Secluded with the Rogue

8. Jack’s Candlestick

Jack’s Candlestick

J ack awoke to sounds filtering through the walls as maids and other patrons began shuffling about the inn. By his estimations, he’d gotten about six hours of sleep.

He usually got by on three or four.

And he was all too aware of the woman curled up beside him, one leg between his and a soft breast just above where his hand rested over her ribcage.

He wasn’t ready to move just yet.

He’d take his leave from her today—insist on giving her some money, enough to get her anywhere in England safely. And as it was his fault she’d lost all her earthly possessions, he’d throw in money she could use to purchase all the items a lady’s companion might need.

Gowns, demure ones—grey, lavender, muted tones—if his memory was correct. Perhaps. And she needed a new coat. And if they carried one, a new valise so she could arrive at her new employer’s looking necessarily proper and dignified.

“Mmm,” Delia hummed and slid her foot along his calf.

His cock stiffened almost painfully.

If he was going to quell this morning wood, she could not do that.

He should untangle himself from her completely—get out of this bed, go find Cyril and see when they could be on their way.

Only…

He wasn’t ready to do that yet. Because then, he’d have to dress, leave the room. Since the snow had let up overnight, he and Cyril would have no difficulty making the short drive to Thorncliffe Abbey.

Something squeezed his heart, and although he ignored it, Jack acknowledged that he liked holding her. It was doubtful their paths would ever cross again, and the thought of letting go left him feeling strangely… empty.

Delia squirmed against him—her bum, to be more specific. And almost of its own volition, Jack’s hand drifted upward, settling comfortably around the soft mound of her breast.

It was perfectly plump, fitting his palm as though designed for just that purpose.

“Delia,” he whispered near her ear. Would she be different in the bright light of day? Would she awaken filled with regrets? Would she demand he make an honest woman of her?

In response, she wiggled her bum, pressing into him.

“Jack,” she said, her voice low and a little hoarse.

His name on her lips, his cock all but nestled between her thighs, reignited desire he’d denied the night before.

Jack nibbled on the shell of her ear. “Good morning,” he whispered.

And it was good—very good. This sensation was most likely the effect of getting a full night’s sleep.

Delia tilted her head back, and Jack trailed his mouth along her jaw.

He’d allow himself this.

Her sweetly rounded shape molded against his, and when he squeezed the tender flesh, Delia arched her back.

Her chest lifted in rhythm with her breaths.

Unexpected, unfamiliar desperation struck, and Jack rolled her to face him. Not thinking, he claimed her mouth, pushed up the oversized shirt, and found her center.

“Jack,” she said. “Please.”

He hovered over her, his hips between her thighs. Even as he worked the fastenings of his breeches, she tugged them downward.

“Delia.”

“Yes,” she gasped. His mouth was everywhere, tasting, memorizing…

He stroked her intimate flesh. She was ready for him—soft and wet—waiting for him to claim this part of her, wanting him to fill her.

Jack shifted his hips, sliding his cock at her entrance, anticipating the unique pressure awaiting him. She jerked her hips up, inviting this taste of heaven.

Heaven in his little snow angel.

Jack stilled. After he was gone, she needed her silver lining.

“I won’t,” he said.

She made a strangled cry and wiggled against him. “But…?”

He was so close to being inside of her. One gentle shove and they could begin moving together.

But he didn’t move.

“Delia.” His arms were shaking. He touched his lips to hers. “I cannot take this from you.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Not because I don’t want to. You know I want to.” Jack chuckled at the understatement of the year. “Look at me.”

She met his gaze, her brown eyes shining, a tear hovering on the thick lashes.

“I need…” he began. “Someday, you’ll be grateful that you still have this.”

She swallowed hard.

“You’re too damn sweet for your own good…” Jack shook his head. He wasn’t accustomed to confusion. He didn’t quite understand it. “I can’t take your virtue. It’s your future. It would be wasted on me.” His throat thickened.

Finally, she nodded. “Yes. You’re right.”

Drawing on his last vestiges of honor, if he could even call it that at this point, Jack dropped onto the bed beside her and then tugged her back against his chest.

Angry with himself but unwilling to leave her thoroughly disappointed, Jack drifted his hand down between her legs. “But that doesn’t mean we I can’t help out with those silver linings.”

And he made sure that her morning was as memorable as the night before had been.