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“Show me what to do. I want you to feel like you made me feel.”
Suddenly, he wished he were her husband in truth. This was the sort of thing a new husband and his bride should learn together. He had no right to show her how to please him. She wasn’t his.
But then he’d always been a thief.
He put his hand over hers, moved her hand up and down, showing her the rhythm and speed he preferred. She learned quickly, mimicking his movements until he was groaning and gasping for breath. He grasped his shirt just in time to catch his seed when he came. He held it over his cock for a long time, his eyes closed tight as the tension from the day drained away.
He’d been with women before—he was no priest, though he was no lecher either. On occasion he had sought a woman out to try and distract him from the craving for drink. It had never worked. Until now.
“Will you stay?” she asked.
Nothing could have convinced him to leave Bridget. He wanted to sleep with her beside him. Even if he couldn’t touch her. He wanted her there where he could catch her scent and hear her steady breathing.
He turned his head to look at her, her lips swollen from his kisses. “I would have stayed without your hand on me.”
She smiled. “But then I wouldn’t have had a reason to touch you.”
“Have you been looking for a reason?”
“I did wonder if I only imagined how hard your chest was that night at the train station.”
He rose on one elbow. “The train station? I thought you hated me at the train station.”
She nodded. “Oh, I did. You were exactly the sort of man I loathed—charming and careless and always in trouble.”
“That doesn’t sound like me.” He grinned.
“It sounds exactly like you, but I underestimated you. Baron was right to choose you for this mission.”
“It’s more of a swindle.”
She ignored him. “You’re perfect for it.”
“And you make a good partner.”
She rose and walked behind the screen to change into her nightgown. “Hardly. I haven’t done anything. Besides...” Her voice trailed off.
“That’s not what I meant.” Shivering now, he went to the hearth and lit the fire, stoking it until it burned bright. “You’ve played your part perfectly. You’ll find out far more from the women tomorrow than I will from MacDonald. I couldn’t do this without you.”
She emerged from the screen, her eyes dipping to take him in, then lifting back to his face again. “Do you think you could...” She gestured to his nudity.
“You’ve already seen it, lass.” But he dressed in the warm shirt and loose trousers he’d been sleeping in and when he came out, she was already in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. But her eyes were wide and followed his progress to the bed.
“Tomorrow is the most important day of my life.”
He climbed into bed. “You’ll do your best, and if we don’t uncover the information we want, we’ll get it another way.”
“I don’t know how I’ll sleep. I’m too worried I’ll say the wrong thing or forget my accent or blurt out that I work for Baron.”
“Come here.” He opened his arms to her. She raised a skeptical brow. “I’ll just hold you. Nothing more.” She moved over, curling into him, her warmth coursing through him. “You won’t do anything wrong, and your accent hasn’t slipped once. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right.” There was nothing to worry about. Except MacDonald slitting both of their throats.
***
THE MORNING DRAGGED, and Bridget couldn’t find enough to do to keep her hands and mind busy. She made the bed three times, cleaned the entire chamber twice, and changed her clothing four times, even though she only had three dresses and one of them was the only one good enough for Sunday. She’d made Callahan so nervous he’d actually suggested they go to Mass. But as she’d never been to Mass before and her clumsy attempts to follow along might draw attention to her, Callahan rescinded the offer.
