Brogan fluffed the thin pillow as best he could before tossing it on the cot in the corner of Wil’s office. The accommodations were surely not to Lady Juliana’s liking, but the woman would have to make do. He couldn’t take her to his apartments; his neighbors would speak of nothing else for a month at least.
And he wasn’t letting her out of his sight until she was safely back home.
“A blanket’s there,” he pointed to a chest next to the cot, “and there’s a pitcher of water in the main office. ‘Night.”
Juliana stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Where will you sleep?”
He nodded through the door to the main room. The owners of the agency and Wil had separate rooms as their offices, but Brogan enjoyed sharing the large room with the other investigators. They tossed around ideas and theories on current cases with one another, laughed over absurd clients. For someone used to more solitary work, the brotherhood was a welcome surprise.
“I’ll be at my desk,” he said. “Good night.”
He stepped through the doorway, and she stopped him again. “Can you help me with my gown?” Juliana bit her lip and looked at the floor. “I don’t want it wrinkled by sleeping in it.”
His abdomen tensed. What she said only made sense, but he didn’t trust her new docility.
Nor did he trust his ability to keep his eyes from roaming.
“Or course.” He motioned for her to turn around, give him her back. He’d had years of training, of self-discipline. One half-naked woman wasn’t enough to make him lose his good sense. He’d make sure of it.
The elegant knot in her hair covered the top button. He brushed it aside, ignoring the silkiness of the strands, trying not to wonder what else on this woman would feel as soft. He pushed the pearl button through its hole. The gown sagged off one shoulder as he worked his way down her back. He kept his gaze off the expanse of skin he was revealing and focused on not tearing any of the buttons from the silly gown. Why did any garment need so many buttons? It was absurd. It was as if it were designed for the sole purpose of teasing a man, delaying his pleasure in seeing his prize, tempting him to follow the trail to its happy conclusion.
The last button rested just above the curve of her arse. A very fine, plump arse.
“Done.” He stared at the far wall, willing every muscle in his body to stand down. “Sleep well.” He stomped towards his desk.
“My stays…” she called from the doorway.
“Are not my problem.” He built a fire, poking at the logs with unnecessary force. Women. Did she actually think she could seduce him into betraying his duty? He glared at the flames.
“It’s too cold in there.”
Brogan started. In her bare feet, he hadn’t heard the dratted woman follow him into the main office.
Juliana stood before him, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders but dipping low enough in front for him to see the curve of her breasts over her chemise. Her long hair hung down her back, looking sexily tousled.
Apparently, she did think she could seduce him.
He sighed. “You can wear my greatcoat.”
“But then you’ll be cold.”
“I’ll stay by the fire.”
“Can’t I be by the fire, as well?” She shivered, her blanket dropping another inch. “Perhaps move the cot out here?”
Brogan pressed his lips tight. Unable to think of a reason to deny her request, he tramped back into Wil’s office and hefted the cot over his head. He dropped it down in front of the fire with a growl. “Now will you sleep?”
“Of course.” Sliding the blanket off her shoulders, she draped it over the cot.
Leaving her in nothing but her chemise.
The fire flickered behind her, illuminating the thin garment. The curves of her body were on full display behind the gossamer fabric, leaving little to his imagination.
He swallowed.
She didn’t have the best body he’d ever seen, her waist a bit too thick to give her the sought-after hourglass shape, her hips a bit too wide for fashion.
But she was soft and feminine and it had been a long time since Brogan had lost himself between a woman’s thighs.
He turned, cursing pampered, preening young misses who thought the world owed them whatever their hearts desired.
She pressed against his back, those curves feeling nothing less than perfect. “I’m sorry, Mr. Duffy, do I make you uncomfortable? I’d be happy to spend the night back at Bertie’s if that would be easier for you.”
He snorted. “Very generous of you. No, we’ll both stay right here. You in your cot, me at my desk.”
She heaved a deep breath, her breasts sliding against his back. “As you like.” Her heat dissipated. “These are lovely. Did you make them?”
He turned. She held his whittled swan. He strode to his desk and took it from her hand, placing it back in its spot. “Yes.” He pulled his work in progress from his pocket and added it to the line of figurines. He’d learned his lesson one too many times falling asleep with a hard piece of wood so close to his bollocks.
“What do you do with them?” She picked up the swan again, running her finger along its smooth back.
“I’ll paint that one and give it to my sister.” He gripped the back of his neck, not liking how she stroked the wood. It gave him inappropriate ideas. “She’s ten. She likes that sort of thing.”
“Any other siblings?”
“Another sister.” The trouble-maker. “She’s nineteen.” His hands twitched to grab something, so he took the whittling from her again and placed it back down. “Now go to bed.”
“If you wish.” She clasped her hands behind her back, making her bosom rise. “Though, if this is to be my last night of freedom, I’d have no qualms about making it a memorable one.”
He dragged his gaze to her face. He barked out a laugh. “You’re that forward with your favors, are you? Do you think I’m stupid? You see a banged-up ex-boxer and think I don’t have a brain in my head?”
It was what most people thought when they saw him. The broken nose that hadn’t healed straight. The thick shoulders and short neck. He was a bruiser. A brute. Men like him weren’t supposed to think, only take orders. It was why he still couldn’t believe the Bond Agency had hired him as an investigator. He’d applied, expecting nothing more than an enforcer position. But Wil and the owners had seen past his appearance. And he wasn’t going to let them down by tupping what might be the sweetest pussy ever offered to him.
“Do you think I don’t see through you as easily as I do this bit of linen?” He fingered the strap of her chemise, the backs of his fingers brushing against her collar bone.
She opened her mouth, shut it. “I…I don’t think that.”
“‘Course not.” He huffed. “My size and crooked nose must have reminded you of your men in those philosophical societies.”
Juliana tilted her chin. “You’re a very handsome man, Brogan Duffy. Surely you’re used to a woman’s interest.”
He rubbed his thumb over her shoulder. How far would she play this game? Not all the way, surely. Not the daughter of an earl.
He stepped close. The scent of lavender teased his nose. He should play along. He lowered his head, their mouths inches apart. See how far she’d go. She obviously thought a man used his smaller head to make decisions, and it would be a great pleasure to have her then disabuse her of that notion.
She stared at his mouth, her breaths growing short.
He closed the distance another inch. He should give this proper young miss something scandalous to write about in her journal. Show her how a working man fucked, what she would be missing with those bloodless toffs.
She leaned into him, her belly nestling against his hardening cock.
It was so tempting. She was that tempting. With her soft skin and glistening eyes. Her set shoulders and determined airs. He enjoyed the feel of her body against his for one more moment, then stepped back, putting distance between them.
“Go to bed.” He strode to the main exit and pulled a desk in front of the door. There’d be no sneaking off while he got some sleep. He dropped into his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave the vixen one last glare. Dipping his chin, he closed his eyes.
Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. His first case was at a close. It had a successful resolution. He should be happy.
He slitted his eyes open, watching as Lady Juliana lay down with her back to him, her shoulders hard under the blanket.
Why the hell wasn’t he feeling happy?