The Infamous Rogue Part 35

Slowly he rounded the bed, each laggardly step sensual. She wanted to bury her head under the coverlets. She was vulnerable. He sensed it. Something dark and playful kindled in his eyes...making her hunger.

"I've brought you some soup," he said in a deep timbre. The sound rattled her bones.

She glanced at the steaming bowl nestled between his large palms. As he moved, he stirred the air. The lamplight frolicked across his st.u.r.dy fingers. The bowl seemed so small in his wide hands.

"Did you make the soup?" she wondered.

"No." He pushed the dagger aside and set the dish on the table. "I took it from the kitchen. How are you feeling?"

She sniffed. "I'm fine."

She had inherited the matron's chil . However, she was hardier than Lady Lucas. She had no fever or muscle aches...well, parts of her ached.

James headed for the fire. He slowly hunkered, the strapping muscles at his thighs and calves supporting his bulky weight as he stoked the flames with the iron poker.

He had a tight a.r.s.e, she thought. She imagined her fingers circling the firm flesh as she pushed him deep inside her quim.

Sophia shuddered.

She tossed the blankets. She was suddenly sweltering. The woolly sheets gathered at her waist, rucked. She used her elbows to drag herself into a sitting position before she reached for the bowl of soup.

She sniffed the fare, but her nose was congested, so she couldn't identify the flavor.

"It's hare," he said as he lifted off his haunches.

He set the poker aside. There was a soft plunk as the tool rested against the stone hearth. He looked at her, eyes smoldering. He had his hair in a queue, so every angle of his masculine features were there for her to regard and absorb and dream about.

Sophia quelled the tremors that tormented her spine. She thought about more unsavory things. That he was inside her room...alone...at night.

She scratched that tempting image from her mind and contemplated a more disturbing thought: What if someone stumbled upon him in her room...late at night...alone...the household asleep.

Sophia sighed.

"You're wearing clothes."

"Of course I am," she snapped, dazed.

"You never used to wear clothes to bed."

She frowned and looked at her trim white night rail. "I do now."

James moved across the room. She followed his measured steps as he approached a chair and settled into the seat, folding his arms over the wide breadth of his chest. He was watching her closely. Waiting for her to...eat the soup?

She glanced at the broth. Was it poisoned?

"It's not poisoned," he said with a touch of dark wit.

She made a wry face that he had read her mind so easily before she set aside the spoon and lifted the bowl to her mouth.

She smacked her lips. "It's good."

"I'll tell Cook."

He was staring at her. It was hard to ignore such commanding eyes. What was he really doing here? He had cared for her in the past during bouts with illness. Once he had even boiled her a delicious stew. But the tenderness he was showing her now was suspect, and she eyed him warily as she sipped the potage.

He tapped the chess box on the table beside him. "Would you like to play a game?"

She choked. "A game?" She wiped the dribble from her lips. "What are we playing for?"

He shrugged. "Do we have to pay a forfeit? Can't we play for fun?"

She frowned. "No."

He chuckled. "No, I don't suppose we can. You and I always have to be at odds about something, don't we?"

She looked at him askance before she returned to the comforting meal.

"You can't sleep," he said with authority.

She glared at him and rebuked, "I can sleep just fine."

"No, you can't. You can't sleep when you're sick...I remember."

A quiver kissed her spine. "Is that why you're here? To...amuse me?"

He lifted a black brow. "Would you like me to 'amuse' you?"

She gasped. Not at the outrageous proposal...but at the pulsing want that so swiftly gripped her heart. "I'd like you to leave my room."

"All right."

"What? Wait!"

She wanted to bite her tongue as soon as she'd voiced the balmy command. He offered her a smal yet wicked smile before he slowly slipped back into the seat.

Sophia set the bowl aside, the porcelain unsteady in her shaky grip. "I mean, you're right. I can't sleep. Let's play a game."

There was a devilish glimmer in his eyes. "What would you like to play for?"

She scowled. "I thought we didn't have to pay a forfeit?"

"I was wrong, remember? You and I must always be at odds."

She huffed. "Fine. We'll play for...sport. Winner takes all the accolades."

He snorted. "I was thinking about something a little more interesting."

She flushed. "Like what?"

"If I win...you must kiss me."

She took in a deep breath. The blackguard! He had already ensnared her senses with his sensual blue eyes and husky voice. What more did he want from her? Did he want to enslave her pa.s.sions, too? Perhaps he was searching for a new mistress. She had chased off his last one, after al . Whatever the man's scheme, she was determined not to let him win their strife. She would not become his mistress-ever again! And while there was room in his heart for a family...there was no room in his heart for her. She had no future prospect with the man.

"Very well," she said tightly. "And if I win...you must give me Sophia."

The man's expression darkened.

Slowly she smiled, giddy at the thought that the vile snake might soon belong to her.

She imagined all sorts of grisly deaths for the reptile, and her disposition greatly improved.

"Do we agree on the terms, Black Hawk?"

He glared at her. She thought he might rebuff the dangerous request; he loved that d.a.m.n snake. Instead he quietly collected the chess box from the table and approached the bed.

The man's considerable frame neared the furniture. She spied his stout physique. It moved toward her like a dark cloud, a storm. He was fil ed with power and zest. It tickled her senses, his robust form. Longing welled in her breast, and she squelched the deep desires stirring in her heart, distracting her.

She was determined to win the game.

James settled on the bed. The feather tick swagged. Blood rushed through her veins as she absorbed the weight, the strength he impressed.

He curled one thick leg across the coverlet and stretched forth the other, so one boot rested on the floor. He then opened the box that also converted into a chessboard, and meticulously arranged the jade and ivory players.

Sophia crossed her legs under the woolly blanket and watched him, transfixed. She watched the way his st.u.r.dy fingers nimbly a.s.sembled the pieces. She watched the lamplight s.h.i.+mmer across his polished black boots. She even watched the studious way he set his brow as he maneuvered the p.a.w.ns and rooks.

"Ladies first," he said gruffly.

She smacked her lips together. She then examined the board closely before she selected a player and made the first move.

He followed suit. "How many lovers have you had since we parted ways seven years ago?"

Slowly she lifted her eyes. Was he trying to unnerve her again? Make her falter and lose?

She had more gumption than that. "Do you really want to know?"

The man's expression hardened. "No."

"Then don't ask."

His features soured. She smiled inwardly. He had thought to distract her with the scandalous repartee, but he'd failed, blackening his own mood instead. But there was no reason for him to be jealous, for while she had searched for physical comfort when the need had come upon her, she had never formed another bond with a man. Not like the bond she had formed with James. But he didn't need to know that, of course. She preferred to keep him in high dudgeon. He was more likely to make an error and lose the game that way.

"I'm sorry, Black Hawk."

He glowered at her. "For what?"

"For spoiling the affair with your mistress."

The darkness in his eyes blackened even more. "Are you truly remorseful?"

"I didn't mean to chase her off like that. I was really angry with you, you know?"

The man let out a slow, deep breath through his nose. "And you're sure you chased her away? That she will not return to my bed?"

Sophia strangled the twinge of jealousy that had sprouted in her belly at the words "to my bed." She smiled wryly instead. "I'm sure."

He nabbed a p.a.w.n. "Why are you so sure?"

She frowned. "I'm a woman."

She stared at the chessboard, strategizing. She was at a disadvantage, her head congested with a chil . She had to concentrate more on the game.

"Yes, I've noticed you're a woman," he said dryly.

She lifted a brow. "Well, as a woman, I can sense what another woman is thinking."

He looked at her pointedly.

She s.h.i.+vered under the man's piercing stare.

"And what was my mistress thinking?" he drawled.

"Your former mistress was thinking, 'I don't care how big his c.o.c.k is, I ain't gonna fight the shrew for it.'"

The man's lips twitched.

Sophia suspected he'd smiled just before he'd smothered the impulse. A genuine smile.

And for some absurd reason, she was pleased with the thought that she had made him cheerful.

He nabbed another player.

She scowled.

"No more talking," she said firmly.

He acquiesced.

In less than an hour, he had cornered her king, ending the battle.

"You lose, sweetheart."

Sophia gnashed her teeth. She had lost. But she was saddled with an illness, she thought, comforting herself. Had she possessed all her faculties, her wits, the game would have lasted much longer. She might even have been victorious.

James gathered the players and collapsed the chessboard. He set the box aside-and waited.

There was a sound throbbing in her head. Sweat gathered between her fingers as she fisted her palms. He looked so d.a.m.n kissable. Curse him!

Slowly she crawled across the rumpled coverlet, heart booming in her breast. She was weak, shaky. He seemed so...hungry. She sensed the carnal thirst brewing within him. She was consumed by it herself. The man's tempting lips waited patiently for her, so lush and erotic and powerful. She ached deep inside to taste him...and hated him for it.