Page 101 of Go, Rogue

Chapter

40

He’s the goddamned Duke of Barclay. He doesn’t want to be. He doesn’t want anything to do with his father or his brother or their tainted fucking legacy.

But he wants this. He wants her.

And if it’s good for nothing else, being the duke will let him have her. An earl’s daughter belongs with a duke in a way she never would with a salty sea-dog by-blow.

He makes his way over to her slowly, the rain keeping up its thick, hard cadence on the roof. It’s insulating, that sound, such that it feels like they’re on their own little island together. Just the two of them, somewhere in the wide blue ocean, listening to the rain. Another moment he wishes he could hold in his hands and preserve forever.

“Catherine,” he whispers as he lies beside her, careful to keep the weight off his leg.

“Aye?” she says, and smiles his favorite smile. The one where her blue eyes are radiant with mischief and crinkling at the corners.

“What is it that you want?” he asks, and holds his breath that she wants the same thing he does.

“I want to be here with you,” she says. “Right now. I want to hold you in my arms, and I want to breathe in the scent of you. I want—what were those words you taught me?” She pretends to think while drumming her fingers against his arm. “Something to do with a cock, I believe it was. And a quim?”

His manhood rises to attention. It knows its name. “Aye,” he says. “But I cannae just roll ye about in the hay, lass. Like some common serving wench.”

“Oh, but you could. And I hope you will.” She wraps her arms around him and squeezes. “Just for tonight, we could be Catherine and Andrew, could we not? Until the rain stops?” She pauses, then says, “Please.”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice.

“Come here, lass,” he says, and carefully positions her astride him.

Catherine climbs atop him, wishing she wasn’t wearing a day gown with so many underskirts. But at least she’s not burdened with wire crinolines. It’s been a long, difficult, and frankly sweaty few days, and all she wants now is to be as close as possible to this man as quickly as she can manage it.

This man—the one with the emerald-green eyes and the black curly hair and the good, sweet soul—is hers. Andrew McGann is hers. She settles astride his hips with less grace than she’d like and reaches for his face, careful to avoid his injured thigh and ankle.

“Andrew,” she says, cupping his cheek in her hands. “All I want is for you to be my Andrew.”

“Aye. You have me.”

She leans forward to kiss him—a soft, languorous slide of her tongue against his lips, the rain keeping time on the roof and filling the air with the wondrous scents of Jamaica.

This, she thinks, is how I’d have wanted my wedding day to be, if I’d married for love. Air redolent with wild ginger and plumeria; hair tucked easily back in a simple twist. No glitter or crinolines or gowns with starched layers. Just this man with his blazing eyes and dark skin and sweet tongue.

Just the two of us together. Just Andrew and Catherine.

He meets her kiss, his arms holding her tightly against him. “Are ye certain, lass?” he asks, but she only puts her finger to his lips.

“More certain of this than of anything I’ve ever done in my whole life. Now lie still. Please.”

“You know I cannot resist when you ask nicely.”

“I do know,” she says, lifting the hem of his linen shirt. He wears no cravat nor overcoat here in the tropics. Another thing to like about Jamaica.

“Better,” she murmurs, and lays her lips on his bare throat and neck until he groans beneath her.

“Stay still,” she says as his hands come around to grip her hips. “Or you’ll hurt yourself.” She tweaks his nipple lightly and he jerks beneath her. “Still, Andrew.” She grins at him. “Or—”

She puts her teeth on him and bites. Just a little nibble, her teeth scraping lightly against his sensitive flesh.

“Careful, Menace,” he says and gives her rear end a swat. “Or you’ll be in for more than you bargained for.”

“Is that right?” She shifts her weight to standing and slowly unties her underskirts, letting them drop to the floor in front of his widened eyes. And then, once rid of them, she drops back to her knees beside him.