’t rise immediately. He was trapped, his face against that sensual core, and in spite of the circumstances, it was the most arousing experience he’d ever known. Had he stuck out his tongue, he could have easily lapped her. But she was grunting unhappily, struggling to climb off him, and Maximus had to pull himself away from that rather beautiful sight to restore the woman’s dignity. He shifted so she could at least pull her skirts out from underneath him.

“Sirrah!” the woman gasped, trying to yank her tangled skirt away from his head. “Let me go!”

Maximus realized that his arms were tangled in her skirts as well. “I am trying, my lady,” he assured her. “Kindly push yourself up and I will be able to move.”

Evidently, the woman could feel his hot breath against her woman’s core as he spoke because she suddenly shrieked and began pummeling his head, still half-wrapped up in her skirts.

“You beast!” she cried. “You dirty, foul beast! Remove yourself!”