Free Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents) by Tammy Jo Burns

themselves through his too-long, disheveled hair.   The curls entwined themselves around her fingers like a lover.   The texture of his hair was so different from hers, coarser, but somehow she found it captivating.  
    She gasped when she felt his tongue lightly lave her fluttering pulse at the base of her neck.   Thorn took her open mouth with his, slipping his tongue into the dark recesses before she could think to fight him.   Relying on that long ago lesson, Rebekah found herself fighting him in an intimate duel.   She enjoyed everything about it—the strength, the taste of ale that lingered, and the hint of smokiness and tobacco, perhaps from a pipe.   She found herself clutching him to her and attempting to deepen the kiss, if that were possible.
    “Papa!   Papa!” A child’s wail had them jumping apart.
    Rebekah stared in horror as she realized how far gone she had been after just a few touches.   The back of her left hand covered her mouth, while she pushed him away with her right.   She truly was the harlot her father had called her all those years ago.   She felt herself blush as she realized how lost she had been in his touch, and how she had taken over in those last moments.
    “What is this between us?” Thorn cupped her left cheek.
    “Aunt Bekah,” a tousled, tow-headed little boy stood with his face poking through the railing above them, “Ivy had a bad dream.”
    “I…,” she broke off and cleared her throat.   She took a step up the stairs forcing Wulfe to lose contact with her, “I’ll be right there.   Go back to your room.”
    “Answer me, Rebekah.”
    “There is nothing between us,” she answered, looking down on him.
    “That wasn’t nothing.   It seemed familiar somehow.”
    “Forget it, because that is the only time you will get that close again,” she huffed, and ran up the rest of the stairs.   When she reached the top, she felt herself halted by her skirts.   She turned around to see that Thorn had a fistful of her dress.   “Let go of me,” she ground out the words.
    “Wife, I can guarantee you that will not be the last time we are that close,” he let go of her skirt and instead grabbed a fistful of her hair, tilting her head back.   He plundered her mouth in a rough and heated kiss that left them both breathless.   “We will leave in the morning as soon as you can have the children ready.” He dropped a tender kiss on her swollen lips before stiffly walking away.
    Rebekah found herself grabbing for the rail to steady herself as she watched him disappear into his bedchamber.   She started to move towards hers until the sound of whimpering penetrated her senses.   Get hold of yourself , she reprimanded herself, firming her knees, and turning towards the nursery.
    ***
    When the group started out for London the next morning Rebekah’s nerves were already strung taut from her encounter on the stairs with her husband.   At least I don’t have to share this enclosed space , she thought drearily.   Everywhere she looked she saw either child or dog.   All four were rambunctious, and she was sure to have a pounding headache by the time they reached London.   With the lumbering coaches they were traveling in, it would be well past dark by the time they reached the townhouse.   Rebekah tried to relax against the squabs and let the rocking of the coach soothe her.  
    At some point she must have dozed off, for the next thing she knew she heard a repeated banging sound.   The scene before her frightened her to her senses.   Zachary stood precariously in the doorway of the carriage while the door slammed shut, but refused to catch and stay shut.   One of the pups stood by his side staring out at the passing scenery.
    “What do you think you’re doing?” Rebekah demanded, hooking her fingers in the waist of his pants.   She pulled backwards just as a hulking figure loomed down from his place on a horse.
    “What in bloody hell are you thinking?