A Dangerous Temptation

By L.R. Olson

Ruined by scandal, Julianna has hidden away in the country for the last few years hoping her indiscretion will eventually fade from the memory of society. Yes, she’s been lonely at times, but she’s content enough to follow her own rules. And when that bothersome nagging sensation that she’s missing something more flares, she’s able to shove it aside and focus on her friends, family and her true passion...painting. Until James arrives. James is arrogant, demanding and makes her believe that anything is possible, even a second chance at love. But is James the man he pretends to be?

James always gets what he wants, and he wants marriage to a woman who will honor and more importantly, obey. The problem is when he meets Julianna, while he’s bathing nude no less, he suddenly starts to question his carefully constructed plans. Bold and daring, Julianna is the very opposite of a meek, obedient wife. He certainly doesn’t need any more scandal; his family has had quite enough. And having an affair with Julianna would definitely bring scandal. The problem is he can’t seem to get her out of his head. But is she truly the sweet country girl she portrays herself to be, or a conniving fortune hunter out to trap him into marriage?

A Dangerous Temptation
A Dangerous Deception

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.R. Olson
• Release date: Dec 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310958458

L.R. Olson

L.R. Olson currently writes Contemporary and New Adult Romance. You can find out more information at www.LROlson.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

Julianna

What’s your mother have to say this week, me dear Miss Jules? Ramona called out from behind the rose bushes where she was checking for new growth.

Mother was proud of her flowers, bragged about them to her friends, even though she had little to do with their welfare. She left the care of her prized blooms to the servants and only claimed interest when they drew attention.

I settled on the swing Mr. York had hung for me and Penny so many years ago. How much fun we’d had together as children. But those, I suppose, were simpler times. Before Penny became enamored with finding the perfect fiancé, before I’d been to London and ruined my chances. Long, long before I’d been deemed unsuitable. But London was in the past. There was nothing to do but move forward, or so Mother had said. Easy for her, she hadn’t become fodder for the gossiping ninnies of the ton.

Oh, she says very, very important things, I began.

Ramona grinned, as she snipped a red rose and brought it to me. One of the first flowers of spring. Greedily, I took the bloom and breathed deeply its sweet scent before tucking it behind my ear. I adored spring. The fresh and clean air, the excitement of a new year. Every morning something colorful and brilliant would pop up from the ground as if to say, "Hello, I’m here, lovely world!" You never knew what the day would bring.

It was a time of hope. Renewal.

It was also when my family returned from London.

A slight blight on the season.

I pushed my feet into the soft spring ground, sending the wooden swing back. The oak branch above creaked, warning that I was getting too old and big for the dear tree. For instance, Lady So-and-So wore red to the Royal Ball. Scandalous. I held up the letter, letting it catch the breeze and rustle. And Lord What’s-his-Name…why he did something truly disastrous and smoked a cigar directly in the path of the lady’s sitting room. Unforgiveable. He should be drawn and quartered. Or perhaps this would be an excellent time to reinstate hangings.

Ramona chuckled as she picked up her basket and pruning shears. You, my dear, are wasted out here where no one but the servants are subject to your wry humor and intelligence.

I grinned. "I don’t believe the ton would appreciate my humor or intelligence. Have you not gotten the missive? Ladies are to be seen and not heard."

She frowned. I thought that was children.

I shrugged. Same thing where society is concerned. I promise, Ramona, I want to be here. I can wear my favorite gown, just old enough to be comfortable. I latched onto my dark braid. No unnecessary hair pins that dig into my scalp. I’d much rather be here where I don’t have to worry about saying or doing the proper thing. No matter how ghastly my impropriety, you’ll always forgive me, won’t you?

She snorted as she wiped her hands on her apron. We’ll see.

I grinned. At fifty, the woman had never had children and had always doted on me and Penny. Do you need any help?

She waved me away. Off with you now. I know how much you enjoy your walks before dinner.

I sighed dramatically. If you insist.

With a flourish, I jumped off my swing and headed toward the trail that ran along the back of our garden and into the woods. Stately and ancient, the estate was made of locally quarried stone and covered in tenacious English ivy. And like most titled families, we had our handful of servants to help run the estate. Ramona had been with us since my birth, twenty-two years ago. Most of the staff had been here that long. If I married I wouldn’t be home, surrounded by my favorite places, my friends and family.

I adored Dorset with her green hills and sunshine, and had no desire to leave. Ever. I loved that every summer we took a trip to the coast as a family. While Penny, mother and I looked for shells, father would sit along the banks and read. I adored that every Sunday after church, most of the town would have a picnic, and would even share with those less fortunate. I loved our evening meals at home where we would argue over every topic under the sun. But most of all I adored the fact that after what had happened in London, the town had forgiven me. They hadn’t judged or belittled, because they knew me. The real me, and they accepted me flaws and all. Ours was a happy family, and a perfectly peaceful life.

But things would change, as they always did. Soon, Penny would marry and she would leave to start a family of her own. It wouldn’t be the same. My sister was shallow and self-important at times, interested only in clothing and the latest fashion from Paris, but she was still my sister and I loved her dearly. I could only pray she would live nearby, that I might be the attentive aunt to her children I so wished desperately to be.

I breathed deeply the musky scent of earth and spring as I folded the letter. Yes, I was perfectly content staying here for the rest of my life. After all, someone needed to take care of my parents. I had no doubt that Father would leave me a small stipend once they were gone. I could live out my days in a cottage by the sea. I might not have children or a husband but I would have that cottage, I would have my paints, and I clung to that dream.

I shoved the letter into my skirt pocket and followed the trail as it curved into the woods, wishing I’d brought my pencils and drawing pad. Most of the farmers were inside for their evening meals, leaving the countryside quiet, perfect and still. It was a comforting sensation I experienced as I crept through the woods…one of being watched by nature, yet accepted by the trees and the flowers and insects. They did not know about my past, they did not judge me. I was one of them, a mere living being within their atmosphere.

Within a few days my family’s carriage would come rumbling down the lane. An old and supposedly proper family, Father had always been proud of our heritage. Important families went to London for the season. So, although my father hated the city, we went. And I had as well until I’d ruined everything.

Once in a while I still caught Father looking at me with disappointment in his blue gaze. Mother did not hide her feelings as well as Father and I was often forced to listen to her lament upon what could have been. It stung, but the lectures were few and far between, and I knew they loved me and wanted me to be happy.

Yes, I loved them dearly. I also loved when they were gone and I had the entire house to myself. Well, as alone as I could be with fifteen servants as chaperones. A time when I could spend my mornings and evenings painting in my oldest gown. A time when I could take my dinners with the servants in the kitchen or in the parlor near a warm fire. My days and nights were completely my own. And so I would savor this time alone, for it wouldn’t last. At least not until next winter.

Hello, Miss Jules. Mr. York, the gardener smiled as we came across each other. He had a shovel braced over his shoulder, his cap askew upon his balding head. Going on your evening walk?

Was I so very predictable? At one time I’d craved excitement, adventure. But I’d been a naïve girl then. Yes, savoring the quiet until Mother and Penny arrive.

He laughed, showing a few missing teeth. He was at least seventy, and proud of the fact that he had any left at all. Now, they’re a good lot. Still don’t know why you don’t go as well. London is a right exciting place, or so I’ve been told.

I adored the fact that the servants pretended to know nothing about my little mishap those years ago. They’d forgiven me, forgotten, even if my parents and the ton hadn’t. I shuddered dramatically. The crowds. I feel like I can’t breathe.

How do you expect—

I know, I know. I’d heard it plenty of times before. How would I possibly land a husband if I hid here for the rest of my life? I’m meeting Cecilia, I lied. Have to go!

I hiked up my skirts and raced across the garden, praying no one would see me running like the heathen I’d been branded. My woods and isolation beckoned. I was friendly with the staff, too friendly, according to my mother.

They are lovely people, Jules, but they are servants. And it makes everyone uncomfortable when you treat them as equals.

But how could I not? They were family. Still, it made it seem as if I had multiple mothers and fathers at times, everyone telling me what I should be doing with my life. As if one set of parents wasn’t enough.

The setting sun pierced the new leaves, sending a lace-like pattern of light and shadow across the trail. In every object and in every scene, I saw a future painting. The dirt path curved toward the creek. A clear ribbon of water that grew deeper the farther one followed the stream.

Breathless, I slowed. Here, I could hide. Here, I could be with my thoughts. Perhaps they weren’t deep and meaningful, perhaps they’d never solve poverty or war, but they were my thoughts and mine alone. I found the creek, the low gurgle of running water sounding better than any orchestra I’d heard in London. Here, in these woods, I could be free. As free as an unmarried woman dared to be. I ducked under a branch and stepped into the clearing near the bank where the creek widened, but the sound of splashing water caught me off guard.

I froze, one foot in the clearing, one in the woods.

I’d seen men bathing before, but never had I seen a man like him.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, his skin warmed with a honey glow. My gaze traveled over the bulge of his biceps, down the length of his strong back, ending at his muscled bottom. My heated flush of embarrassment slowly changed into something entirely new. Attraction? Desire? I wasn’t sure.

With a trembling hand, I lowered a branch to get a better view. Completely improper, yet, I found I couldn’t look away. For a silly moment I wondered if he wasn’t real at all, but a dream. Or perhaps some mythical beast come to tempt me. He scooped up water and poured it over his head. Vaguely, I noticed the pile of clothing on the shore. Not a mythical beast then. Just a man.

The water splashed against his broad shoulders, trailed down his back, toward his bottom. Light pierced the trees above and shone upon his wet skin, making him practically glow. My hand fell to my bosom, my breath catching. If the back of him looked so incredibly good, what, I wondered, did his front look like? He scooped up another handful of water and poured it over his head, sighing with contentment.

A sigh that seemed to shiver its way through my very being. I had to bite my lower lip to keep from sighing in return. Who was he? Surely he wasn’t someone from our village. They knew better than to use our creek to bathe.

I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. The warmth I felt had moved from my face, down to my chest, and was spreading lower. Tight and achy. Feelings I had experienced sometimes late at night in dreams. Sinful feelings I didn’t dare dwell upon.

The artist in me wanted to settle down and draw him before he disappeared, and perhaps I would have if I had carried my pencils. The woman in me wanted to merely stare in utter fascination. The lady in me knew I needed to turn and run. I was no longer fourteen, I wasn’t with Cecilia, and my reputation was already tarnished. So why couldn’t I bloody move?

Are you going to continue to stand there spying, or will you hand me my clothes?

His deep voice cut through the sounds of my own tumultuous thoughts, startling me.

I sucked in a sharp breath and froze.

Well? he asked.

Dear God. No. My shock quickly gave way to utter humiliation. An embarrassed flush raced through my body, spurring me into action. I stepped back, right onto a branch which snapped loudly in protest.

Don’t you dare run, he said, turning to face me fully.

I didn’t let my gaze drop, I wouldn’t. I did. Not that it mattered much as the water came to his lower belly and showed only his chest. As I jerked my gaze up to his face, I became aware of the amusement in his dark eyes. Black eyes. His features were all hard planes, somehow combining into a face of masculine perfection. Firm lips, sharp cheekbones covered with a day’s worth of scruff…I’d never in my life seen someone so dangerously handsome. A veritable fallen angel sent to tempt my very soul.

Slowly, he made his way toward the shore while I stood there frozen. His front was just as perfect as his back. Valleys and mountains of muscle, sprinkled with dark hair. Greedy, I followed that thin trail of hair. The water lowered to his hips…lowered to…

With a gasp, I finally spun around.

Really, he said dryly. You could have handed me my clothing.

I…I apologize, I blurted, without much thinking about what I apologized for. I wasn’t expecting anyone.

I could hear the rustle of clothing as he dressed. Dare I bolt? He seemed quite adamant about me not running away. But then he was rather preoccupied. I could make a mad dash for home. Perhaps with the shadows from the trees, he hadn’t been able to see my features clearly and my reputation, what little I retained, would be preserved.

What’s your name?

Too late to run, as his voice came out from behind me. A warm caress of air across the back of my neck. I shivered, swallowing hard. My mouth felt suddenly dry. He could touch me if he dared, we were that close. I would not give my name to this man. He could ruin me. Blimey, what was I doing standing there like an utter fool?

Well? he demanded.

I’d rather not say.

He was silent for a moment. Fine then, I shall call you… Henrietta.

No!

He laughed, a low and gravelly laugh, and I realized he was teasing me. An embarrassed flush heated my face, not that he could see the color. I’d never cared before what someone thought of me, so why did I not want him to think of me as a Henrietta?

Why not? he asked the very question I wondered.

I knew a Henrietta who was rather dastardly, is all, I lied. I couldn’t very well tell him the truth, that Henrietta was the name of an elderly aunt, a spinster, and for some reason I didn’t want him to think of me as a spinster.

Dastardly? Was she a pirate?

I felt my lips twitch. Who was this man? Where had he come from? Perhaps. I believe I did spot a wooden leg.

Right then…Rose. I’ll call you Rose.

Lord, his voice was like warm milk sliding slowly down my body. I started to reject the name Rose as silly and childish, when I remembered the flower tucked behind my ear. One of the first blooms of spring. I wasn’t the only one who had been paying attention. As I’d noticed him, he’d noticed me, at least well enough to note the flower. Which meant…he had seen my features. I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to groan. My mother and father would murder me. They’d force me into a nunnery and we weren’t even Catholic.

You can turn now, Rose.

My hands curled. Did I want to?

Blimey, what did it matter, he’d already seen me. Taking in a deep, trembling breath I turned slowly, warily. He was dressed in a fine but simple linen shirt that clung to his damp skin, and buff trousers that hugged muscled thighs. His black hair was disheveled and damp, with the slightest bit of curl at the ends, only adding to his appeal.

But it was his gaze, that unrelenting gaze, which pierced and pinned me to the spot. I couldn’t have moved even if I had wanted to. It took everything in my power not to look away. Had he laughed earlier? I swore he had, but I couldn’t imagine this man smiling, laughing or being merry at all. I could only imagine him as a vengeful Greek God doling out punishments to the weak, or perhaps a warrior spawned to fight and kill.

He was tall, taller than I’d expected, and I had to tilt my head to look at his perfect face. And as I studied him, he studied me. Slowly, his gaze traveled over my features, then down my neck. I swore he paused for a moment at my bodice, before dropping lower…and lower. He could seduce a woman with a mere glance. It felt as if he actually touched me, trailed his fingers over my body.

I should have slapped him for his insolence. Arrogant, to say the least, he reeked of self-assuredness. Finally, his gaze returned to mine, and I realized he wasn’t a dandy after all. He might smile, might look like an angel, but in that gaze was the hardness of a man who was used to being in control, the sort of man who could turn on you at any moment. A wild animal. And we were alone. Utterly alone.

Do you always spy on men bathing?

Do you always bathe in public places? I blurted out as haughty as I could manage. Really, this was our land. Why should I be afraid? How dare he use our creek to bathe without permission. How dare he look at me like I was nothing more than a piece of property to own.

But my boldness was short-lived. I realized, as I stood there and he towered over me, all broad shoulders and biceps straining his shirt sleeves, that he could bloody well do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. How could I stop him?

He grinned and my heart stuttered. I’d thought him stunning, but when he smiled it was as if the very sun had burst from the clouds. I bathe in public places whenever possible.

He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. For some reason, it annoyed me. This man who probably seduced women, then left them ruined and destroyed. Oh yes, I knew his kind. So handsome that whatever he wanted was merely handed to him on a silver platter. I should have hated him.

Yet, I couldn’t seem to stop my body from reacting to his nearness, to his beauty. I had to resist the urge to press my hand to my chest like a love-sick ninny. His linen shirt was fine, and clung to his broad, wet shoulders. The buff trousers he wore were just as well made. He had money, at least. A viscount or baron perhaps? A wealthy farmer? I realized I was staring at him as if he was an oddity of nature and jerked my gaze away.

Are you impressed with what you see? he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

Less and less, I muttered, realizing he fully expected me to be impressed. Arrogant bastard.

But my comment only made his smile broaden.

Shall I drop to my knees, my lord? Wax poetically about your beauty?

His gaze grew hard. If you’re on your knees I’d prefer you were doing things other than spouting poetry.

Frowning, I attempted to understand his comment. It was obvious he was jesting about something I didn’t fully comprehend. I prayed he wasn’t titled for I could imagine the stories about me he’d take back to London. I’d already ruined my family’s reputation and didn’t need to add flames to the fire.

I was pretty enough in looks, although certainly nothing comparable to Penny. Perhaps I would have been considered prettier if I hadn’t always been standing next to my dear sister. And perhaps then someone would have married me despite what had happened. I was kind, thoughtful. I could draw and paint better than anyone. I hated sewing, but did it good enough. I could even sing rather well and play the piano.

But I was too curious. Much too curious, and it had led to my destruction. Since the years had passed I’d settled quite nicely into the quiet, spinsterhood of an unmarried woman. Now here he was, looking much too mysterious, much too handsome, and making me long for something more.

This really isn’t proper.

Please. He folded his arms over his chest in a way that told me he hadn’t a care what others thought. You’ve already seen me naked. It’s a bit late for proper, isn’t it?

Before I could answer, he turned away from me and started toward the bank.

I was so startled by his sudden departure that I merely stood there wondering if I’d been dismissed. Dare I walk away? Race back home and pretend as if I’d never met him? Well then, I started. He lowered to the bank, grabbed his jacket and spread it out next to him. I should—

Sit.

You can’t be serious, I blurted out.

He didn’t bother acknowledging my outrage, but pulled a bag close and opened it. Cheese, bread, a flask of some sort, he settled them all on the burlap sack. Are you hungry?

My stomach grumbled in response. Horrified, I pressed my hands to my belly and hoped he hadn’t heard, all while cursing my body’s betrayal. I couldn’t stay. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Would it? Blast it all, I’d already seen him naked. Really, I’d galloped past inappropriate minutes ago. But sitting with a stranger and taking food went beyond the pale. Besides, there was something about him that made me nervous.

Flushing, I turned. I should go.

Don’t.

I hesitated. It wasn’t a plea, it was a demand. A gentleman farmer who demanded? Who strolled through our woods like he owned them? Bathed in our creek as if he was God himself? He might feign being the gentleman but there was a strength underneath his many layers that told me there was something more to him. Something that hinted at danger, at power. Or perhaps I merely hungered for excitement and was imagining more than he portrayed.

I’m new to the area and know so little, he said, sounding quite innocent. I assume you were born here? There is an ease about you that says as much.

Curious, I turned to face him. Yes.

He smiled at me again, that heart-pounding smile that left me breathless. Come. Keep me company, tis the least you can do since you practically ruined me.

I frowned.

He shrugged, and looked toward the creek. The breeze shifted through his dark hair, ruffling the strands, and making him appear vulnerable, human. Really, I should demand marriage at the least.

I gasped.

He slid me a glance. I merely jest. Now sit.

I hesitated once more, unsure if I should laugh or run. It was inappropriate. Completely and utterly. Truth was, I couldn’t seem to leave. I liked the easy banter we’d had so far, the way he teased. In a way, it felt as if we’d known each other for years, instead of minutes. Just as it had when I was thirteen and had met Cecilia at church. Why not sit with him? I slowly moved toward the bank, my heart hammering so loudly I no longer heard the gurgle of the creek. Gingerly, I settled upon his jacket, feeling incredibly self-conscious.

He tore off a hunk of bread and handed it to me.

It was so very improper, sharing a meal. Something I’d done as a child when Cecilia and I would head into the woods, searching for fairies. I took the bread and nibbled. It was not rough and dry, but sweet and soft, of good quality. I glanced at his hands as I chewed. They were long, sinewy, strong, the fingernails blunt but clean. An image of those hands trailing over my face as he lowered his mouth to mine left me feeling achy and breathless.

Have you come to live here then? I asked, unable to help myself, even though I knew it was impolite to ask questions of a man I didn’t know.

I watched as he swallowed, his throat tanned and lean. I’m staying in the house across the field. Thinking about purchasing the property.

A gentleman farmer then? My anxiety eased slightly. Why, he would be our neighbor. The thought of seeing this man daily did not make me nervous as it should have. If anything, I felt strangely excited. If he bought the property, I’d never have to worry about coming across Welch, or more importantly, his son, again. Truly?

He grinned as he stared out at the water. Truly.

A tingle of awareness ran down my spine. He would be nearby…forever. Suddenly, remaining here as the spinster sister didn’t seem so bad. I took another bite, flushing over my impure thoughts. Surely he wasn’t married, for no married man would bathe naked, or share his meal with another woman. I had to resist the urge to grin. Let Penny have her titled gents from London. I’d make do with what was here, thank you very much.

He handed me the flask. I drank the ale without thinking. But it was as I swallowed that I realized his own lips had been where mine now rested. Too intimate. I gasped, choking. He took the flask, watching me with some amusement as I attempted to cough delicately into my sleeve.

Tell me…do you like it here? he asked. Are the people a friendly sort?

Oh yes. I nodded, clearing my throat. No more Welch and his son. No more reminder of what had happened in London. Very friendly. There’s no better place.

He smiled again, as if everything I did and said, amused him. Perhaps I should have been offended but I wasn’t. I enjoyed his smile too much to care. Would it be audacious for me to ask him to sit for a painting? Perhaps not audacious, but certainly not proper. Mother would never approve. Then again, Mother was not here.

Good, he murmured.

I liked the deep, seductive quality of his voice. Liked his musky scent that swept around me upon the breeze, taunting and tempting. He handed me a piece of cheese, our fingers brushing. Lightning jumped, branching from his hand to mine. I pulled back, startled. If he felt it, he didn’t react. Lord, was this what I’d read about in my novels? Was this the animalistic attraction that mothers warned their daughters about?

You never told me your name, I said, feeling as if I must say something, least he realized the affect he was having upon me.

He took a bite of cheese. James.

James. Yes, I liked his name. Regal, yet warm. I liked how he looked at me, long and lazy, as if I was a curiosity in a museum. I took in a deep breath and tore my attention from him, knowing I should tread carefully. Welch’s son would be gone, but I best remember this man was a temptation I did not need. Had I not learned my lesson in London?

And…you still aren’t going to divulge your name, are you?

I flushed, finishing my cheese so I wouldn’t have to answer. Tangy, creamy and ripened to perfection, the cheese was something only a man with money could purchase. Who was he and where had he come from?

He laughed again, deep and warm, yet slightly raspy as if he didn’t do it often. I see. Well, certainly you must tell me something. I did share my given name with you.

I bit back my grin. Fine. I like to draw and paint.

He nodded. The proper young miss then.

I shrugged, feeling embarrassed. He’d dismissed my love so easily. I didn’t merely draw and paint like all other young women painting landscapes in watercolors. I lived it. Breathed it. My colors were bold and vibrant and full of life. Not watered down versions of perfection. But how could he possibly understand? Still, his response annoyed me.

I noticed the black charcoal smudged against my fingertips, a common occurrence in my life, and began to rub them discreetly upon my skirts. Is there something you love, James?

He looked thoughtful and somewhat confused. He had no idea what I spoke of. I shifted so that I was on my knees, and peered into his eyes, searching for the truth. We were so close that I could see the scruff upon his jaw, see the silver flecks in his black eyes. It wasn’t fair for one man to possess such perfection. How I wanted to hate him for it.

I should have leaned back, kept a safe distance between the two of us, but for some insane reason I needed him to understand. Truly love. Fishing? Woodwork? Farming? When you’re doing it you feel lost, not of this world?

He looked at me, his gaze intense, and for a moment I could have sworn he understood. No.

Oh. Deflated, I settled back, feeling sad for him and slightly disappointed. "Well, that’s how I feel when I paint.

But he didn’t understand. I flushed, feeling foolish.

No, I said. It’s not just painting watercolors like all other women. It’s…my love.

Finished with my speech, I took in a deep, trembling breath.

How passionate you are.

Yes, he found me amusing, and this time it did hurt. He was a mere man. For the briefest moment I thought I had stumbled across someone who might understand. Someone sent to this very spot, just for me. I should have known better.

I thank you for the meal. I stood, brushing my hands against my skirts. The material was covered with dirt stains, charcoal and even a splatter of paint or two. I was a destitute ruffian compared to this angel of a man.

Why must you always dress like a servant? Mother had asked me so many times, I barely paid attention any longer.

Because, Mother, walking and painting are done better when one doesn’t have to worry about ruining one’s gown.

For a moment I wished I’d worn something prettier, but pushed the nonsensical thought aside. I’d only just met James, it didn’t matter what I wore. But I truly should go.

He merely watched me with those fathomless eyes.

Because I’d been bred to be polite, I added, It was lovely meeting you.

He grinned.

Flustered, I turned to leave.

Rose? he called out.

I paused, my back to him. I should have walked away. Why didn’t I?

Will you meet me here tomorrow evening? he asked. I’d like to ask you more about the area, since you are so knowledgeable.

Was he truly asking me to return? Surely there were any number of men he could talk to. I wasn’t stupid. He wanted me here because he’d felt the attraction too.

I can’t. I stared wide-eyed at the trees before me, my heart hammering madly in my chest, urging me to accept. I wanted so badly to return. Why? The man made me nervous…made me smile, made me feel alive. No.

You will.

I flushed, not daring to face him. The impertinence. I should have been angry, yet all I could think about was how thrilled I was that he wanted to see me again. It had been a long time since a man had showed me any romantic attention. And how do you know that?

Because, he said. You’re curious.

I smiled, although with my back to him, he couldn’t see the grin. Perhaps he did know me after all. Perhaps there was a connection. Perhaps we were as alike as I’d imagined. And perhaps I was a fool.

I promise to be fully dressed.

I should have said no. Instead, I found myself saying, Very well.

I didn’t wait for his response but hiked up my skirts and raced toward the trail.

Yes, I fell in love with James the moment I saw him. Or maybe it was lust, for it very well could have been. Either way I was smitten, taken under, controlled by his smile, his presence, his touch.

But I had no idea as I ran home, my chest tight with an emotion I dare not dwell upon, that the man would break my heart and change my life forever.

Chapter 2

James

Was I evil? A monster? Or merely a man without a soul?

Perhaps all three.

I wasn’t born this way.

No, I remembered caring a long, long time ago. Worried about my brothers. Worried about Evangeline. Even worried about that damn dog I used to sleep with on cold winter nights until Father said men did not sleep with mutts and had taken the dog away. Future lords could rely upon no one but themselves.

Or maybe that caring child was merely a dream.

Perhaps I’d always been a soulless demon, never having to worry about others, but only myself… as my mother had proclaimed so many times I didn’t bother to count any longer. But isn’t that how I had been raised? A leader. To be a leader you had to be ruthless for the greater good. Whatever that greater good may be.

I knew she would return.

Rose.

Silly name, for an innocent, naïve and trusting woman.

I knew she would return, and I knew it would be her downfall.

I would have her as I wanted her…on her back, her skirts around her waist, showing her a pleasure no man in this pathetic, small town could duplicate. Should I have felt guilty? Perhaps. But I had stopped feeling guilty a long, long time ago. Shame held no power over me. Now, I took pleasure where I could, when I wanted.

I paused just at the edge of the woods. To say I had been startled by my immediate attraction to her would not have done justice. Yes, I’d wanted women before, but not like this. The surge of lust that flowed through me was undeniable, uncontrollable.

She stood in the clearing waiting. The afternoon sun shone down around her, highlighting her dark locks and making them shimmer. A rush of heat flared through me. I wanted to bury my face in her silky hair. To kiss the delicate column of her neck while my hands trailed up her smooth thighs toward the very heat of her body.

There was something incredibly attractive about her innocent strength, her country sweetness. A buried passion just waiting to be released. Whatever it was…I’d wanted her the moment I saw her. Perhaps the moment I’d sensed her behind me while I’d bathed.

I had known she’d been female. How could I not? I’d heard her soft gasp of surprise when she’d come upon me. Sensed the way she hesitated in shock, and yes…interest. And in that moment I knew I had her. A passionate woman stifled by her country setting, just waiting for the right opportunity to be set free. I would be the man to release her true desires.

For a brief moment I hesitated. What if she was a servant from a nearby estate? A preacher’s daughter? It wouldn’t do to make enemies with the locals. I’d always been a rather rational man, and the rational part of me was demanding I leave her alone until I found out who owned this woman. Yet, as I stood within those shadows I couldn’t seem to move. She fascinated me. I felt the wolf and she an innocent sheep.

I’d once asked my rake of a brother Rafe if he’d ever felt guilty about seducing women. His response had been concise and shameless. Does the robin feel guilty about taking the last worm before winter? Does the hunter feel guilty about killing a deer to feed his family? Besides, they know what they’re getting. They know my reputation.

But this woman didn’t know me. She had no idea of my reputation. I’d never much cared for innocents. I preferred a mistress or two to see to my needs. They knew what was expected of them, knew what I liked and wanted. Was Rose an innocent? The blushes, the curiosity…perhaps. Yet, what innocent was allowed to race around the countryside unchaperoned? She was a mystery, and like all men, I liked a mystery.

Studying her as she searched the clearing, I understood why a man would risk everything merely to taste the lips of a woman, to enter her fully, completely. To brand her, if even for a short while, as his own. I wanted her. She stirred my blood in a way that it hadn’t been stirred in a long, long while.

I felt her presence like a hand trailing down my back. My entire body came to life when she was near. Hell, I wanted to lay her upon the moss and take her. Make her mine. When I entered her would her eyes widen with surprise, or would her true nature be erotic, wild?

She edged toward the bank and settled upon the moss. For a few moments she merely sat there as if waiting for me like a damn offering. And I watched her, warring with myself. I knew if I kept up this dalliance it would end with her underneath me, those skirts around her waist. I had accepted it the moment I met her.

She kicked off her slippers. Then slowly, she reached up under her skirts. My entire body heated. I felt afire. The whole bloody world seemed to lose air and I found it suddenly hard to breathe. She pulled one stocking down, then the next. How badly I wanted to lift those blasted skirts, to pull those stockings down for her, to have her completely naked underneath me. Gingerly, she reached out her leg and stuck her toes into the creek.

I could take it no longer and stepped from the woods. Back for more, Rose?

My voice came out gruff.

No, she said breathlessly. I couldn’t see her face and I so badly wanted to read her reaction to my presence. I actually thought to wade in the water, to see what the fuss is about.

By all means.

Absolutely not. She pulled her feet back and tucked them under her skirts. She wore a dress as plain as the one she wore yesterday. Not while you’re here watching.

I strolled casually toward her, the steady pace of my feet belying my racing pulse. You can spy on me, but I can’t you? Not exactly fair.

I paused next to her and could finally see her profile. Shite, she was as pretty as I’d remembered. Not as stunning as some women I’d fucked, but there was something about her… I admired her boldness, her candor, her natural curiosity.

She was blushing. You’re teasing me.

I laughed. I hadn’t laughed in a very long time. The sound felt strange and rusty coming from my lips. Whether her innocence was an act or not, she amused me. Perhaps. Have you never been teased?

She frowned, as if thinking it over. Hell, even her frown intrigued me. She wore her hair in a simple braid down her back, curly wisps framing her heart-shaped face. Pretty, but not stunning. I studied her features, attempting to untangle the unfamiliar thoughts running through my mind. Why her?

I don’t have any brothers, she said, and my father has always been much too serious to tease.

She grabbed her stockings and stuffed them into the pockets of her skirts, then pulled on her slippers. They were black, common-looking and slightly frayed. Her blue dress was decorated with tiny white feminine flowers, but the material was worn and smudged with dirt, or maybe it was charcoal if her love of drawing was true. There was even a small tear near the hem. Surely she came from no titled family. The relief I felt was immediate. Hell, I’d barely slept last night and had awoken hard and irritable. I needed her. Needed the dalliance, needed to forget for a while.

I do have friends with brothers and know how they behave. But teasing from you is familiar in a way I’m not sure is exactly appropriate.

Appropriate? She’d seen me naked. I’d just been staring at the delicate arches of her bare feet. Appropriate had left long ago. Damnation, no one was this innocent. It had to

Reviews for A Dangerous Temptation

[Samantha Gutierrez · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Best book I’ve read in a very, very long time.

[Alice Olayiwola · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Very good book, interesting storyline. A fresh take on complicated romance. Loved every bit of it even the characters.

[mariakritikou · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It was too tiring for me, sorry l did not enjoy it even if the characters were interesting.

[Leena Aluru · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

2.5 actually. It goes on and on. I'm tired and have skipped the last few chapters. Jamie is great. Jules is an idiot and what woman throws herself at a man without understanding the repercussions.