Renegade (18 page)

“But maybe she don’t
want
more. But you won’t know ‘til you ask her. ”

“
All
women want marriage—”

“Whores don’t.”

Mac’s hands dropped, fisted, to his sides, and he took a step menacingly towards the other man. “
She’s not a whore
.”

Robert straightened and held one hand out as if to calm his friend. “I know that, Mac.” He sighed exasperatedly, and Mac’s hackles lowered. He took a deep breath. “All I’m sayin’ is why waste your time—our time, our schedule—moping over this. Just talk to her.”

“I ain’t mopin’.”

“Fine.” Robert’s eye roll was almost invisible in the twilight, but Mac could hear it in his voice. “But fighting with me ain’t gunna make it better. Standing here ain’t gunna answer any questions. You gotta—”

“—talk to her, yeah. I heard you.”

“Then why are you still standin’ here? Go. Ask her.”

Ask her what? If she was looking for marriage? If there was any way for them to be together without marriage? She was a lady; all ladies wanted marriage. She was different, special, and deserved more than just a night or two with a renegade.

…but maybe Robert was right. Maybe she wanted him the way he was. He’d seen the look in her eyes after that kiss; she wanted more. Maybe she’d take him as he was.

Maybe she didn’t need marriage.

Maybe she did.

Maybe he was willing to give it to her.

It was that last thought that he kept coming back to, all the way upriver to Beckett. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met, and even being away from her for the last few days made him miss her. Hell, after that kiss they’d shared that morning, he’d been unable to get her out of his mind for even a day. He had a suspicion that she was the kind of woman who wouldn’t
ever
get out of his mind.

She was the kind of woman he wanted more than just a few nights with. She was the kind of woman he figured he could be happy with for a long time.

And shit. If that didn’t sound like marriage, then he didn’t know what it was.

So he found himself standing barefoot in the hallway in front of her room. Just standing. He’d seen a light in Eugenia’s library, and he didn’t want to be rude, so he’d stuck his head in to say goodnight. The older woman had given him a fond smile and a goodnight, and Pearl—who was curled up reading in a comfy chair—nodded hesitantly at him. If he’d been thinking clearly, he would’ve wondered about that. But at that point, all he could think about was Becks, and what she wanted from him.

If
she wanted anything from him.

He considered knocking on her door, but didn’t know what to say when she opened it. Could he do what Robert suggested, and just outright ask her?
Becks, how do you feel about fucking outside of marriage?
Seemed a little upfront.

Almost on its own accord, one hand reached out and spread itself against the painted pine knots of the door. Mac studied the swirls of ink that crept up his arm and under his sleeve. They were there to remind him of the freedom to be able to go where he wanted and do what he wanted when he wanted. But tonight, all he wanted was right here, and he resented the reminder that he would be leaving in another day.

His fingers curled against the door, and his chin dropped to his chest. What the hell was he even doing here? He couldn’t knock, couldn’t just surprise her like that. Even after that kiss they’d shared. Hell,
especially
after that kiss they’d shared. He’d left her standing in the kitchens soaking wet, aroused, and holding seven fish, for God’s sakes. He was an ass. There was nothing—

And then the door opened. She was standing there, one hand on the knob, the other holding her robe shut at her neck. He couldn’t look any lower, for fear of what he’d see… and how he’d react to it. As it was, the wide sash pushed her breasts up, and—he wrenched his gaze back up to her wide eyes. He assumed it was in surprise, but then he noticed the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and the way her tongue darted out hesitantly to caress her lips, and he saw the desire in those blue eyes.

They stood like that for a moment, not awkward, but not entirely at ease. Finally, he lowered his hand, and her shoulders relaxes slightly.

“Mac? What are you…?”

He thought fast. “I came… to apologize for earlier.” He meant for the way he’d left her, but she obviously assumed something different.

“For kissing me?” A hurt look came to her eyes.

“No!” Damn, but that came out sounding desperate. “No,” he said again, softer. Then he swallowed and looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m not sorry for kissing you, but I’m sorry I’m not sorry.” That didn’t make a lick of sense, and he knew it.

But she smiled. “Good. I’m not sorry that you kissed me, either.”

“You’re not?” God, he sounded like an idiot. Where the hell did all of his charm go?

“I’m not.” He’d never noticed that her smile was slightly crooked; higher on one side than the other. He was thinking now that he could stand there and watch her smile for hours, as long as he was the one making her smile.

“Good.”

“Good.” Then she took a deep breath, and he had to fight to keep his gaze from dropping down to see her breasts strain against the cotton of the robe again. “I’ve been thinking about you kissin’ me since the night we met.”

“You have? I mean—” He was stumbling over his words like a love-sick boy. Why did this woman have such an effect on him? “I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot too, Becks.”

“In fact, I was hoping…” She took a step backwards into the room. “…that you might kiss me again.”

He couldn’t have stopped himself for all the money in the world. He followed her through that door. And then she took another step back, and he stepped forward, and he felt like a moth drawn to a flame. Only, the flame was the way she was holding her breath, and the sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks, and the memory of her taste. He was lost.

Another step, and then she must’ve tripped on the rear hem of her long robe, because her expression turned to dismay and she hissed an adorably inappropriate “
shit
” as she started to fall.

He grabbed her hand, though, and pulled her against his chest.

God Almighty, she felt good pressed against him. Whatever nightgown she was wearing under that robe must’ve been thin, because he swore that he could feel all of her. She smelled of honeysuckle, and her sandy-blonde hair brushed against his hand as he cradled her back.

She was staring at his chin, and her cheeks were pink. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and he felt it in his stomach. He was growing hard against her, but she must not have noticed.

“Becks.” She looked up at him when he said her name, and Mac almost forgot what he was going to say. Then he cleared his throat and tried a smile. “I told you I’d catch you whenever you needed me to.”

She sighed then, and he could swear she melted against him. “Thank you… Mac.”

Had he thought he was hard before? Nope. Hearing his name on her lips, remembering the feel of those lips against his, just about sent him over the edge. And then she smiled up at him, shyly almost, and licked those lips, and he felt all the blood rush from his head.

And damned if her smile didn’t grow, and she pushed closer to him. Mac raised a brow down at her, and she gave a sexy little wiggle. She knew
exactly
what she was doing, and he… well, he couldn’t have been happier. Maybe she
was
experienced? Maybe she wanted him as badly as he wanted her?

It was that thought that pushed through all of his good intentions and overwhelmed any objections he might have had. He was lowering his head to kiss her when she pushed herself up and met him halfway.

And there they stood, wrapped around each other in the middle of her room with the door wide open, and he completely lost himself in the taste of her. Her response to him was more eager than he could’ve hoped, and she kept making these sexy little moans that he thought were damn erotic. Her fingers wrapped through the hair at the base of his neck, and her hips pressed against him until his cock was nestled between her legs, and he groaned and lifted her closer.

But then she planted one hand against his chest and
pushed
, and he was confused just enough to squeeze her tighter. She didn’t say anything, but continued to squirm against him until he came to his senses and released her. But the expression on her face wasn’t fear, or loathing, or any of the other emotions he’d have expected from a woman he’d just finished mauling in her own bedroom.

No, instead, she stepped back from him, breathing heavily, and smiled shyly up at him. Had he ever thought her plain? She was earthy and real and imperfect and free. She was everything he’d never realized he wanted in a woman.

She slipped past him, and for a second he thought he’d lost her, only to turn and see her close the door. She pressed her back against it for a moment, and he heard only his own pulse in his ears. The house was silent and, when she turned the lock with her free hand, totally irrelevant to him.

He was locked in her bedroom. With her. Wearing a robe.

And then her hands reached for the belt holding the thin cotton closed beneath her breasts and untied it. The material slid off her shoulders and down across her hips to pool on the floor, and he stopped thinking.

The reason he hadn’t felt any gown under the robe was because there wasn’t one. She was stark naked. Mac’s legs buckled, and he almost fell to his knees. She was stunning. She looked like one of those wood nymphs Jeff had read to him about, all long-legged and proud and pert. His palms itched to touch her, and then he was walking towards her.

He could’ve quit breathing at that moment, and he wouldn’t have minded, if he could only touch her. But despite his raging arousal, he managed some semblance of control. His hands were already up and reaching for her when he remembered who she was and what she deserved.

So instead of grabbing her, he planted his hands on the door on either side of her head, trapping her there, but not touching her. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, and his breathing was ragged with the strain of not caressing her bare skin. He kept his gaze locked firmly on her face, and thus saw the flicker of confusion in her eyes.

“Mac?” He didn’t respond. He didn’t think he
could
respond. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and he saw her disappointment. “I thought…” The growl crawled up the back of his throat, and she blinked, swallowed. “Don’t you want…?”

Had he really sinned so much in his life to be tortured like this? To be tempted like this? And then her hands rose, and she flattened her palms against his chest, and his thin veneer of control almost snapped. He allowed his hands to drop to her shoulders—her creamy, smooth shoulders and that spot on her neck—to then flow down her arms, past her elbows, until he caught her wrists. He watched the goosepimples forming in the wake of his touch and knew that he had matching ones on his arms from the sensation of her skin beneath his palms. God Almighty, but she was sexy.

Carefully, gently, he pulled her wrists down beside her; her chin came up and she met his gaze boldly. He thought he might die, to see her standing there so proudly in her bedroom, held by a set of scarred, inked hands.

“Mac?”

He’d probably been holding his breath this whole time, because it exploded out of him in a
whoosh
and he dropped his forehead to hers. “Becks, don’t.”

Her whisper matched his when she asked simply, “Why not?”

“I’m tryin’ so hard, honey. Stop tempting me.”

“Don’t you want…?” she asked again, not quite articulating what it was either wanted.

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.” He met her eyes then, and saw the joy in them. “But we shouldn’t…”

She twisted one arm out of his grasp and placed her finger against his lips. “Shhhh.” He closed his eyes on the sensation, and felt her fingertips skimming over his cheeks and down his neck. “I want this, too. I choose you.”

Mac swallowed and felt her hand caressing the base of his neck. When he opened his eyes to look into hers, he knew that he was lost. And when she whispered, “Please, Mac,” he surrendered.

With a groan he released her other wrist and ran his hands up her back. God, she was smooth all over, wasn’t she? Becks arched against his touch, and he was finally,
finally
able to access that spot on her neck he’d been dreaming about. He buried his face into her shoulder, licking and nipping his way up the side of her neck. It was everything he’d hoped it would be. She gave off a sexy little moan and wiggled against him, and then he captured her mouth with his.

She went wild then, twisting and bucking and twining her fingers through his hair. His palms skimmed down her buttocks to lift her against him, and then her legs were wrapped around his hips. He pressed her against the door, and felt her wetness against his cock, barely contained by the material of his pants.

And then she was squirming away from him, and Mac almost didn’t understand. When he realized that she’d finally come to her senses, he had a hard time letting her go. But she managed to wrench her lips free of his and gasp out, “Mac!”