Free Untamable Rogue (Formerly: A Christmas Baby) by Annette Blair

her … or rather, at the bottom of her … front.
    As if that were not bad enough, some kind of pressure was building there, beneath his hand, a sizzling pressure she did not like one bit.
    He seemed almost to be working the heel of his hand against her with a lethargic rhythm. Despite her dislike of such treatment, there came from her body a strange answering pulse, as if she wanted what he was doing to continue, even perhaps beneath her clothes against her very warm skin, like an itch that wanted scratching.
    When she shifted her legs, Ash’s hand moved the slightest bit lower, and she bit her lip so as not to release her rising moan. What was he doing to her? Should she ask? Tell him to stop? Did she want him to stop? Sitting in a tree had never seemed so amazing.
    When he stopped, she waited, and when he failed to continue, she regarded him, and he opened his lips over hers.
    With a bright new yearning, she welcomed his kiss with a treacherous sound deep in her throat, but the pulsing of his body beneath her made her realize that something was happening that could make a man dangerous. She pulled from the kiss with a start. “I don’t like this.”
    “I can tell,” he said, and for the life of her, she could not pull from his gaze.
    “No more reading today,” she said.
    “One sentence,” he said. “Read this note I wrote for you to memorize. I’ll point to the words and say them and you may repeat them after me.”
    “I,” Ash said as he pointed to a letter.
    “I,” Lark repeated.
    “Am,” he said for her to repeat. “A,” he said, and she repeated, and then, “troublesome,” then, “brat.”
    Lark continued up to and including troublesome, because she had turned to look into his mesmerizing gray eyes again, and did not for the life of her know what she was saying, until the word brat touched her lips.
    She tried to break free of the spell his hand at her core still wove, with a screech of outrage,
    Ash didn’t think twice but took advantage of Lark’s open mouth to open his own over it. Still in full control of the small but dangerously writhing woman on his lap, he kissed his wife the way he’d been dreaming of doing, when he slept and had no control over his mind. And his body reacted as if it were taking over the fantasy.
    Larkin’s attempts to escape slowed as their kiss became mutual and seeking. She moved her bottom in such a way as to stoke his desire, almost as if she knew in her unconscious mind that she was bringing his arousal to dangerous proportions, though her kiss told a story of innocence and unmet passion.
    Ash became so aroused he cupped her breast, and that fast, he was sitting on his arse at the base of the tree.
    Lark landed beside him, both feet planted firmly on the ground, both hands as firm on her shapely hips. “I am not a troublesome brat, but you are the greatest rogue I have ever encountered.”

    “Why thank you, Lark.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    A few nights later, before dinner, Ash took Lark for a romantic stroll through the avenue his mother used to call her ghostwalk . It was a shadowy quarter-mile arch of trained hemlock, a gothic cathedral formed by nature, from which they emerged upon the orchard, a breathtaking sight at dusk with blossoms lacing row after row of trees.
    He’d left his cane at the house so he could use the excuse of needing her arm on uneven ground, and wondered what justification he could give in a week’s time, two weeks? Perhaps he’d pretend she hurt him more than she thought with that pistol shot.
    Then again, his agility would surely show in bed—providing he ever managed more than sleeping with her—and the pretense would be over.
    He’d decided to get her a little drunk that night, because he was damned well going to consummate this bloody marriage. A good stiff drink, or three, just might help her to relax, maybe enough for him to tell her the whole sordid story of his grandfather’s ultimatum.
    Christmas was only eight months