The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(22)

She pressed her lips into a firm line, stoically silent. All gentlemen indulged as he had. The dwindling week’s supply of spirits was testament of that.

“You need to leave,” she said quietly, as reason righted her world. It mattered not the mistakes that had found him in her chambers, or her outraged fury. Now, all that mattered was getting rid of him before—

Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and then someone rapped on her door. Helena’s heart caught and she swung her gaze to the front of the room. “Are you awake?” Clara asked through the wood panel. “Ryker wants you in his office,” Clara called. Helena’s mind raced. She wasn’t scheduled to meet with Ryker. Why would he . . . ?

The ticking of the clock thundered in her chambers. Of its own volition, her gaze went to the intruder. She needed to get Robert out now!

Another knock split the quiet. “Helena?” Concern laced the other woman’s tone. Well, mayhap not this exact moment.

“I believe she requires an—”

At that mellifluous whisper, Helena wiggled her hand free and slammed her palm over the man’s lips. “Er . . . j-just a moment,” she called out, glaring him into silence.

“Did you say something?”

“No!” she called.

Clara jiggled the door handle. “Is everything all right? Should I get Ryk—”

“Fine! I’m fine,” she said, steadying her voice. “Tell him I’ll be but a moment.”

With the woman’s retreating footsteps, Helena swung her gaze back to the stranger who’d stolen into her bedsheets and dragged her fingers through her tangled hair. Oh, God. What if Clara had gone to fetch Ryker? If he discovered this stranger in her chambers, Ryker would bloody him within an inch of his life, and then her judgment would forever be questioned in sleeping with a nobleman, and then who knew what he’d do. She closed her eyes once more, frozen.

Ticktock-ticktock-ticktock.

Oh, bloody hell. This was bad.

Very bad, indeed.





Chapter 5


Rule 5


Always be prepared to properly defend yourself.

Robert should release the fiery vixen. It was, after all, the gentlemanly thing to do, and no one in the realm would dare accuse Robert of anything but being a gentleman. Well, a rogue, mayhap . . . but never a scoundrel who’d prey on a woman who did not desire his intentions.

When he’d brought the then-nameless Spartan warrioress down beneath him, his original intention had merely been to put a quick end to her assault. Now, with the dagger gone from her hands and her feet clearly contained, he paid attention to far more pleasurable details. Her small breasts pressed against his naked chest, the nipples pebbling against his skin. Desire surged through him, momentarily blotting out logic and all earlier threats from this woman’s mouth.

Robert lowered his brow to hers.

She flared her eyes. “Wh-what are you d-doing?” she whispered, that faint, husky tremor hinting at her desire.

“Kissing you.” For even as she’d never possess the beauty to inspire sonnets or poets, there was something captivating about her.

She squeaked. “You most certainly aren’t. Not unless you wish to feel the wrath of Ryker.” Except instead of turning away, she closed her eyes and angled her head up ever so slightly to receive his kiss.

He smiled. The spirited vixen was a riddle wrapped in a puzzle.

“Very well,” he drawled, and Helena’s eyes flew open.

“Who is Ryker?” He settled his hands on her waist to still her enticing movements.

Her eyes formed round circles. “Uh . . . Mr. Black. The proprietor of the club.” Ah, the infamous owner of the Hell, known only as Black. “He wouldn’t tolerate anyone wandering his apartments or touching me.”

She was Black’s mistress, then. A rush of disappointment followed that revelation. With her spirit and passion, she would prove an enthusiastic lover. The notoriously ruthless owner would no doubt take apart the man who’d dared put his lips and hands upon her person. “He expects loyalty then.”

Helena jutted her chin up a notch. “He commands loyalty with his actions.”

A surge of jealousy potent and powerful ran through him at the sign of her faithfulness. As the recipient of nothing but treachery and deceit, he’d long ago accepted no woman’s intentions were truly honorable, but rather always self-serving. With her defense, this woman contradicted all he’d long accepted as truth.

“Mayhap,” he whispered against her ear, deliberately baiting. “But your breathlessness hints at your desire for me.” Robert brushed his mouth over hers, in a fleeting kiss, allowing her to pull away. But she leaned into his embrace, returning his kiss. Robert drew back and she blinked rapidly.

A gasp spilled from her lips and she wiggled her knee. “Bastard,” she gritted as he shifted, narrowly missing her blow. “I want you gone and if you’re wise, you’ll not come back.” No doubt those were the truest words ever spoken in this club. And yet . . . With a grunt, he rolled to his side and in one fluid movement, drew her back against him. The minx wiggled her rounded buttocks and his shaft jumped. With a groan, he closed his eyes, and counted to ten. Then prayed for patience and when both proved ineffective, he laid her down upon the floor once more.

He searched his gaze over her face. “Do you want me to release you?” he whispered against the corner of her mouth.