Free Susan Johnson by Outlaw (Carre) Page A

retorted. “I’m not judging you. Far from it.”
    “I may not wish to discuss my private life with you.”
    And at the phrase “private life,” Johnnie saw her again lying on the bed, the image so intense and vivid, he half reached out to lift her in his arms.
    But he restrained himself. Walking over to a cushioned chair, he sat down. “I’m twenty-five,” he said.
    She knew what he meant as though he’d written a lengthy essay on his feelings, but she was still fighting her own chaotic emotions. “Then I’m too old for you.”
    “Really? Why?”
    “Men like young women.”
    He laughed. “How very sheltered you’ve been.”
    “Maybe I’m just realistic.”
    “Maybe you’re just wrong.” Janet Lindsay was older than he, as were several of the women who’d entertained him over the years. “You’re very beautiful, and I expect all the marriage applicants your father’s bringing round aren’t exclusively interested in your wealth.”
    “Are you proposing?” she inquired, her voice over-sweet.
    “No. I don’t need your money—or a wife.”
    “You steal what you need—is that right?”
    “I’m a businessman,” he softly said.
    “You’re in the business of raiding other people’s property.”
    “I take back only what’s stolen from me and protect my family and land. My business is in trade: cattle, sheep, wool”—he grinned—“and wine. I’ve a fleet of merchant ships currently trying to evade the English fleet. But the profits are enormous on the Continent right now after two years of war.”
    He looked very beautiful lounging in the oddly carved chair in her bedchamber, the soft blue plaid of his coat 4 invitation to touch, his long legs sprawled out before him, their powerful muscles visible beneath the fine wool of his breeches. He wore diamond buckles on hisshoes, and she believed him when he said he had no need of her money.
    His clear blue eyes held hers for a moment before he softly said, “I think I know the answer to my question. Come sit with me.”
    “No.” Her voice was no more than a whisper. “I don’t want to.”
    “Yes, you do.”
    He knew. How could he know? And she took a step backward as though that small extra distance would stop him, the silken swish of her robe overloud in the sudden silence.
    He rose then, but didn’t move further, not wishing to frighten her more. “I’ve tried to avoid you,” he said very quietly. “I’ve never done that with a woman.” He paused, trying to arrange his emotions into some order when what he wanted was to hold her beyond all rational thought. “But Robbie’s more important to me, so I stayed away. I intended to do the same tonight. I sent the servant up to give you warning … and also as a conscious obstruction to myself.” Restlessly, he raked both hands through his hair, forgetting he’d tied it back in a queue. “Oh, hell,” he exclaimed, referring both to his disturbed hair and his tumultuous desires. “You tantalize me,” he said, very low, only sheer willpower keeping him from gathering her into his arms. “Do I frighten you?”
    Unnerved by her exposed feelings, unsettled by the novelty of her sensual vulnerability, she didn’t answer, and another small silence fell in the candlelit tower room.
    “Talk to me,” he murmured, afraid of the violence of his emotions.
    “You don’t frighten me … I frighten myself,” she finally whispered, reaching out for a chair back to steady her trembling. She no longer questioned the extent of his allure, for no man had ever made her tremble merely at the sight of him.
    And she should know after the dozens of candidates her father had paraded before her.
    She never trembled. Never.
    And her heart never pounded like this.
    And the heat warming her face matched another heat, a pulsing ache, deep in the pit of her stomach.
    Johnnie Carre was the cause of that heat.
    His gaze dwelt for a moment on her small hands gripping the carving of the chair before he