Burning for the Baron Read online

  Stomach rolling, he stood and faced his friends. Max clenched his chilled fingers into balls. “If Zed can convince people death is preferable to betrayal, we don’t stand a shot in hell of ever turning his men.”

  Chapter Eight

  Colleen was putting the final figure down on the next month’s budget when she heard his footsteps on the stairs. She looked at her open office door, her heart pounding at the thought of seeing Max alone. It was a wonder that she even recognized his step when he usually walked so silently. He could move like smoke, his footsteps surprisingly light for such a large man. But something was different tonight. He trudged up the stairs like the weight of the world was yoked to his shoulders.

  She half-stood, her body wanting to hurry to him, to ensure he was all right, before her better sense prevailed and she sat back down. He was a member of the nobility. Her employer. A man she had encouraged into indecent liberties. None of those factors were reason enough to justify such familiarity. Well, perhaps that last one. But she still couldn’t quite sort out how she felt about their moments in the carriage, much less wonder at how the baron’s feelings on their relationship might have changed.

  Sliding her paperwork into a folder, she stacked it on the pile in the corner of her desk. When he appeared in the doorway, everything was neat and tidy, including her emotions.

  She drank him in, relieved to see he appeared whole and hale if not a bit weary. His thick, dark hair was damp and his shoulders sagged, but nothing appeared amiss that a meal in front of a warm fire wouldn’t fix. “Good evening, my lord. Is there something I can do for you?” Colleen sat up straight, pleased with how professional she sounded to the man who made her feel anything but.

  One side of Max’s lips curled up, a hint of a smile lighting his eyes, and Colleen ran those words through her head again. And flushed. Perhaps there had been something other than professional sounding about them, after all.

  “For the club, I mean,” she stammered. “Is there anything you need me to do for the club?”

  Sinking into the chair across from her, Max stretched out his long legs and stared at the ceiling. “I already know, if there’s something that needs to be done at The Black Rose, you’d have already thought of it.” He sighed.

  Colleen fiddled with her pencil. She shouldn’t ask. She wanted to return to the business relationship they’d had before she’d botched everything up and that meant not asking personal questions. But he looked like he’d just lost a puppy. The words refused to stay put in her throat. “Are you all right, my lord? You look … sad.”

  He lifted his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m neither sad nor happy. Just had a tiring day.”

  “Oh.” Touching a hand to the knot at the back of her head, she made sure her hair was still in place. “Are you here …” She cleared her throat. “Would you like me to set up a room for you and one of our girls?” Please say no. “Several of the women are most eager to work with you again.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Work with me? Is that what you call it?” Stretching his arms to the ceiling, Max cracked his neck, linked his fingers together, and rested his hands on top of his head. “I assure you, Colleen, that playing with me is never a chore.”

  She swallowed. Why did he have to call her Colleen? Her given name was for stolen moments in a carriage. Not for two people of business in an office. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “No.” Uncoiling from his seat, he prowled around the desk and cocked a hip against it. His thigh brushed her forearm, and with regret, she drew back. “No, I don’t suppose you did,” he said. He rested a palm on the back of her chair and bent close. “I would love to play with fire tonight. If any day needed to be burned from memory, today is that day.”

  Her stomach knotted. He was going to touch another woman. Give her the pleasure he’d bestowed on Colleen only hours earlier. The back of her eyes burned, and she cursed herself. Why should she be upset? She’d made the decision to return to their professional relationship. She’d given herself one illicit moment that she could look back upon and treasure. One moment where she’d been impulsive and carefree. A woman in her position didn’t deserve more than that.

  He traced the curve of her cheekbone with his index finger. “But I don’t want to play with just any woman. I want you.”

  Her jaw dropped. The pounding of her heart sounded unnaturally loud to her ears. Surely, he could hear it. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes.” He plucked the pins from her hair, one by one, laying each one on the desk in a neat row. Her hair fell in one thick coil down her back, and Max used both of his hands to shake it loose. Cradling her head in his palms, he drew her to a stand. “You don’t need to be scared. I won’t hurt you.”

  Her eyes slid half-shut, the feel of his strong fingers kneading her skull enough to put her in a trance. Each and every time Max had handled her had brought pleasure. Even when he’d dripped wax on her wrist. Especially then. That pinpoint of heat on her damp skin had been surprisingly delicious. A shiver rolled down her spine at the memory.

  Another memory intruded, bringing with it the scent of burning wood. She’d been fascinated with that fire, too. The flames licking up the sides of her old home had been beautiful, entrancing in its destructive power when she’d thought all that burned was an empty building. The thought of harnessing fire for pleasure was a heady one. She understood Max’s attraction to fire all too well. But it was also terrifying. Her stomach churned. Some forces couldn’t be controlled.

  “I don’t”—she shook her head—“I’m not that kind of woman.” How many times had she said that phrase before and meant something entirely different? When Lord Halliwell had asked her to play, and she’d sniffed in disdain, it was because she hadn’t wanted to be one of those women. Loose morals. No self-respect.

  Tonight, the phrase had changed, the words filled with regret. She wasn’t the kind of woman who pushed her limits, stared down her fears. No matter how much she might wish she were.

  “You can be any kind of woman you want.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath flashing hot against her cheek. “Please, Colleen. I need this. Need you. There’s no one else I want.”

  She bit her lip. His mouth was so close to hers, she only needed to tilt her head, move an inch, and she’d be there. A strand from his beard tickled her jaw, and she remembered how exciting it had been to burrow her fingers in deep and press her lips to his.

  She bit back a whimper. She wanted this. Wanted him. But it couldn’t be right. Anything that she wanted as badly as this had to be a sin. Gripping the lapels of his coat, she clenched her fists tight.

  He grazed his lips over her cheek. Angling her head, Max licked around the rim of her ear, his wet tongue burning a fiery path. The heat settled low, melting her core, making her wet with need. When he sucked her lobe between his lips, she gave up the fight. Decided to trust her body to Max’s care.

  If this was a sin, it at least didn’t hurt anyone but herself. She nodded, barely moving, but Max felt it.

  He raised his head and stared down at her. Tiny gold flecks in his eyes flashed in the lamplight, heating until his gaze looked like a forest on fire. “You’re sure?”

  “Not hardly, but I want to do it regardless.” She shuffled closer, pressing her belly against the hard bulge fighting against his falls. She bit back a whimper. “We need to be careful, though. I can’t get with child. Not in my position.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Grabbing her under her bottom, he lifted, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. “I’ll take care of you.”

  He strode around the desk and out the door. His thick length rubbed against her sex with each step he took, and Colleen rolled her hips, trying to increase the friction.

  He growled, the reverberation thrumming from his chest, making her breasts ache. She expected him to take the back stairs down to one of the club’s rooms, but he turned into her personal chambers. Bending over the bed, he
gently lowered her down.

  Colleen kept her arms and legs wrapped around him, tight as a python.

  He kissed her, hard, pressing her head into the mattress. “I need supplies. The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back.”

  She ran her hands over his hard shoulders. “Can’t we just …” She jerked her chin at the bed.

  “We’ll get there. Trust me.”

  Colleen arched and chased his lips. He tasted of brandy and tobacco and something sweet she couldn’t identify. But it all mixed together to something unmistakably him.

  He raised his head. “Let me loose.”

  With a heavy sigh, she let her hands slip from his shoulders and relaxed her thighs. Only to jerk them tight in surprise as Max pressed his palm to the vee of her legs.

  One corner of his mouth edged up as he rubbed circles through her skirts. “I know you’re needy, Colleen. Christ, I can feel how hot you are even through all these blasted clothes. I can’t wait to sink into that heat.” He pressed a kiss to her neck. “But let me do this my way. I need it tonight. I promise, you won’t regret it.”

  He straightened and stepped back, his expression placid. If his hands weren’t clenched into balls, and his length hadn’t been jutting against his trousers, Colleen might have thought him indifferent.

  “Take off your clothes,” he told her. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He strode from her room.

  Colleen let her head flop back on the bed. How did a man walk away at that moment? He had more self-control than a saint. And she was wasting time. She scooted off the bed and attacked the buttons on her waistcoat. She pulled her shirt up, her head popping free from the high collar. Her skirt and petticoat quickly followed leaving her in only a thin shift. After only a moment’s hesitation, that, too, joined the pile of clothes on the floor.

  She shifted on her boots, the cool air swirling around her bare skin. She’d never been ashamed of her body. It was functional, capable. But she’d never presented it as such to a man, either. Being fully unclothed felt a bit naughty.

  Should she slip into her night rail? But then she wouldn’t be as wanton, and that was a condition she wanted to revel in tonight. Perhaps a compromise.

  Scooping her clothes up, she tossed them on her dressing table’s chair. She lifted the coverlet of her bed, ready to jump under the sheets. The soft hiss of air behind her made her spin, the cover clutched to her chest.

  Heat clawed up her face. Max stood in the doorway, several candles tucked under one arm. He held a bottle of liquor in his hand. His mouth was slightly parted, and his gaze raked her body.

  “Don’t cover up on my account.” He stepped into the room and kicked the door closed with his heel. “I must admit that the view of you bending over the bed wearing nothing but kid boots stole my breath.” He looked down again and smiled. “Nice boots, by the way. I see you’ve finally conceded and are wearing the new ones.”

  Crossing her legs at the ankles, Colleen leaned against the bed. Then stood up straight and uncrossed her legs. “Um, just the one pair. I don’t need anything else.”

  He laid his bits and pieces on her bureau. “We’ll see.” He tugged at the coverlet in her iron grip, and after a slight battle, maneuvered it from her hands. “You don’t need a cover, Colleen. You’re beautiful.”

  She didn’t know about all that, but under his appreciative gaze, she did feel pretty. She threw her shoulders back. “I’m not without flaws.” After seeing all the lovely young lady-birds traipsing around, bare as a babe, she’d come to see just how imperfect her body was in comparison. Not that such nonsense mattered.

  Max strode to the banked fire and lit a thick ivory candle. He prowled towards her and held the candle up to her body, the small flame radiating only the faintest whisper of heat on her shoulder. Slowly, he moved the candle across her body, and inch by inch, that bead of heat bussed her skin. He drew his finger across her collarbone, following the path of the flickering light.

  Circling around her, Max examined every inch of her bare flesh. “Where you see flaws, I see character.” He dropped to his haunches behind her, and his breath skittered across her bottom. She shuddered.

  “This here.” He traced the inch-long pucker of pink skin on the back of her upper thigh. “How did you get this?”

  “Fell on a saw.”

  He circled around, his face coming level with her most intimate parts. He brought the flame close to her ribs. “And this one?”

  She rubbed the small crescent-moon shaped scar. “I was kicked by a horse before I was married.” She remembered the pain of that one. The broken skin had been nothing compared to the broken rib.

  “And these …?” His eyes shot up from the silvery lines that decorated her belly. “You’ve had a child.”

  Those marks had hurt the worst of all. Reminders of all she’d lost. “I had two. Neither survived their first year. One died of fever. The other croup.”

  He kissed the lines. “I’m sorry. There was nothing the doctors could do?”

  Colleen huffed. “Those leeches? They didn’t bother to come until after my babies were cold.”

  Max wrapped his arms around her waist, his beard tickling her lower abdomen. “And yet you endured your losses to become the incredible, resilient person you are. The take-no-prisoner’s woman of business.” He curved his lips against her belly. “Your scars show that you’re a survivor. There’s nothing more alluring than that.”

  Her chest grew tight. Max spoke of a better woman than she. If he knew what she’d done, the respect in his voice would disappear, and that knowledge lashed her heart.

  Her mind became crowded with regret, when all she wanted to do was feel. She stretched out her hand, and he filled it with his own. “Come,” she said, pulling him up. “Show me your fire.”

  Setting the candle on her bedside table, Max trailed his fingers up and down her back. He skimmed up her sides, along the swell of her breasts, and up her neck.

  She shuddered. His touch was so soft. Delicate. Max treated her differently than anyone else in her life had, and it made her stomach twist and her heart pound. She bit her lower lip. He made her feel revered. The emotion didn’t suit her. It was like her new boots. They were luxurious, but she didn’t quite feel at home in them.

  He coiled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I love your hair. It reminds me of a fire deep into the evening, as it’s starting to cool. Years from now, when I’m sitting with a glass of whiskey and looking into the flames, I’ll remember your hair and how soft it is between my fingers.”

  “I don’t need pretty words,” she whispered. But she couldn’t deny that they did warm her heart. “I’m not one of your Quality ladies that needs to be wooed.”

  He just smiled. Leaning past her, he pulled a pillow from the head of the bed, plumped it between his hands, and placed it in the center of the mattress. “Lay face down, with your hips over the pillow.”

  “My boots—”

  “Can stay on.” His smile started small and built slowly. “You look quite tempting in them and nothing else. Now quit delaying, woman.”

  A shiver of anticipation tickled her flesh. She climbed on the bed and crawled over the pillow, embarrassment and excitement dueling over the view she was presenting. Lowering onto the pillow, she rested her head on her forearms and crossed her ankles.

  She heard bottles rattling and liquid sloshing. Craning her neck, she saw Max pouring the jug of water she kept on her bureau into her wash bowl and soaking a small towel. Using the flame from the white pillar, Max lit two more candles, one a dark blue, the other made of a deep crimson-colored wax.

  He turned to the bed and tossed a thin leather string next to her hip. Running a palm up her calf and thigh, he said, “The sensations will be more intense if you close your eyes.”

  “When you’re playing with fire?” she asked tartly. “I think not.”

  He smirked. “Suit yourself. For your first experience, that’s probably wise. I’ll pull my blindfold out
later.”

  She narrowed her eyes at his jest then grew serious. “You will be careful?” she whispered.

  He squeezed her shoulder. “There’s absolutely nothing I want to protect more than you.”

  Colleen stilled. The sincerity in his voice hooked into her heart and tugged. She knew men said a lot of pretty things to women to get them in their beds, but Max actually believed it, if only for the night. He was a dear man, a better man than she deserved.

  She released a long breath. She needed to relax. If she was going to lay aside her morals and her guilt for the night, she’d darn sure best enjoy herself while doing so. What was the point otherwise?

  Max began undressing, and any second thoughts she had dissolved.

  His coat he hung on the back of her dressing table chair. His top boots were neatly placed beneath. Silk rasped against linen as he drew his cravat from his crisp white shirt, the sound sending a ripple down her spine.

  With one hand at the back of his shirt, Max pulled it over his head, and Colleen bit her lip. Good lord, but the man was impressive. As broad across the chest as a blacksmith. The muscles of his shoulders and arms were defined, and they twitched with every button he opened on his falls. He shoved the trousers an inch down his lean hips, exposing a thatch of dark curls.

  Colleen’s breath caught in her throat. She fixed her gaze on that crop of coarse hair, eager to see what lay below. She’d seen her husband’s, of course. But she had a feeling that the differences between the two men would extend further than the color of their hair and the size of their chests.

  She wasn’t disappointed. Max pushed his trousers and smallclothes down his legs, his long length rising free. He bent over, obscuring her view, as he pulled off the remainder of his clothes. When he stood, every delicious inch of him was exposed.

  She shifted her thighs together, moisture pooling between her lower lips. Every bit of the man before her spoke of power. From the determined set of his full lips, to the bulging muscles of his arms, to the ruddy head of his cock straining against his flat stomach. Maximillian Atwood, Baron of Sutton, was a formidable man.