Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns by Leigh LaValle Page B

princess.”
    Helen’s smile faltered. She couldn’t help it, her gaze dipped down to his mouth as well. His beautiful, lush, kissable mouth.
    Rogues were like insects, she reminded herself, they cast a shimmering web then sucked the life out of you. She ought to be smarter than a silly fly.
    “Don’t look so sour. I’ll take pity on you and bait the hook myself.” Roane skewered the worm on the hook— ugh —and threw it into the swirling water. “You’ll want to keep to the small pools where the fish like to hide.”
    He handed her the twig pole and looked at her again, really looked at her with a long, assessing gaze that left her toes curling in her boots.
    “What?” Helen touched her hair defensively. She knew she appeared a mess—a bedraggled, sunburnt mess. “I’m sure my appearance is frightful, you needn’t tell me.”
    “Hardly.” His amber eyes were warm. “You don’t need fancy gowns to be beautiful, buttercup.”
    Oh, she wanted to believe him. As far as compliments went, his was simple yet effective. Truly, she did feel rather pretty, even in the murk and muck. It unsettled her. “Don’t you have something else to do? Go check your traps, maybe?”
    “Are you dismissing me?” He crossed his arms and laughed. At her.
    “You are very provoking, sirrah.”
    “Ooh, put down with a sirrah .”
    “What would you like to be called?”
    “Any number of things come to mind.” Slowly, with great intent, he uncrossed his arms and reached out to her. She did not pull away, as she should have, but stood waiting for his hands to finally—finally!—touch her. He traced her throat with his fingertips, from her jaw to her collarbone, until shivers cascaded through her. “But truly it is the tone of voice I should enjoy.”
    Helen swallowed. “You are a rogue.”
    “Yes, yes I am.” Roane winked and dropped his hands. She watched him walk away, chagrined that she should feel the loss of him. One thing was certain about Mr. Grantham—he was a complication of the worst sort. He was trouble, born from trouble and bound for more trouble. And he made her feel things she could not afford to feel.
    He stopped at the edge of the trees and glanced back at her. His blond hair shone in the setting sun like a halo. “I think we are safe for the night, even with our slow pace today, but you should stay close.”
    With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the trees.
    To cast his web in the shadows, no doubt.
     
    T HEY ENJOYED A LARGE DINNER of fish with wild garlic and mushrooms after which Roane left to tend to the horses. He reappeared thirty minutes later, strolling across the darkening clearing toward Helen, the two bedrolls tucked under his arm. He had shaved, and the bones of his face were cast in sharp angles by the firelight. He looked…different. Intent, like he had something on his mind.
    Frankly, he looked dangerous.
    Helen watched his approach, her heartbeat thick and fast. She should look away, she really should, but found she could not. At some point, perhaps while he’d been shaving, Roane had unbuttoned his shirt. The white fabric gaped open, revealing the banded, rough-hewn muscles of his chest. Powerful. Raw. Golden.
    The man was magnificent.
    Dazzling, really.
    And not good for her at all.
    Best she turn away, yes, give him her back so she wouldn’t be tempted to look again.
    “Where would you like to sleep tonight, buttercup?” He stopped behind her and leaned close enough the heat of his skin shivered up her spine. “Will you sneak into my blankets again?”
    She jerked her chin to the side. “Certainly not.” Her voice lacked conviction. She lacked conviction. The truth was, she hadn’t minded sleeping beside him last night. His hot, firm body pressed against the length of her. His arm resting just below her breasts—
    Goodness, these thoughts were not helping.
    “Don’t be absurd,” she said harder this time, speaking both to herself and to him.
    “Are you