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Like being safe. Like being protected, for the very first time, from the slings and arrows of the world. And yet, at the same time, being held like this felt pleasantly dangerous.
Strange that it didn’t feel more dangerous, really. Wasn’t one meant to be terrified of criminals? But now that Abigail considered the events of the previous hours, yawning as the warmth of the man’s body overtook her, she realised that she’d never been truly terrified.
She hadn’t thought he was going to shoot her, for one thing. Highwaymen almost never did injure their victims; what would be the point? But it was more than that—there was something about the man’s manner, his slightly awkward treatment of her now that he was in his private space, which made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t a murderer or anything close to it.
She could be wrong, of course. She’d been wrong about things before, although nothing quite this important. But her instincts rarely misled her, and he’d been polite if clearly bemused by her presence, and… and his arms felt so good as he held her close.
She had to stay awake. She could enjoy this feeling as much as she wanted, here in the privacy of her own head, but she had to stay awake. As long as she stayed awake, nothing would grow complicated—but oh, she had to stay awake…
Morning dawned cold and clear. Sunlight crept slowly over the ground outside the cave, every pebble and blade of grass harshly illuminated despite the weakness of the sun in the early hours.
Mmm. Marcus’ mind, normally running along sharp, clear lines whenever he took on the guise of a highwayman, was full of lazy pleasure as he slowly woke. I’ve never felt so warm this damn cave before.
Had Abigail stoked the fire in the wee small hours? No—she didn’t look like the practical type, even if she’d been most resourceful in arranging her own kidnapping. And this heat wasn’t flickering and inconstant like that of a fire; it shone in every nerve and bone.
It was almost… sensual. Marcus had woken up after his fair share of erotic dreams with a cock-stand that needed taking care of, but this was different. No dreams, no frustration either—nothing but a delicious, playful sense of awakening.
He didn’t want to open his eyes just yet. This heat was so pleasant, so innocent and illicit at the same time, that he didn’t want to move at all. Why, it was almost as if he were home in bed on the sprawling grounds of his estate—or in a pleasure house, a sort of place he hadn’t been in quite some time since discovering the thrill of theft, snuggled close to an inviting woman of pleasure…
… The heat on his body shifted. Shifted, in fact, in a remarkably similar manner to a human body. A human body wrapping its arms around Marcus’ waist, so close to him that Marcus could feel the decidedly feminine contours of its—her—body.
Marcus’ eyes flew open. He was greeted with a cloud of soft brown hair pressed against his face; Marcus breathed in, not knowing what else to do, and found the scent of rosewater.
Fuck.
Abigail Weeks was… cuddling him. Cuddling him in a decidedly inappropriate manner—not that even the chastest embrace would be appropriate, but this one left approximately nothing to the imagination.
Was this a clumsy attempt at seduction? Some impetuous choice beyond the one she had already made? But just as Marcus was about to disentangle himself and make his reluctant apologies, Abigail gave the kind of deep sigh that only came with sleep.
Oh. Marcus, for all his noble intentions, couldn’t help a throb of satisfaction. I don’t have to let go of her just yet.
She had to have been cold. There were blankets in an old cedar chest at the back of the cave, but clearly she hadn’t wanted to wake him. And as a result, she was warm… and Marcus, despite knowing that he wasn’t meant to enjoy the feeling, was both warm and physically alive in a way he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
It would be rude to wake her. She’d had an eventful night, after all. He could try carrying her to bed, but that would be difficult to explain if she woke up in the middle of the journey—and oh, wasn’t he allowed to enjoy this feeling as much as Abigail clearly was, even if she was asleep and he was awake?
Just don’t get a cock-stand, for Christ’s sake. Just as Marcus gave himself that very important instruction, Abigail moved her hands to the base of Marcus’ back and gave another, softer sigh as she held him still tighter.
Bugger. Too late.
Fine. As long as he stayed perfectly still, a statue in Abigail’s arms, the fact that his cock was hardening in his breeches didn’t have to mean anything at all. Marcus closed his eyes, desperately conjuring up every horrible thing he could think of in a vain attempt to stop his body growing more erotically aware by the minute.
Imagining pond algae didn’t work. Imagining wet Sundays didn’t work, imagining dead bodies didn’t work, imagining empty brandy bottles didn’t work. The more that Marcus tried to close himself off from Abigail’s abundant physical charm, the more Abigail seemed to snuggle closer.
Oh, Christ. I’ve been thinking of her as ‘Abigail’ rather than ‘Miss Weeks’ or even ‘Abigail Weeks’ ever since I woke up. It hasn’t gone away in the night. Marcus bit his lip, fighting the urge to move his hands to the small of Abigail’s back. That’s not a good sign at all.
All he needed to do was wait until Abigail had fallen into a deeper sleep, then move away from her. It would be difficult, with a real risk of embarrassing both Abigail and himself beyond all measure, but he could do it. But just as Marcus was about to take the chance, Abigail’s breathing shifted.
Then she stiffened. Marcus kept his eyes firmly closed, forcing himself to breathe as slowly and deeply as possible.
No guessing about it now. Abigail was awake—very much awake, from the change in her breathing. But for some reason, she wasn’t moving away.
He could be the first one to say something, of course. That was very much in his power. But Marcus, his arms still tightly around Abigail as she slowly relaxed in his arms, didn’t want to say anything at all. Not a single word that could stop this intimate, blissful feeling that had been flooding his body ever since he woke up.
Move away if you want. I won’t stop you. With a great effort of will Marcus loosened his grip; he didn’t want Abigail to feel trapped. But as he slowly softened his embrace, Abigail tightened hers.
All right. The woman was awake, pressed tightly to him, and evidently wished to keep cuddling him. Marcus, biting his lip, wondered what sins he’d committed apart from robbery that could ensure such an erotically torturous fate.
He really, really wanted Abigail to touch him like this. That was a surprise in itself—but then, her arrival into his life had been surprising too. She was a breath of fresh, sweet-scented air from what little he’d seen of her, funny and soft and challenging all at the same time, and her body fit against his in a way that made Marcus want to grind his teeth with frustration.
