The Rock Read online

  “You aren’t serious,” she managed nervously. “I know you, Thom. You don’t mean it.”

  Her certainty only fueled the flames hotter. She didn’t know him at all. “You knew a boy who knew his place. A boy who only let you see what he wanted you to see. A village lad who wouldn’t dare to touch the perfect little princess for fear that he might sully her.”

  Her eyes widened and flickered with what looked like fear. He didn’t know whom he hated more at that moment. He let her go and set her away from him, needing to put distance between her and his surging body. His fists clenched and re-clenched at his sides as he fought for control. “Is the thought of having my hands on you so offensive?”

  She blinked. “No! I mean yes . . . I mean no, of course not! Why are you trying to confuse me?”

  His mouth set in a hard, unforgiving line. “Is that what I’m doing? I thought we were bargaining. But since my terms didn’t appeal to you—”

  “A kiss,” she said, cutting him off.

  His heart might have stopped beating. His breath, however, had definitely stopped. All he could do was stare at her and wait for her to explain.

  “I will let you kiss me, and then you will agree to help rescue Archie.”

  Let you. His jaw clenched. “How gracious of you, but I’m afraid that isn’t good enough.”

  She flushed, obviously surprised by his rejection of her terms. Did she think him that desperate for a taste of her?

  So what if he was, damn it!

  “What do you want, then?” she demanded, her own temper flaring.

  “I will let you kiss me,” he said.

  Her brows drew together. “That’s what I said.”

  He didn’t correct her. “And we will see if you can persuade me that it is worth the risk.”

  The furrow between her brows deepened. “How am I to do that?”

  “Make it good.” His voice gave no hint of the rapid heating of his blood. “I’m sure you’ve been kissed before?”

  Her eyes narrowed, as if she suspected there was more behind the question than there first appeared. She was right.

  “Once or twice.”

  The rage that rose inside him was so fast and furious it could only be bloodlust. His muscles flared. The thought of someone else touching her drove him to the very edge of his restraint. Who? When? Kill.

  Somehow he managed to respond without growling. “Good. Then you will know what to do.”

  Elizabeth had no idea what to do. Thom—the person she thought she knew most in the world who it turned out she didn’t know at all—was standing there obviously waiting for her to begin.

  She eyed him warily, sensing that there was far more to this conversation than she was hearing.

  It had seemed like a good idea, but now that she was actually looking at him, knowing what she had to do, it felt . . . bigger. Much bigger. And daunting. And somehow important—as if she were about to do something that she knew could never be undone.

  She licked her suddenly dry lips and took a small step forward. But her entire body seemed to shake. Her knees were wobbling, her legs had turned to jelly, and her stomach seemed to be flipping around inside like a fish out of water.

  That’s what she was. She had no idea what she was doing. She had been kissed before—twice, actually—but somehow she sensed a kiss like the quick pecks stolen by a particularly bold French suitor was not going to suffice.

  Make it good.

  She looked up at him, feeling her heart rise to her throat.

  If only he weren’t so imposing.

  If only he weren’t so tall, and so outrageously handsome.

  And if only she hadn’t just seen him naked. Dear God, it was no time to think about that! Her heart was hammering so loudly she wondered if he could hear it.

  His arms were crossed as he watched her move infinitesimally closer. “I don’t have all night.”

  She scowled at him. This wasn’t easy for her, blast him. Straightening her shoulders, she wiped her hands on her skirts and closed the distance between them.

  She stopped about a foot away.

  His mouth curled with a smile that made her feel like a plump, juicy lamb. “I won’t bite,” he said, and then so softly that she wondered if she heard him right added, “Unless you want me to.”

  Her eyes flew to his. But although he was still smiling that wicked “come closer if you dare” smile, his meaning and thoughts were indecipherable.

  Good Lord, it was hot in here! There was a sheen of perspiration on her brow, and her skin felt as if it were fevered.

  The tension between them was so thick she couldn’t breathe. Although there might be another explanation. Maybe she was scared to inhale because she feared his scent would wash over her and penetrate her senses again, confusing her.

  He had to realize how nervous she was, yet he just stood there watching her with that inscrutable, impervious, annoyingly calm expression on his face. She felt a strange twinge of sympathy for her brother, recalling how many times Thom had used the same expression on him. It was how he’d fought back. How he’d defied his lord without doing so outright.

  Was that what he was doing? Fighting back with indifference? The flare of anger gave her just the burst of courage she needed.

  She was making more out of this than there was, she told herself. It was only a kiss. She could do this.

  Putting both of her hands on his chest to brace herself, she lifted onto her toes.

  But she still wasn’t tall enough. His mouth was still a few inches away, and clearly, he wasn’t going to make it easier on her by lowering it.

  Blackguard!

  Pursing her mouth, and bolder now with anger, she slid her hands around his neck, stretched against him, and dragged his head down to hers.

  Their lips met in the softest, most delicate brush. The shock that ran through her, however, was not. It was jolting. Nerve flaring. Heart-stopping.

  She almost drew back. But his body was warm, and despite being so hard, it was remarkably cozy, and the spicy scent of whisky on his breath was strangely intoxicating, drawing her in for more.

  He had told her to make it good.

  9

  EIGHTEEN YEARS. THOM had had to wait almost eighteen fucking years for her to kiss him again, and damned if it wasn’t worth it.

  The sweet press of her lips to his cheek that she’d given him as a child in gratitude for rescuing her from that tree, however, was nothing compared with the sensation of her very grown-up, very sensual mouth brushing against his. The kiss was still sweet, but his response—and the yearning that surged through him—was not. It was about as far from sweet as it could get. It was raw and primitive and intense, blinding him with a white-hot bolt of lust that reverberated through his body like a thunderstorm.

  A thunderstorm he had to fight to contain. His hands were planted firmly at his sides, every muscle in his body flexed and rigid with restraint. Restraint that had been burned in over years of wanting what he could not have.

  You can’t touch her. She’s not for you.

  Words that were so ingrained in him that even now, even now when her mouth pressed against his more firmly, when her body rubbed against him innocently and invitingly, when she made a soft sound in her throat that practically begged him to respond, he didn’t.

  Bloody hell, it was almost as if he was scared to touch her. Scared that maybe the rest of the world was right—maybe he wasn’t good enough. Scared that putting his rough, callused hands on her would somehow mar all that creamy perfection. And most of all, scared that after so many years of holding back, his passion, once released, would be impossible to contain.

  His restraint infuriated him. He didn’t need to stop himself anymore. Why shouldn’t he kiss her, damn it? There was no one to stop him. No one to tell him he couldn’t have her.

  He’d been waiting for this for too damned long. Waiting for her to come to him, to recognize what had always been between them, and to show her exactly what sh