Chapter One
Jonas stood bare-arse naked before a crackling fire, bathwater dripping down his chest. There was no time for a proper dry off. The drapes were stirring in his bedchamber though the window was closed. He snatched velvet breeches off the chair and slipped them on, casual as you please—minus his smalls. All his clothes sat in a battered sea chest next to a pair of black boots peeking out beneath blue drapes.
Boots that weren’t his.
With a cautious hand, he lifted a heavy dragoon pistol off the mantel, keeping an eye on the modest-sized side boots. A lad? Who would want to ambush him here? His coming home to Plumtree should be of no consequence, not after ten years gone.
The village and his grandfather’s stone house hadn’t changed much. Humble, quaint, and cramped. He didn’t belong here. Not anymore. The sooner he took care of matters with his grandfather, the Captain, the sooner he’d be on his way.
But, his first order of business was dispatching the unskilled housebreaker.
“I know you’re hiding behind the curtains. Show yourself.”
The boots didn’t move. Howls of laughter drifted up from downstairs. Christmas Eve celebrations must be going well in the parlor. The house burst with fresh pine boughs and spiked cider, the green and spicy scents floating everywhere.
“Come now,” Jonas said, buttoning his placket with the pistol in hand. “This is not a night for ill will.”
Housebreaking was a serious crime with grisly consequences. He’d give the lad an earful while sneaking him out by the scruff. But, it’d have to be quick. The Captain was expecting him…all the better to convince Jonas to stay for good. Raucous guffaws exploded through the floorboards. Mr. Goodspeak, fine soul that he was, brayed the loudest. Fiddle music played a Yuletide carol in double time while salty, old sailors stomped a bad rhythm. The Captain must’ve shared his best whiskey, the kind that warmed a man as good as a woman.
Weary from a hard day’s ride, Jonas could use a dram. And a woman.
“I’ll count to three.” He padded barefoot across the room, holding the dragoon against his thigh. “One…two…”
The drape bulged with the business end of a pistol. Jonas froze. This changed the complexion of things. Eyes narrowing, his finger curled over the trigger.
“…thr—” Jonas dropped low and rammed his shoulder into the housebreaker’s midsection.
“Umph!” A shiny piece clattered to the floor. A fine Spanish wheel lock.
Jonas kicked the weapon backward. Fists pummeled his back as white hot pain shot up from his toes. He looked down at a black boot mashing his foot.
“Enough,” he growled, hoisting the lad over his shoulder.
Foot throbbing, Jonas spun away from the window. Cloth ripped overhead. The drapes and rod crashed down on their heads. Whoops and hollers rang through the house. The Captain and his cronies had to be deep in their cups not to hear this scuffle. Jonas knocked the wool off his face as the housebreaker kicked and…squealed.
Squealed? He squinted at the bottom wiggling against his cheek, and the split second cost him. A knee jabbed his ribs.
“Oomph!” His gun slipped, and the brass buttcap hammered his already aching toes. Air hissing through clenched teeth, Jonas hop-stepped to the bed. “Stop!” he bellowed and landed all his weight on the lad.
The bed rattled from the assault. The housebreaker sunk into the down mattress, fighting hard. Blue drapes sheathed the fool from head to toe. Jonas drove his head into the criminal’s chest and two mounds pressed his face. Soft, round, and jiggling.
He blinked, a slow smile forming. He was nose deep between sizeable breasts—an excellent pair as breasts go swathed in old drapes.
“Well, bugger me.”
The housebreaker wheezed. “I’d…rather…you get off me!”
Jonas rolled sideways and clamped his thigh across her thrashing legs. The woman’s mouth gaped behind wool like a caught fish. She flopped like one, too. A feminine hip squirmed at the juncture of his thighs. Fingers clawed the curtain. His midnight visitor tussled fiercely with the drape, the bed ropes creaking madly beneath her.
“Shhh. Let me uncover you,” he said, staying her busy hands.
“So you can shoot me?”
“No. So you can breathe easy.” His grip on her wrists was full of authority. “We can stay like this all night, or you can trust me. It’s your choice.”
Yellow firelight danced on waves of mussed bed sheets. Land-locked sailors sang off-key below stairs. Music pitched fast and high from the parlor, but the storm on his mattress calmed. Tautness in the wrists he held eased a fraction. The housebreaker lay stiffly against him, smelling oddly of…vinegar.
She panted against the drape. “You call those choices?”
“Best I can do for a woman who pointed a pistol at me.”
Grumbling came from the drape. Jonas’s blood pumped with satisfaction. His lush, midnight visitor was at his mercy. This homecoming wasn’t so bad, not when the housebreaker’s hip brushed his ballocks. He grinned, liking her pliant against him. The skirmish was over.
“Well?” she said, her body lax. “Are you going to get this off me?”
Copper-hued hair shined through a tear in the cloth. The woman in his bed was a gift trussed in blue wool, excitement in his otherwise dull Christmas Eve. It was time he unwrapped his present. He stuck a finger in the hole and yanked. Threads snapped, showing bold brown eyes staring at him through tangled hair. Ready to see the rest of her, he ripped thick cloth with both hands down to the soles of her scrubby boots.
A lovely mouth opened wide and sucked fresh air. “Thank you.”
His comely housebreaker lay dressed in homespun breeches and a plain shirt open at the neck. A gentleman’s faded bottle green coat flopped wide as she brushed hair off her face. Exquisite breasts free of a corset, shift, and waistcoat ruined the mannish disguise. Cambric stretched across dainty nipples at the center of curves flattened as nature would have it when a woman was on her back. The siren’s chest rose and fell with alluring rhythm, the sight striking him speechless.
“Did you get your fill?” She snapped her coat shut and laughed. “Welcome home, Jonas Bacon Braithwaite.”
*
Sin-black hair with angelic blue eyes shouldn’t be an earthly possibility, yet Jonas wore the combination as though his appeal didn’t matter. Plumtree’s rebel son was never one to charm the ladies; his brother Jacob owned that talent. In his youth, Jonas had muddled through conversation when the fair sex flirted with him. From farmer’s daughters to highborn ladies, women were drawn to the quiet lad like flies to honey, but this man with a gold piece twinkling from his ear dripped with confidence.
Olivia sat bolt upright. “What’s this?” She tapped the gold hoop. “Were you a gentleman of fortune? Possibly a pirate?”
His head jerked back at her familiar touch.
She smiled and braced a hand on his bed. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
The notion pricked her pride. Her chin tipped higher and she waited. She’d been a girlish fourteen when Jonas last saw her, and he a strapping young man of twenty.
Eyes scrunching, he searched her face and form, a warm tingle following wherever his gaze touched.
“Livvy? Livvy Halsey?”
“In the flesh.” She nodded at his well-formed chest. “And you might want to cover some of yours.”
Massive arms crossed his chest, the muscled hills and trenches of those limbs earned from years of sea going adventures if the tales she’d heard were true.
“You’ve seen my chest before.”
Oh, but not this fascinating version of Jonas. The flesh she’d seen had been when village lads held a wrestling match in her family’s meadow. Battling barefoot in shirtsleeves and breeches, Jonas took all comers. Two of them attacked him at once. A boy grabbed his shirt and the fabric ripped in two.
“Explain yourself,” he said. “What are you doing in my bedchamber at midnight?”
Skin on her neck flushed, the heat dancing feather-soft to her cheeks. She wasn’t a child to be reprimanded. Or was it Jonas in a state of dishabille? His placket was half-fastened, and the fire’s dim light touched shoulders wider and stronger than she remembered. Black curls framed brown male nipples, the discs as intriguing as the coarse black hair encircling them. Her body wanted to stay put, but her brain cried for distance.
“I, I came to get something.” She slid off the mattress, her bottom brushing his bed sheets, the intimate sound seductive. The Jonas of her childhood was the heart of mild infatuation, but this man made her body sluggish and her pulse heavy. She gripped the ends of her coat, needing something to hold. Their tumble warmed her to the core, so did the view of him bathing.
She’d not timed this well at all.
“Don’t play coy,” he said. “Last I saw you, your braids were flying as you galloped away.”
“And last I saw you, your lips were stuck to my sister.”
Chuckling, he leaned back on the bed post. “How is Elspeth?”
Her fingernails dug into her coat. “She’s well. Married and widowed since you’ve been gone.”
Black brows knit together as Jonas absorbed the news. Head shaking, his blue gaze pinned her. “Sorry to hear about her loss, but you need to explain yourself.”
“I think not. Years ago, I might’ve done your bidding like a tame puppy, but I’m not a child anymore.”
His smile pinched at the corners. “I noticed.”
Barks of laughter rang through the house. The Yuletide song was done, the cue for her to leave. She smiled gamely, taking a cautious side-step toward the wheel lock. Jonas must’ve read her intent because he was off the bed nimble as a cat, standing between her and the gun.
“Don’t be stubborn, Liv. What about your mother and father? They must be worried.” A subtle frown clouding his face, he focused on his half-fastened placket. “This goes beyond the pale…even for you.”
Spine straight, she owned her choices. There’d been many painful ones of late. The timing aside, she didn’t regret her theft. But, stealing from a dear, childhood friend—even a long absent one—wasn’t easy.
Not when his gentle baritone chided her.
“You’re not answering me.” Jonas slipped a brass button into its red velvet hole.
Such large hands. Mouth slack, a shiver skimmed her body. Facing him, she couldn’t make her tongue work. A muscle bulged in the valley between his thumb and forefinger. Long fingers skimmed his placket with a deft touch, the veins and sinew twisting under his skin. Was he as careful when touching a woman? She swallowed peculiar thickness in her throat. Jonas required answers. It’d be nice to tell him who carried the burdens at home now, but to what end? Childhood was gone, taking some of her openness with it. Jonas wasn’t long for Plumtree. Better to give blithe evasions, same as she did with everyone else this year.
“My mother and father are safely abed,” she said. “Where I need to be, if you’d be so kind as to forget about my being here.”
“Not likely.”
Ruby red velvet hugged brawny thighs. Jonas glowed with good health, his flesh brown as a roasted coffee bean. Above his placket, stomach muscles flexed with grooves and hollows. He’d seen the world and by the looks of all his gloriously sun-kissed skin, the world had seen Jonas.
She licked her lips, her boots shuffling a side-step to the window. “Come now. We always looked past each other’s questionable exploits.”
“As you aptly pointed out, we’re not children anymore.” Brows furrowing, he glanced at the door. “How did you get in here anyway?”
She tipped her head at mullioned glass. “The window by way of your oak tree.”
“A grown woman climbing trees.” His face split with a lovely grin. “Haven’t lost your spirit, have you?”
She smiled back. Strong and quiet, Jonas was the steady one in childhood storms, even when he stirred up trouble. She was tempted to curl up by the fire and ask him to spin tales of his travels. Being with Jonas had been the best part of growing up, but reckless days following the Braithwaite brothers were long over. She had her work and her family’s circumstances to consider. A raven-haired adventurer wasn’t part of her path. Seizing the moment, she took quick steps to the window before the night worsened. The Spanish wheel lock would have to wait.
A long arm blocked her way. “You should leave by the front door. It’s safer.”
“I can’t,” she cried. “The Captain and his guests will see me.”
“What? You break into my bedchamber at midnight and you’re worried about what’s proper?”
“I don’t make a practice of this.”
“I can tell. You’re not very good at it.” He flipped open his sea chest. “You haven’t told me why you’re here. Settling some score with the Captain?”
She held her breath when he searched the chest. Would he notice the empty leather purse? Jonas peppered her with questions, his hurried hands grabbing clothes before shutting the lid. This wasn’t about the Captain. This was about Jonas. The pilfered piece was tucked in her coat pocket.
“I’ll…I’ll tell you before Twelfth Night ends. I promise.” Her voice was strained. “Let me leave quietly. Consider it a boon to an old friend.”
Jonas held his shirt aloft, his deep blue stare scalding her. Her heart thudded. Air was heavy between them as laughter exploded through the floorboards. Jonas fit the white shirt over his head, the corners of his mouth tight when his face showed again.
“It’ll cost you.”
His smooth baritone sent a delicate shiver across secret, feminine skin.
“You can count on me to pay my debts.”
The surprise was how much she still cared for him, the unexplainable depth beyond friendship and girlish infatuation. Their lives entwined from years of scrapes and merriment. Time hadn’t diminished the bond. Contrary to what she’d said, she wanted him to bid her sit by the fire and question her midnight visit. Instead, Jonas gave up easily. He quietly accepted her refusal like a man keeping polite distance, a man who couldn’t involve himself in her affairs. Not anymore.
Watching him dress was personal, yet Jonas donned his clothes with a casual air. A twinge sunk in her stomach: Had he grown comfortable dressing in the company of a woman?
“You’ll want to take that home.” Jonas tipped his head at the wheel lock, his fingers flying over pearled waistcoat buttons.
She retrieved the weapon and held it up by the barrel. “I brought it in case I ran into one of the Captain’s friends…a woman’s precaution if you will.” She tucked the pistol into the back waistband of her breeches. “I am sorry I pointed it at you and for stomping your foot. I was frightened.…everything went fast.”
He slipped on a well-traveled boot. “You’re forgiven.”
Between his smile and the room’s muted light, her legs refused to budge. She’d watched him shave and bathe tonight. The image of him barefoot and shirtless in travel-worn breeches as he dragged his razor across his jaw had burned into her mind.
“My friendship is true as it ever was. If you need something…” Jonas’s half-hearted words trailed off.
His obligatory offer wasn’t enough. A man chasing down his next adventure couldn’t help her. She needed someone to stay. Plumtree’s gossip claimed Jonas would be gone when Twelfth Night ended. The still packed sea chest confirmed the news.
She unlatched the window panel, and Christmas Eve bathed her face with cold air. “Thank you for understanding.”
“We’ve shared worse scrapes,” he said, donning a red velvet coat.
She held on to the window frame and hooked a leg over the ledge. “Red velvet. Dashing attire for a pirate.”
“Don’t climb out yet. Let me get outside to see you safely off.”
He disappeared from the room. She took one last breath of his lingering scent, a spicy, foreign aroma that clung to his sheets, the air. Plumtree’s quiet lad, her childhood friend, was all grown up. From downstairs, male voices overlapped with hoots of laughter through the open door. It was time to go. She swung her other leg out the second-story window. Grabbing a branch bare of leaves, she planted both feet on a lower limb and scooted toward the trunk. The climb down was easy, a matter of descending the tree’s convenient symmetry. Her feet landed on the ground not far from the parlor’s back window where light glowed on new fallen snow. Fiddle music whined as Jonas jogged around the corner, his breath puffing tiny clouds.
He made an imposing silhouette, his heavy black coat spanning colossal shoulders. “You were supposed to wait.”
“Why?” She shook out the cloak she’d left on a shrub.
“So I could catch you if you fell.” His voice caressed each word, half-amused and a touch sensual.
Her hands stilled. Eyes the shade of lapis lazuli glinted with messages she shouldn’t be receiving. As a woman of twenty-four years, she was acquainted with lust. Was this shift in Jonas because he’d glimpsed her bosom tonight? He’d courted her sister, not her. Confusion swirled inside her—glee at being the object of his fancy and disappointment that her friend held the better part of himself back.
Jonas was a man after a kiss. Nothing more.
What else could she expect? He was leaving Plumtree after all.
“I’d better go.” She spun around and whipped on her cloak.
Behind her, boots crunched snow and pebbles. Light snow had fallen on Plumtree, sprinkling the world clean and white. She fastened the first frog when a firm hand touched her shoulder.
“Let me help you put that on,” he murmured in her ear though his voice said let me take that off.
Flesh pebbled across her bottom. His baritone strummed delicate nerve endings along her inner thighs. There was something solid and poetic in his voice, a combination that made no sense, yet with Jonas, it did. Eyes closed, she willed composure.
“Livvy,” he whispered and her knees weakened.
Was it possible a woman could sink in a sea of lust with a childhood friend? They’d spent summers together hunting tadpoles for goodness’ sake.
Big hands grasped her shoulders and turned her around. She opened her eyes and he filled her vision. Moonlight limned ink black hair not long enough to be tied in a queue. Jonas had to have shaved his head and was growing it again. And his gold earring…it winked at her.
Yes, they both had their secrets.
Inside the house, fiddle music ebbed. Silence curled as mysterious as the crisp winter air. The Captain and his friends rumbled a new song without the fiddle, their solemn voices blending for the first time.
“God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…”
Jonas cracked a smile. “At least they don’t sound like howling cats.”
Their bodies shook with gentle laughter. She could lose herself in him, the comfort and the thrill. Jonas dipped his head, his vivid blue gaze taking her breath away. Infinite stillness lit the depths of his eyes. Her lips parted to announce she was leaving, but Jonas slipped both hands into her unbound hair, urging her close.
Her breath hitched at large, warm hands cradling her head. Gentle heat melted her. Her thighs brushed his. She wanted Jonas…his touch, his friendship…whatever morsel of happiness he could share during his short stay in Plumtree.
Her lashes drooped. The world was his spicy soap, big hands riffling her hair, and baritone whispers of, “You’ve grown up, Livvy…beautiful, lively…”
Carnal lips rubbed hers, softly coaxing her mouth open.
Tender, poignant messages poured through her limbs, saying you were made for his kisses.
His mouth opened over hers…the lusty shock of it. She gripped his coat, fisting the wool. Her lips parted for Jonas, and the world was unsteady.
Plumtree’s rebel son tasted of sharp cider and sweet, sensual promises. He teased her, his tongue skimming her lower lip before slipping into her mouth. Her body swayed into him. Their kiss deepened, and her tongue touched him back. Tremors rocked her from head to foot from the long, intimate kiss. Wet heat shot anew between her legs, but the strongest ache banged inside her heart.
Kissing Jonas was a sampling of life as it was meant to be. Vibrant. Complete. Perfect.
His mouth on hers was an invitation.
And she was ready to say yes.