While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(55)

Until now.

Poppy pushed the ugly thoughts aside. Bryony was her sister. She was young and na?ve and didn’t know what game she played at—or that Struan Mackenzie was a man far out of her realm. Poppy knew. She knew that firsthand. She needed Poppy’s understanding and guidance now—not some foolish, misplaced jealousy.

Poppy narrowed her gaze back on the lothario in question. What was he thinking as he looked at her much too impressionable sister? The reprobate! He was likely thinking how quickly he might find his way beneath her skirts.

Over my dead body.

As though he could feel the knife of her stare, he turned and his gaze landed on her. For once it wasn’t hard to maintain his gaze. Acid churned in her stomach and her fingers curled at her sides, itching to sink into his too-handsome face.

He arched an eyebrow at her.

She arched both eyebrows back at him and crossed her arms.

“Bryony,” she called.

Her sister looked at her and took a hasty step back, proving she wasn’t entirely oblivious to the inappropriateness of her behavior.

“Poppy,” she greeted.

“Lady Clara is looking for you,” she lied. It was likely true.

“Oh.” Bryony cast a quick look at Mackenzie before stepping out of the stall. “I best see what she needs.”

Poppy nodded, still not averting her gaze from Mackenzie. Not even when her sister hurried past, her footsteps fading out of the stables, did she break their gaze. She held his stare, not about to back down.

He strolled toward her, his gait indolent and unhurried. “Poppy,” he greeted.

“Miss Fairchurch,” she snapped.

His eyes darkened on her, the moss green deepening to a wooded night. “That seems silly, does it not? Given our shared intimacies.”

Hearing him put that to words on the heels of his inappropriate behavior with her sister only intensified her temper.

“Stay away from my sister.”

He smiled slowly then, actually showing a flash of white teeth. It was disarming. Enticing as sin. Her stomach muscles tightened.

Her hands curled tightly at her sides. She wanted to wipe that smile off his face. There was something sinister and manipulative in it. The seductive curve of those handsome lips made her shiver. Clearly he knew the appeal of his smile. It made her want to run after her sister and throw a blanket over her head. A man who looked as he did and smiled so wickedly couldn’t be trusted in any proximity to Bryony. She already knew how weak she was around him. Her sister was made of far less resistance.

He stepped toward her and she took a step back. He kept coming, backing her up until she bumped the wall of the stall. His arms came up on each side of her, caging her in. It was a decidedly familiar moment.

Except this time she could see his face much clearer. She could practically count each and every one of his ridiculously long and lush eyelashes. She inhaled, scenting his maleness, fresh hay and horseflesh.

A sense of vulnerability swept over her. She hated that. Her eyes locked with his. “What are you doing? Anyone can happen upon us. Is it not enough that you risk my sister’s reputation, must you—”

“Your sister is a little girl.”

She paused, taken aback that he should agree on anything with her.

“Precisely,” she said slowly. “For that exact reason, I demand you give her a wide berth. She doesn’t need the likes of you to—”

“Your warning is needless. My appetites run to slightly more seasoned fare.”

She paused, gazing into his eyes, feeling herself being dragged into the mesmerizing depths against her will. “Indeed,” she managed to say in gratifyingly haughty tones.

“You, kitten,” he replied easily, as though he were commenting on the weather. “In case there is any confusion, my tastes run to you.” His gaze flicked over her. “You’re no little girl.”

“I b-beg your pardon?” she sputtered, not even bothering to remind him to quit with that infernal nickname. There was a bigger problem at the moment. Such as the closeness of his big body—and his words that wrought havoc on her senses.

He shook his head. “I see directness is required. My tastes run to you. In my bed. Under me. Over me. In every way possible.”

An odd strangled sound escaped her.

She let out a frustrated sound that was part grunt and part groan. He was still at this ridiculous game of pursuing her. Blast him!

“Put that thought from your mind, Mr. Mackenzie. I’m engaged to your brother—”

“Are you now?” he mocked. His laughing eyes carried the reminder of the two times he had kissed her. When he had fondled her and touched her beneath her skirts. Damnably inconvenient history in a moment where she was trying to drive home the point of her unavailability.

“Yes! I am!”

“I have trouble recalling that fact at times.”

So did she.

But no more.

She would not lapse with him again. She would not forget now.

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs to capacity. He still doubted her. He thought she was the duke’s tart. Oh, it lit a fire inside her, stirring her ire. He thought she wasn’t good enough to be Marcus’s wife. Even more insulting, he assumed men were interchangeable for her and she would be receptive to his advances. Oh, the temerity.

“Stay away from my sister. Stay away from me.”