Page 101 of My Rogue, My Ruin
“God, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he murmured, watching as the firelight played across her rosy skin. She looked doubtful at the compliment, but Archer meant every word, and he grew determined to prove it.
He had never seen anyone more perfectly formed. She looked like a wanton sprite with her hair fanning over the pillow.Hissprite. Her breasts, fully bared to him, were as flawless as he remembered, even more perfect than his fevered memories. All the curves and hollows of her body were his to adore. Her long, shapely legs and the soft hourglass contours of her stomach tantalized and fascinated him. He wanted to make her writhe from his touch as she had in her study, see her eyes go dark with passion, feel her body convulse around him, bring her to blissful oblivion again and again.
Archer shrugged out of his shirt and shed his breeches, standing before her in nothing but his smalls. He didn’t want to alarm her, and the sight of his erection, already stirring underneath his linen drawers, could very well do just that.
But a slow, secretive smile crept over her lips—and Brynn clapped her hands to her face, smothering a giggle.
“Does something amuse you?” he asked, crossing his arms and waiting for her answer by the side of the bed.
“I have a confession to make,” she replied, biting back another grin, this one accompanied by her hands covering her face. “And I fear it may affect your”—her anxious gaze peeked through her fingers—“mood.”
Archer had no idea what her confession could be, or why she would choose now of all times to part with it. He was swollen and stiff, and these smalls needed to come off. “Brynn, my love,” he growled. “Unless it is a matter of life and death, I forgive you.”
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and the tantalizing sway of her breasts distracted him wholly as she reached for his leg. Archer remained still, the pad of her finger grazing the healed, shallow gunshot wound on his thigh.
“It’s nothing,” he said, dismissing the reddish-pink scar tissue.
She glanced up at him, her finger still stroking his thigh, making his body tighten with excitement. “It wasn’t nothing. You were shot.”
“You’ve been reading your father’s newssheets again,” he muttered, recalling once more the article on Lady Emiliah and her report that the bandit had been shot.
She shook her head. “I didn’t read them.”
He peered down at her. “Then how do you know?”
“Because I’m the one who shot you.”
His arms swung loose at his sides, and he caught her hand. “You?” He dragged up the murky recollection of the mysterious boy while staring at Brynn. Of course he’d considered the possibility, but at that time, she hadn’t known the bandit’s identity. He’d figured the Brynn he knew would have taken better aim—and then dragged his corpse off his mount and searched his pockets for her grandmother’s pearls.
“Yes, I’m sorry. But I couldn’t allow you to rob Lady Emiliah or her chaperone. And I was still furious with the marauder for robbing me.” She paused with a wry shrug. “I didn’t intend to kill you, just scare you a little.”
“You shot me!”
Brynn smiled again, clearly amused, as her fingers continued their exploration up his thigh. “In my defense, I did not know it wasyouat the time.”
“Would it have made a difference?” he asked, the soft titillating touches driving him to bloody distraction.
“Perhaps.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his scar. Her eyes rose to meet his, but they were waylaid by the telling bulge of his smalls.
Archer dimly recalled how theboyhad shied away from removing his trousers.
“Why, Lady Briannon, how naughty of you,” he teased, loving the deep rose coloring of her cheeks. “Had I known it was you there in that cottage, I would have acted far differently.”
“What would you have done?” she replied in a breathy tone as he pulled her upward. He fitted her body against his and watched her eyes widen at the indelicate press of his hardened length.
“Why, I would have demanded you do the honorable thing and marry me at once!” He gave an exaggerated flutter of his eyelashes, imitating an artful coquette. “Think of myreputation. You lured me into a deserted cottage, manhandled my person; I could have been ruined.”
Brynn burst into laughter and threw a pillow at him. “You are a complete charlatan.” Tugging her back into his arms, he kissed her, and when they broke apart, she pressed her fingers to his lips. “Although Iamsorry for hurting you.”
He grinned wickedly. “I know a way you can make it up to me.”
Taking her with him, he climbed into bed, the mattress sinking beneath their combined weight as he drew the sheet over them. He discarded the last of his clothing, and in a blink, the humor vanished from her face, replaced with apprehension.
“Don’t be afraid, love.”
“I’m not, but I don’t know what to do,” she blurted out, and then squeezed her eyes shut with embarrassment.
“Trust me,” he said. “Anything you do, I will like.”
