Page 9 of The Secrets of Roan Island

If she would just wake up, I could get this over with, but there are no footsteps in the hall, no prim swishing of skirts. I should have spent the morning with my research. As it is, I’ve lost half a day waiting on Miss Rose, and now I’ll lose the other half playing the part of her keeper. Or rather, keeping her from the things we can’t let her see.

My frustration boils over. “Fuck.”

A soft gasp tells me I’m no longer alone in the room. Her surprise entry just increases my vexation. She never would have been able to sneak up on me if I hadn’t been so engrossed in the frustration she’s caused.

Preparing myself, I turn and take her in. She’s wearing another of my sister’s frocks, and she looks stunning. The cut of the dress is modest with a high neck and long sleeves, but it leaves little to the imagination. The supple fabric clings to every curve, draped to accentuate her slim waist and flowing over her hips like a waterfall I want to dive under. The bustle collects excess fabric to veil what I imagine is a supple posterior. The modesty does nothing to quell the effect she has on me.

My father’s insistence in dressing Professor Rose in my sister’s clothes is yet another of his games. A reminder of the ways he holds us all hostage. The jab grates on me like sandpaper against newly carved wood.

The professor’s hand flutters to her throat. Her green eyes shine as bright as emeralds.

“Noah.”

The word is a breath on her lips most men wouldn’t have heard. But my senses are sharper than most.Usually. Her gaze flits away from me as her cheeks turn a stunning pink. I wonder if the coloring is from the haphazard curse she overheard or from something else.

She turns, shoulders back, head high, and walks across the room to the sideboard covered in delicacies the servants set out for afternoon tea. “Good morning. Or afternoon, I should say.”

“You look well,” I reply, finally recovering from the shock of seeing her.

My hands fist tighter, nails making half moons on my palms, the pain reminding me that this woman is off limits.

“Come,” I say, not wanting to waste more of the day with her than necessary. I turn and stalk away from the window, expecting her to follow.

Only, there are no footsteps behind me. When I reach the door and turn to check her progress, she just smiles, calmly sits down at the table, and reaches for the teapot.

“What are you doing?” I storm back into the room.

“I haven’t eaten yet, I have a terrible headache, and it would be a shame to waste a table full of food.”

“You were late.” As if this explains why I want her to go without breakfast, why I need to hurry the day so I can get away from her.

She gives me a piercing, insolent look. “No one woke me. And, as you know, your wine didn’t agree with me last night. Though I can’t for the life of me understand how one glass had such an effect.”

My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it. I force myself to breathe and relax.

Professor Rose brings the gold-lined teacup to her full lips. The muscles in her long throat move as she swallows. My own muscles mimic hers. Next, she reaches for a scone, adds a dollop of cream and lemon curd, and takes a delicate bite. Her tongue licks the crumbs from her lip as a small sigh slips out.

My own tongue slides across my teeth. I want to know how her lips taste, want to sink my teeth into them and make her moan. She takes another bite.

The sudden swelling of my cock reminds me I can’t just stand here and watch her eat. It’s obscene.

“I’ll have the food brought to the library.” I close the distance between us and gruffly pull out her seat, eliciting a stunned squeak. What other noises would she make if I took her by surprise and…fuck.

Slow breaths. In and out. I gain a modicum of control and offer my hand to help her up. She glares and daintily taps a napkin against her pink lips before she accepts.

Unfortunately, I miscalculated the maneuver. Her skin is bare, and though I had her in my arms last night, there were layers of fabric between us. Now, her smooth palm slides delicately against mine. My imagination bursts with thoughts of her, slick with sweat, slipping sensuously against me.

As soon as she’s on her feet, I drop her hand, flexing mine as I march towards the door. I lead her down the hall, over the parqueted floor of the ballroom, past the black and white checkerboard floor of the conservatory, and into the east wing. My steps are quick and determined as we make our way through the well-lit hall. Bright windows mock my moody thoughts. The thick gold carpet runner conceals our steps. I don’t bother to slow my pace for her. The more distance between us the better.

My hands clench and unclench at my sides, trying to erase the memory of her touch. She’s exactly the kind of woman I don’t want here. The kind that might tempt me. It’s dangerous for a woman to stay too long on Roan Island. Which is why I need to keep my hands to myself and get her out of here.

“Could you slow down?” Her voice comes out breathless from somewhere behind me. “Please?”

The sound of her breathy request tightens my balls and makes blood surge to my cock, which is particularly irritating since I only just got it under control. This woman is some kind of sorceress casting spells to bewitch my body. I enjoy womenand have delighted in more of them than I can count, but this one inexplicably affects me in a way no other has before. She’s a craving in my blood.

There’s no way in hell I’m slowing down.

“Skirts and bustles aren’t made for running!” she calls out.

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