Chapter 6
There wasn’t going to be any rest, was there?
After a surprisingly delicious supper, Hunter led her upstairs to the room the dour innkeeper had indicated…and stopped short.
There was only one bed.
Only one bed?
“Fook,” he muttered.
Helena sent him a weak smile. “What was that you said to the innkeeper yesterday? Something about you sleeping on the floor?”
“Aye.” He dragged a hand through his hair as he kicked the door shut behind them. “I’ll make do by the hearth.” He plopped her valise down on the bed and nodded toward the basin. “At least ye’ve got hot water.”
“Yes,” she sighed, “but is it self-centered of me to hope there’s a possibility of an actual hot bath when we arrive at Stroken?”
She was looking so hopeful that Hunter had to chuckle as he shrugged out of the travel-stained jacket he’d been wearing for days. “Aye, lass, a hot bath is a given.” As he recalled, Stroken had the most magnificent bathing rooms. Space enough for two. “I’ll help ye scrub yer back.”
When her skin flushed and she turned to pretend to rummage through her valise, Hunter kicked himself.
The lass was married. He couldn’t be saying such things to her.
And yet.
Yet ye kissed her today, and she kissed ye back.
Aye, perhaps that was just the game they were playing, the ruse…but surely he hadn’t imagined the looks she’d given him over the last several days? The looks that said she liked what she was looking at, and secretly wanted more?
Hunter wasn’t above kissing married women; some of the best times he had had been with neglected Society wives who wanted a hint of danger by fooking a dangerous bare-knuckled bastard while their husbands were out tupping widows.
With Helena’s husband half a world away, he didn’t see any harm in a wee dalliance, if that’s what she thought was appropriate.
But he wasn’t going to push her for it. If she was determined to stay loyal to her vows, he’d not be the one to encourage her otherwise.
Nae more kisses, no’ even for the ruse. And dinnae offer to help wash her. Dinnae undress her.
Aye, all of this was good advice.
Advice which stuck in his jaw.
“I’ll just…” His throat felt like it was closing. “I’ll leave ye to yer washing, madam.”
Helena whirled about, the washcloth gripped in her hands. “You will be coming back? Not like last night?”
Last night: when he’d returned to the room, taken one look at the angel in soft white lying all vulnerable and exhausted across her bed, and realized he couldn’t sleep in the same room?
Even from the other bed, her whisky-and-honey scent was damned near overwhelming.
He’d covered her up, gone back downstairs, and got drunk enough to sleep in the stables.
He bloody well couldn’t tell her that, could he? “Aye,” Hunter choked. “Aye, I’ll be back, lass.”
If any of his opponents ever saw how quickly he ran from that room, they would have mocked him for being a coward. And perhaps he was.
Two drinks down in the taproom seemed appropriate.
He used the time to get friendly with the locals and ask some subtle questions.
The skills he’d learned from years of working for Bull were swiftly put to use, but save for the delicious ale, he gained nothing useful.
Well, he didn’t learn anything about strangers asking after Helena—and a woman as beautiful and unique as she was would definitely be noticed in these parts!
—so he had to assume they’d outrun her attempted assassin.
Whatever reason the bastard was trying to kill her, Hunter had whisked her away in time. She’d be safe at Stroken, and Uncle Thorne would send an entourage with them to Islay to protect her.
His fingers tightened around the beer mug. Aye, and if not, he would protect Helena on his own. The alternative was too horrible to consider.
The beer did its part, and he was feeling more relaxed as he made his way back upstairs. A good thing too, because those floorboards had not looked comfortable.
Which was all to the good, for when he stepped into the room, Hunter raised his brows. Helena was in the bed, which she’d dragged to the wall, the covers pulled up to her chin. And beside her…
“Are those pillows?” He locked their door behind him. “Blocking ye in?”
She wasn’t meeting his eyes when she scooted farther across the bed, practically hugging the wall. “They are a blockade. It is silly for you to have to sleep on the floor, Hunter, when this bed is big enough for both of us—”
With a groan, Hunter scrubbed his hand down his face. “So I’m to just stay on my side of the bed, and ye’re to stay on yers? Lass, it’s no’ going to work. Ye ken that, I ken that, everyone kens that.”
With a sniff, she managed to raise her chin without raising her gaze from his chest. “Why not? I have complete confidence in your gentlemanliness. Is that even a word? Your Uncle Demon would know.” Helena shrugged. “I…think you will be able to control any base urges.”
Ye’re the only one, lass.
On that vote of confidence Helena nodded firmly and rolled over to face the wall. “Turn down the lamp before you go to sleep, please.”
With a sigh, Hunter gave into the inevitable. Mainly because—damn him—he wanted to sleep in that bed. Wanted to feel her pressed against his side.
Still, precautions were necessary. He kicked off his shoes and placed them beneath the chair where he’d hung his jacket. He unknotted his tie and slid out of his braces…but that was as far as he was going. The rest of his clothing would remain very much on.
Since he preferred to sleep in the buff, it guaranteed he wasn’t going to get a good night’s sleep. But that was what he needed; to remain awake and watchful, just in case this assassin of hers caught up with them.
That’s what he told himself; it had nothing to do with making sure he didn’t ravish Helena in his sleep.
As it turned out, Hunter needn’t have bothered, because he didn’t sleep.
He lay there under the blankets, those ridiculous pillows stacked up at his side, staring at the ceiling in the darkness.
He heard midnight come and go, a church bell echoing out into the distant night, as he struggled with himself and his ridiculous arousal.
If he hadn’t been sharing a bed with her, he might’ve pulled out his cock and stroked himself to swift completion, just to get a bit of relief. As it was, he barely allowed himself to move, for fear of waking her.
It was a useless worry.
Mainly because Helena tossed and turned and murmured in her sleep enough for both of them.
The pillows? They did nothing to stop her.
By eleven, she’d kicked the covers off them both.
By midnight, the pillows between them had been moved; one tossed over him onto the floor, one shoved between her knees as she flopped over on her side, and one scooped up in a huff and slammed over her face.
Hunter couldn’t help but grin.
His little lady was far from ladylike in bed.
Only that phrase made him groan. The thought of Helena being unladylike in bed was something else entirely.
How easily could he imagine her taking control of her pleasure, of straddling him, riding him, her tits dangling enticingly above him.
What color were her nipples? The same dusky enticing shade as her lips?
He grabbed the pillow off her face and slapped it over his own to muffle his desperate groan.
Perhaps the lack of oxygen helped, because Hunter did eventually sleep. Or doze, at least, waking himself up any time he felt the urge to roll over. It was a fitful way to spend the night…
And then, just about the time that dawn was brightening the eastern sky outside the window, Helena began to toss about again, though somehow this was different.
She rolled to one side, then to her back again, back and forth with a little noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper.
Hunter pushed the pillow away and leaned up on one elbow—
Just in time to catch her as she rolled onto him.
Helena’s arm went across his chest, one thigh straddled his leg as she pressed her face into his shoulder. He held his breath, his body absolutely still, as she mumbled something and snuggled closer.
Christ Almighty.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember any prayers for restraint. Any prayers at all.
Perhaps that would’ve been the end of it. Perhaps he might’ve spent the rest of the night with his hands at his side, his cock throbbing against his trousers, her lying half on top of him…had she not moved again.
“Hunter,” she mumbled as she flexed her hips again, pressing her hot core against his all too aware thigh.
Unbidden, his free hand rose to her arm. Was it a nightmare? “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
But no, not a nightmare. Her hips rocked forward again. “Mmm, Hunter.” Again. Again.
Was she…?
Holy God, she was humping him?
“Helena?” His fingers tightened around her arm. “Helena, sweetheart?” Was she still asleep?
“Yes,” she sighed, grinding against him. “Please. Hunter, make me—ah.”
Hunter’s eyes closed with another groan. She was asleep, and she was having an erotic dream.
A dream about him.
Saints preserve him…
“Helena,” he choked out. “Sweetheart, ye have to wake up. Please?”
She merely moaned again and shifted herself upward, opening her legs further and brushing her delicious inner thigh against his cockstand. He groaned again and allowed his hand to move along her arm.
He needed to wake her up.
Why? Clearly she wants this. Wants ye.
Aye, but if she wanted him, let her want him awake as well.
How to wake her?
Well, there was always the obvious.
“Helena,” Hunter murmured again, shifting his arm under her to wrap her closer. His free hand slid along her arm to her shoulder, and then… Then he skimmed his touch across her collarbone and she arched back, thrusting her core harder against his thigh and her tit into his palm.
This time, when he squeezed, they both moaned together.