Page 59 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
“Where are we going? I thought we were staying.”
“We can come back. I want to make sure they get to their hack safely.” The image of the drunken sot assaulting them would not dissipate. He had been that very drunken sot, and try as he might, he could not forget that or forget his past. He focused on the task of protecting the women to keep his gut from roiling.
They watched from the door of Astley’s as the two women climbed into a hack and it rolled away. His muscles loosened a bit, and his body slumped.
“You’re unwell,” Ada said, wrapping her arm around his wrist. “This day has been a shock for you.” She tugged him out of the building. “The sun’s too hot. Come.” And she towed him around the side where the sun slipped behind the building, casting them in shadow. She guided him farther into the alley and positioned him with his back to the wall. “Now breathe, Cassius.”
He did as she commanded, slowly, focusing on the way she said his name—firm and forgiving—on how she stepped in front of him so he could smell the tart sugar lemon of her skin, the way she ran her knuckles up and down his forearms from wrist to elbow and back down, then back up, offering him comfort, strength, herself.
“Ready or not,” she said, “you’ll have to speak with your brother now.”
He swallowed. A mere half hour ago he’d thought himself ready but confronting his past in the form of the sot (his old self) and Willow (the woman he’d most wronged) had dashed the dream.
He might never be good enough to stand in the same room with his brother again. He might never be good enough for his brother to want him nearby, as a friend and confidant.
When he’d let his demons chase him to the bottom of one whisky tumbler after another, there had always been a darkness at the end of each and every glass. And he’d fallen into every one, tumbling back out the other side and into another glass—an endless loop of pain and hopelessness.
The idea he might never win his family back, never be good enough for them, felt like that—an infinite, horrific nightmare.
But what else could he do? He’d followed a plan set by an American genius, bought a notebook to be like Bax, put his estate to rights, and found a good woman to teach him how to behave. He’d even let her beneath his skin, into his bones.
Would none of it be enough?
That very morning, he’d felt like he’d stepped out of the past and into the future, and Ada had opened the door for him. He wanted to protect instead of hurt; he desired to give pleasure to others instead of taking it for himself. Wasthatenough? He still stood in a dark alley with an innocent woman.
Only villains did such things.
Good men only stood in dark alleys or behind shadowed statues or under raining trees with innocent women if they intended to—
His heart thumped in his chest.
Intended to…
His brain flicked through every word he knew to make sure he’d landed on the right one, then it clung tothat wordand would not let go, the selfish bastard.
Hecouldn’t.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said. “It’s not good to stew.” She tangled her hands in his. Her green eyes held oceans of concern. He wanted to see what other creatures those harbored, to wake up next to her every morning, letting her slip into his soul a little more.
He put the words on his tongue in the right order then set them loose upon the world. “I find myself rather preoccupied with marriage.”
Her eyes widened and her hands jolted away from his arms. She took two stumbling steps backward, away from him.
He’d caught many women, and he’d catch her, too. He lurched for her and crashed her against his body for a kiss. Her hands flew to his chest and pressed against it with flat palms. Her lips turned stone beneath his.
For half a breath.
Then, she melted, curled her fingers into his coat, and tugged him against her. Hard. Yesterday’s kiss—the first one—had been sweet and soft. The second a harsh warning for her and himself. This one moved hard and frantic, desperate. She scratched at his shoulders, tugging, and arched her belly against him. She bit his lip and tugged that too and met his tongue with her own when he stroked the seam of her mouth.
The cool air of the back alley ignited a fire inside him. The hum of the crowd, so close, pushed urgency through his veins. A hint of the taboo. Never breaking the kiss, he rolled until she stood between him and the wall, trembling and trapped between his forearms. He swept his lips up her jaw, tugged on her earlobe, tasted lemons. Some soap? Tart and perfect. He kissed her neck, shoved his knee between her legs.
Her breath caught. Then she arched her back and pressed her core into his leg with a whimpering moan.
He’d wanted this embrace to demand everything and take it.
Now that she seemed to be losing a battle to move closer to him than physically possible, he wanted to slow her down, to take his time, to teach her how good it could be between a man and a woman, between him and her.
If they married, there would be time enough for such lessons. He would give her pleasure she’d never imagined to pay her back for everything marriage to her would gift him. She would be his proof—he’d reformed enough to take a wife. A good woman had agreed to marry him. Enough proof to earn his family’s trust and regard once more.
