Rogues (A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology #1) Read online

  “What’s this?” Marissa bent down and as her fingers touched the fabric of the French cocked hat, a sensation of being out of place settled over her. She glanced about, her heart racing. Everything looked the same—only it wasn’t.

  The light shining from the inn had grown dim. Only small pockets of illumination flickered through the windows. The cars parked out front were gone, and she caught the whinny of horses from somewhere close by. The acrid scent of burning wood was stronger now than what she’d noticed earlier. A woman dressed in a bonnet and a long dress with an apron emerged from the back of the inn. She dumped something out from a large basin and hustled back inside, the sound of rowdy masculine laughter trailing out into the night.

  Something was off. Her stomach lurched with a growing sense of panic. “What the hell is going on?”

  “I beg your pardon?” A burst of hot breath and a horsey snort skittered along the back of her neck.

  The voice wrapped around her like gossamer silk, startling her. Marissa gave a small yelp and spun around, finding herself face-to-face with the muzzle of a horse.

  “Ugh.”

  She blinked. God, had she been so out of it she hadn’t heard him coming up behind her? She squinted up at the rider and her mouth went dry. His profile, dark against the moonlight, made her nipples tighten and her lower body grow warm. He evoked every kind of fantasy she’d ever had involving horsemen right down to the skintight breeches covering his muscular thighs.

  Thighs she shouldn’t be looking at. That was it. She was dreaming. What other explanation could there be? Who in his right mind would be running around the English countryside dressed like someone out of freaking Outlander minus the kilt?

  Now, that was a shame. Then she could investigate what was underneath it. This was her fantasy after all. She gave her arm a pinch, wincing at the stab of pain.

  Was it real?

  Nahhhh. Not a chance.

  “Who are you?”

  “I might ask the same of you. Skulking about in the open with naught but scant covering.”

  Marissa held her book to her chest and tugged the earbuds out of her ears, letting them fall along her neck. “I’m here on vacation. My friend is inside having some fun with the innkeeper’s son. I, on the other hand, was outside reading until it got dark. Now if you’ll excuse me, I probably need to get back inside.”

  God, but he was hot. Marissa dug the toe of her flats into the grass. Unless you want to undress me and fuck me senseless on the wet grass.

  The rider shifted in his saddle and dismounted. His boots hit the thick grass with an audible whomp. “I think you lie. Why would a lass be out here in the thick of night save to warn me?” His tone grew husky, and he brushed a hand against the side of her face.

  “W-warn you…” she stuttered. Damn, she hated when she did that. But the look in his dark eyes was all hunger. The rugged cleft of his chin and the way his lips curved up at the edges spoke of humor and naughty intent. The scar near his left eye warned her of danger.

  Oh my.

  “Aye. To warn me of the Redcoats inside.”

  Marissa blinked. “Um. Redcoats?”

  He pressed his lips against hers in a tender kiss, enveloping her in his arms. “I thank ye, lass. ’Tis a brave thing you did, sneaking outside in naught but your underthings to give me leave to go. I’ll not forget it.”

  The burn of lust slid through her body, making thinking difficult. His hands snaked over her back, pressing her hard against his muscular frame. A soft moan escaped, and she found her lips captured once more. This was her dream. A highwayman fantasy made flesh.

  “One kiss, my bonny sweetheart.” He breathed against her lips, and his hands cupped her sensitive breasts through the material of her tee shirt.

  She started to say she wasn’t his sweetheart, then remembered she had to be dreaming and just let herself go. If he would just continue to touch her like that, she would be his sweetheart ’til the cows came home.

  Her fingers curled into the folds of his cloak, and she swayed against the rogue. The heat of his body was welcome against the chill of the night air, and the hard muscles beneath his clothes made her want to surrender to his touch.

  His lips moved along the side of her neck, all the while moving her backwards until the back of her knees touched what felt like a bench, and she froze. That hadn’t been here earlier. Her bench was a considerable distance away. At least, she thought it was.

  His erection pressed against her stomach, and he groaned into her hair. “Ah, lass. I want you.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but all that came out was a small moan of consent. Dreams were made for scandalous behavior, and she was all in favor of having it out with her hottie right here and now.

  His knee slid between her bare thighs, the slight black skirt parting easily to allow him access. Her panties were damp with the slick juices of her desire.

  “Will you allow me to taste your sweetness?” His fingers dipped low, brushing the top of her mound through the thin panties and skirt, causing her to shiver. “Such an undergarment…Such a womanly form. Not all bones and skin. You’ve got flesh a man can hold on to.”

  A flush crept up the back of her neck, and her stomach gave a funny little flip. He liked her curves? Most guys preferred the skinnier girls that were the norm and not her more ample form. Wait. Of course, he did. This was her dream, dammit.

  “Yes…” Hooking her panties around her thumbs, she slid them down her legs and onto the damp ground. She turned in his arms and thrust her ass in the air.

  “You know how to tempt a man, love.” He ran his fingers along the smooth skin of her ass and slid a digit between her legs.

  Marissa gasped as his finger passed over her swollen labia, stopping to press inside of her slippery opening. “Oh…”

  “Yes…” He shifted behind her. “I would have you now, lass. If ya be willing.”

  She heard a rustle of cloth. “Please…” Marissa parted her thighs to allow him greater access, balancing on the arm of the bench. The only sound in the air was the nicker of a horse, the wind fluttering through the trees, and the sound of their breathing. It was intoxicating, and she’d never felt as free in her life. Anyone could walk out the back door of the inn and see them beneath the tree. It would be in shadow, but they were still out in the open. Exposed. The thought just made her wetter.

  The soft head of his cock brushed against her opening. He thrust forward, sealing himself inside of her with one bold stroke. She was filled, her nipples tightening as he began to fuck her, the brush of his breeches against her naked ass even more of a turn on.

  She stifled a gasp as his pace increased. His hands wandered along her form, pinching and caressing her breasts and her body until she was ready to come out of her own skin. Never had a lover made her feel so desirable, so wanted.

  His hips moved, the length of his cock pulsing in and out of her center. His fingers explored lower until he found her erect clit and brushed against it. “Feel me, love. I’m nearly there.”

  Stars twinkled behind her eyes as her body shuddered around his length. Another brush of his talented fingers sent her flying. “Oh!” Marissa cried out, jerking her hips against him as she rode the storm raging inside. Heat flushed along her skin, and her body quaked with the wave of her release.

  He held her against his chest as she trembled and shook, his cock slowing as his hips jerked and the warm splash of his offering filled her insides with his seed. His arms wrapped around her as he came, hips bucking and whispering nothings into her ear. “Ah, lass…” He kissed her neck and slid from her body. The highwayman turned her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers.

  A noise from the inn made them both look up, and he began to fix his clothing, in turn smoothing down her skirt.

  “If someone should see you, lass. The Redcoats are merciless. Hide yourself until they depart.” He kissed her and walked to the horse waiting patiently under a nearby tree.

  The highw
ayman mounted the beast, and he sat gazing down at her, the moon bright and weighty in the sky. The road behind him stretched out wide and as she handed him his hat, he placed it on his head, stopping only to doff it toward her once.

  “Keep good watch.” He pressed a kiss to her hand and released it. The horse snorted, impatient to move.

  “Will I see you again?” A flutter of hope centered in her belly, and with utmost certainty, she knew she would.

  “Aye, lass. I should think so.” He winked and the horse reared, taking him and his rider deep into the darkness of the trees beyond.

  Marissa sat and picked up her book, watching as his form vanished from sight.

  * * *

  She awoke to the awkward clearing of a throat. Marissa blinked her eyes in the bright light of the sun and winced as the crick in her back sent a message loud and clear. “I must have fallen asleep.”

  “You did. I came out here for my morning jog and saw you. I, uh, wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  The man stood with the sun behind him, and she had to squint until her eyes adjusted to see him. “The sun…” She held up her hand to block it. God, she didn’t know which was more mortifying. The fact that she’d fallen asleep outside, or that she’d had a sex dream out here in the open. Anything could have happened.

  “Sorry.” He moved and sat next to her on the bench. “You seem to have dropped these.

  Her panties.

  A random guy she’d never met was holding her panties.

  Oh fuck.

  God. She really did dream the whole thing. She fidgeted against the uncomfortable wooden bench and smoothed her skirt. Wait… But why the hell were her panties on the ground?

  “Thanks.” She snatched them from his hand, her gaze lowered. When her fingers touched his, a spark jolted her to attention. It was then she really looked in his direction. He was handsome, with a cleft chin and powerful features, so much so that he and the highwayman from her dream could have been one and the same, right down to the powerful thighs and the scar on the left side of his face. Now that was interesting.

  “Do you always sleep on benches with your panties tossed in the grass?”

  Marissa thought of her highwayman. “I was waiting for someone.”

  “Now that’s the kind of date a guy could dream about.”

  “A girl, too, apparently.”

  The stranger watched her, saying nothing, a keen expression on his face.

  By God but he looked so familiar. “Have we met before?”

  He nodded. “I think I might have seen you when I checked in yesterday. You’re here with your friend, right? I’m Curtis. And you are?”

  “I am. Marissa. Nice to meet you.”

  He chuckled. “Oh good. If you were going to say your name was Bess, I was going to have a heart palpitation.” He pointed at the book. “Were you reading it?”

  “I was.” Her gaze met his and an awareness crackled. “It’s my favorite.”

  “Funny. It’s mine, too.” He stood with a rakish wink and offered her his hand. “Would you like to go for a walk on the moors later? I hear they’re splendid in the moonlight.”

  “I would. But on one condition.”

  “What?”

  Marissa grinned. “You have to tell me how you got that scar.”

  Queen High

  Cela Winter

  The Bayou Salon on the Mississippi Belle was only half-filled at mid-evening, but some of the high rollers were beginning to drift in. Buckskin and flannel rubbed shoulders with broadcloth and linen against a backdrop of all the splendor King Cotton could buy.

  Royce Prescott took a puff on his cheroot, stretching his long legs beneath the table. The cards flew under his fingers, a restless round of shuffle, cut, gather, shuffle, fan…just another overbred dandy idling away the time. A façade that fooled many.

  Such as the young cub in the corner, shakily downing a bourbon-and-branch, looking sick. Minor sport, but a pleasant warm up for the action to come. The lad ought to be grateful to learn the lessons young, mused Royce. Never bet more than you can afford to lose—and make sure you know who you’re playing with. Shuffle, shuffle…

  He nodded to acquaintances in the crowd, some of whom looked put out—or alarmed—to see him. Shuffle, cut, shuffle. He pondered the prudence of a move from the river to another forum for his talents.

  Behind him, a Yankee accent was blathering to a companion about the California goldfields, “By Jupiter, Cantwell, it’s 1851, and a man must take—”

  Royce looked up at the sudden halt in the verbal flow. Other conversations in the room died away as all took in the newcomer at the door. Without thought, he found himself on his feet, reflexively catching his chair before it toppled.

  “Beg pardon, ma’am, this yere’s the gentlemen’s card room.” A sunburned individual in frontier finery scraped a bow.

  “And, I believe, the location of a nightly poker game.” The lady’s voice was soft, her gaze lowered, hands clasped before her.

  A stout man spoke up, his high collar wilting with the heat. “That’s right, Miss, er, Miz, er, ma’am. Might you be inquirin’ for one of your menfolk?”

  “I’m inquiring on my own behalf, sir. My intention is to play.”

  There were snorts, mutters, a guffaw or two in the crowd that circled her. Forget-me-not blue eyes grazed the assembly serenely, confident of being deferred to. Royce found himself glad he’d been among the first to rise at her entrance.

  Dark gold hair sleeked back into a heavy chignon, gleaming like the satin of her violet half-mourning gown. The neckline was a trifle décolleté for a woman bereaved, he noted. Not that he minded the sight of pretty shoulders and a well-rounded bosom. As if aware of his thoughts, the intruder drew the black lace shawl more closely around her in an oddly alluring gesture.

  “Well, now, Miz—”

  “Delaney. Mrs. Richard Delaney. And I have no menfolk. I-I’m quite alone in the world.” She paused, touching delicate fingers to the pearl and onyx crucifix she wore as a pendant, a portrait of gentle sorrow. “I do realize the irregularity of my presence and beg your forbearance, gentlemen. My late husband left me unprovided for. I must support myself as best I can.”

  Royce felt an unfamiliar pang of sympathy and an inner stirring to protect such courage and—. Wait. His eyes narrowed. There was something about her… He spoke up, “Well now, gentlemen, as the lady has called us, how can we do less than bow to the wishes of our guest?” This should prove interesting, he thought. Brief, but interesting.

  A trio of would-be players departed with mutters of, “petticoat poker,” and “don’t know her place.” An armless chair was furnished to accommodate her spreading skirts. Solicitous inquiries about refreshment produced a small glass of sherry. The fair one sat, smiling around as if welcoming them to her tea table.

  “There is the matter, ma’am, of, er, your stake.”

  Five golden eagles were withdrawn from her velvet reticule and set in straight formation on the table.

  “Very good. Prescott, you have the deal.”

  She played with a concentration almost palpable in its intensity. Right from the start, he sensed she’d sized him up as the player to beat. She was very good, he had to admit.

  The shawl slipped from one shoulder. Little more of her bosom could be seen than previously, but the slide of the fabric roused thoughts of disrobing and the revelation of further expanses of creamy flesh. Something about the aura of unassailable virtue made him want to back her into a corner and thrust a hand up her skirts, just to see how ladylike she’d be then.

  Mrs. Delaney looked up, catching his stare.

  Deliberately, he narrowed his eyes, letting the thoughts show on his face. She appeared to take no notice, her attention all for her hand, but the lace slipped farther still.

  She licked her lips and asked for another card.

  His attention wavered as he thought of that pink Cupid’s bow stretched wide around his cock. He shifted
in his seat; the front of his trousers had grown very tight.

  The evening wore on. Players folded, and others took their places. The heat in the salon was intense, and the air foggy with tobacco smoke. The men perspired openly. Mrs. Delaney produced a handkerchief and blotted her forehead.

  Royce observed that her purse appeared flat and considerably lighter than at the start of the game. Time to move. “Gentlemen, and lady, let’s call a recess,” he announced. “Shall we return in half an hour?”

  The crowd waited as the door to the card room was locked, and a guard posted before players drifted off in pairs and threes. Royce strolled away, his mind hard at work. His air, as always, was one of nonchalance. What a perplexing and extraordinary opponent. While many men claimed that all women were creatures of mystery, he generally found them to be easily read and thereby easily manipulated.

  Not so with the charming Mrs. Delaney.

  A dainty veneer over a core of steel, he reckoned. And unless he was greatly mistaken, which seldom happened, a woman of great passion. He wondered if she knew—society conspired to distance proper ladies from the pleasures of the flesh. He would make it his business, his very gratifying business, to introduce Mrs. Delaney to her own sensual nature.

  He found her at the aft end of the Texas deck, staring into the waters below. An occasional light on the bank appeared to drift by as the Belle churned her way upriver.

  “Mrs. Delaney, just the person I hoped to meet.” She was smaller than he thought. He quelled an uncharacteristic surge of protective feeling.

  “Mr. Prescott.” The alto voice was cool, but she did not move away.

  “Should you be here, by yourself, in the dark, ma’am? Riverboats abound with all sorts of riffraff and rascals.”

  “I’m able to take care of myself, sir. Perhaps it is you I should be warned against?”

  They laughed together. She had no idea how close she was to the truth, he thought. The mental image of her naked beneath him, her face flushed, eyes hazy with wanting, made his throat go dry. He swallowed. “You are a conundrum, dear lady, and I am determined to solve the riddle.”