His Scandalous Mistress: The Master's Mistress / Count Toussaint's Pregnant Mistress / Castellano's Mistress of Revenge

Elizabeth eyed him ruefully. ‘Just another one of those “useful” skills you learnt in the army?’

His mouth thinned. ‘Yes.’

‘You weren’t just another soldier, were you?’ she asked slowly, knowing that the skills Rogan had so far shown didn’t quite match up to that role.

The scars she could see on his body had only confirmed her suspicions.

He had lowered his lids over the darkness of his gaze. ‘I told you, I’m not going to talk about this any more today, Elizabeth.’

‘Or ever?’

‘Or ever,’ he confirmed.

‘Because, as you said, you would have to kill me if you did? Or because you just don’t want to?’

He turned to stare out across the ocean. ‘Maybe both… ’

‘Maybe?’

His eyes were hard as onyx as he turned back to look at her.

‘Why the interest, Elizabeth?’

Her eyes widened at the accusation in his tone. ‘You don’t imagine that I’m trying to get information out of you for the other side, do you?’

Rogan gave a hard, humourless laugh. ‘Who is “the other side” nowadays, Elizabeth? I don’t know, and I’m pretty sure no one else does any more, either.’

‘In other words, it could very well be the woman lying beside you… ’ Elizabeth said thoughtfully.

He gave her a sideways glance. ‘Is it?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’She sat up to express her indignation.

‘Is that what I’m being?’ Rogan mused. ‘Ridiculous? What did my father know about you when he hired you? Come to that, what do I know about you?’

She glared at him. ‘That I live in London. That I teach History at a university there.’

‘Those are only the obvious facts, Elizabeth,’ Rogan pointed out wryly. ‘Who are your associates? Your friends? What are your political leanings?’

‘I don’t have any political leanings—all politicians are as bad as one another, from what I can tell,’ Elizabeth said. ‘And my associates are highly qualified people as dedicated to teaching as I am.’

‘And your friends… ?’

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably under the sudden intensity of that dark gaze. ‘I have a couple of female friends from school that I keep in touch with… ’

‘What about men?’ Rogan probed softly. ‘Who do you sleep with? Share pillow-talk with?’

‘Pillow-talk?’ she echoed breathlessly.

‘If you prefer it, post-coital conversation,’ Rogan drawled.

‘I don’t!’ Elizabeth said frowningly.

Rogan turned so that he was now lying only inches away from Elizabeth, their thighs almost touching. ‘You don’t prefer it, or you don’t engage in post-coital conversation?’

‘Both!’ In spite of the coolness of the early-morning air, Elizabeth suddenly felt very warm. Because of Rogan’s close proximity? Or the intimacy of their conversation?

‘Is the latter because you don’t have a man sharing your bed at the moment, or do you just prefer not to talk after sex?’

Her cheeks burned. ‘Stop interrogating me, Rogan!’

‘Believe me, it’s preferable to what I really want to do!’

Elizabeth’s gaze avoided Rogan’s as she saw the heat that had suddenly entered those dark, caressing eyes. Instantly making her aware of how her breasts were clearly outlined by the clinging material of her black costume, the nipples pebble-hard and aching!

She moistened salty lips. ‘It’s probably time we were going back now—Rogan?’ Her gaze was raised to his in alarm as he reached out to curve his hand about the nape of her neck. ‘Rogan!’But she could only protest half-heartedly as that hand tightened and he began to draw her inexorably closer to him.

Elizabeth couldn’t move, felt totally captivated by the intensity of his eyes as his gaze so easily held hers. Her lips were already moist and parted as his mouth claimed hers. First gently, searchingly. Then hungrily as he opened her lips even further at the same time as he pulled her into his heat and curved her body into his much harder one.

Her response was instant. Spectacularly out of control, and her hands moved up his chest and she clung to those wide muscled shoulders as Rogan’s lips continued to devour and claim hers.

She didn’t have the will-power to protest as Rogan lowered her back down onto the flatness of the rock, was too lost in pleasure as they kissed with lips, tongues and teeth. Fiercely. Hungrily. Elizabeth’s hands moved restlessly across Rogan’s back, tracing and caressing each and every scar in a way that seemed to increase the hunger of his mouth as it moved passionately over hers.

His hands moved to curve about the firm thrust of her breasts, the soft pad of his thumbs tracing the outline of her hardened nipples, the elusiveness of those near caresses sending rivers of expectation, pleasure, pooling between Elizabeth’s thighs.

She wanted—Oh, God, she wanted… !

She broke the kiss to gasp. ‘Please, Rogan… !’ And that gasp became a shuddering cry as he lowered his head to claim the fiery tip through the material of her costume, drawing the nipple into the heat of his mouth and laving it with the rasp of his tongue…

There was so little clothing between them, only the thin material of their bathing costumes, but it was still too much as far as Rogan was concerned. He wanted to see, to touch, to kiss every silken inch of Elizabeth’s bare flesh.

He moved his mouth reluctantly from her breast so that he could move back slightly, his dark gaze resting briefly on her flushed face before he glanced down to watch as he drew both straps of her costume slowly down her arms, pulling the material down even further so that he could bare her breasts, full and lush, the nipples a deep rose-pink, perfect in their arousal.

The skin of his hands looked dark against the pale creaminess of her flesh as he sat up to cup the fullness of both breasts, claiming those nipples to roll them, gently squeeze them between thumb and finger. Rogan felt his thighs throb in the same pleasurable rhythm as Elizabeth half sat up, her hands resting back against the rock as she thrust her breasts forward in silent offering.

Rogan groaned his satisfaction as he moved to kneel between her parted legs, and then bent his head to take one delicious-tasting nipple into his mouth even while his hand continued to lavish attention on its twin.

She was so responsive, and Rogan couldn’t get enough of her as he turned his head to pay attention to her other nipple, licking, biting, sucking, pleasuring her until Elizabeth writhed against him, her breasts jutting higher so that he could draw her even further into his mouth.

His erection was thick and hard, pulsing with need, and Rogan was almost losing control just at the thought of having Elizabeth’s lips on him, about him, in that intimate way.

He was breathing hard as he finally raised his head. ‘Touch me, Elizabeth. For God’s sake, touch me!’

Elizabeth immediately obeyed his plea, moving a caressing hand down the tautness of his muscled abdomen until she could cup the hardness between his thighs, instantly feeling the way his arousal, so long and thick, leapt eagerly, hotly, against her hand.

Rogan reached between them to push his trunks down his hips and thighs and throw them aside, his arousal jutting forward eagerly as Elizabeth’s fingers closed about him and the soft pad of her thumb touched and stroked him until he hardened even further.

Elizabeth moaned softly at this physical evidence of Rogan’s arousal. He was steel encased in velvet, the blood pulsing fiercely, hotly, as he swelled beneath her questing hand.