Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!

"Very well then." Robidoux shoved Olivia toward him and raised the gun. "Your wife will die in your arms, as Pierre died in mine."

"No!"

Sebastian's agonized cry echoed through the narrow space as he reached for Olivia's stumbling form. He caught her close, spinning desperately to shield her with his back. The report of the shot was deafening, and he jerked as searing pain tore into his shoulder, barely missing his wife.

Suddenly Remington was there with pistol in hand, thrusting them out of the way. The second shot left a horrendous buzzing in Sebastian's ears, drowning out Olivia's sobbing. A quick glance backward assured him Robidoux was dead. Dropping his gaze to the rapidly spreading bloodstain on his coat, he prodded the wound with his working hand.

"It's nothing," he assured her.

She grabbed his lapels and attempted to shake him, her mouth forming words he couldn't hear but understood nevertheless. "Are you bloody mad?"

"Don't swear," he admonished with a roll of his eyes. Then he kissed her senseless.

Olivia rose from the chair next to the bed and felt momentarily dizzy, something that happened often as her pregnancy progressed. Sebastian was at her side instantly.

"What is it? You look pale." He pressed her back into the seat with his free hand.

"You're supposed to be in bed resting," she scolded.

"It's a blasted nuisance to be in bed all day. I'm wearing a sling, for Christ's sake. I'm not dying. You, on the other hand, look positively ill."

"It's nothing, darling. Truly." She'd been attempting to find the right time to tell him about the baby, but in the three days since he'd come home, so much had occurred that she could barely catch her breath.

His gaze narrowed. "I'll believe you when a doctor tells me the same."

"A doctor isn't necessary."

"You're not well," he insisted. "I've never seen you look less than the picture of health."

"I am completely healthy, Sebastian. If you settle a moment-"

"Like hell you are!" His wicked mouth tightened obstinately.

"I'm with child," she confessed with a sigh.

"What? Oh, God!" He dropped to his knees before her, his mouth pressing reverently to her forehead. "Bloody hell, why didn't you tell me before?"

"I never had the time. What with your persistent ravishment and the events of yesterday, when did I have the opportunity?" She leaned forward, burying her face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his skin.

"Olivia. Sweetheart." Sebastian pressed his mouth to her throat. "I love you. Please. You have to believe that."

"I do."

"I won't ever leave you again. If I have to journey anywhere, you'll travel with me."

She nodded. "I'm starting to believe you, my love."

"Yes. Believe me." He pulled back to look at her, his intense blue eyes filled with heartrending tenderness. "I'm no longer the man I was when I met you. You've given me reason to change, to hope. Reason to love."

Her small hands stroked his back. "Hush, darling," she soothed, trying to stem the flow of fervent words. "You're overwrought."

"Overwrought? Men do not become overwrought. I do not become overwrought."

Olivia cupped his face in her hands, smothering a smile. "Beautiful, sweet Sebastian. I've upset your delicate sensibilities."

He scowled. "Delicate sensibilities?"

"Yes, dear. I apologize. I'll have to be more careful the next time I tell you such news. You're high-strung."

"High-strung?" He released a frustrated breath. "Bloody everlasting hell, you've gone mad."

She pressed her smiling lips to his. "Don't swear," she admonished.

And then she kissed him breathless.

London, 1810

"What the devil are you doing in my club?"

Julienne looked across the massive mahogany desk into blue eyes the color of which she'd never seen before. Somewhere between deep blue and purple, they were fringed with thick black lashes that were shamefully wasted on a man. "I need to find my brother," she said, lifting her chin in defiance.

One black brow arched. "A message left with the doorman would have been simpler, Miss…"

"Lady. Julienne. And I attempted to leave messages. I have yet to receive a response." She shifted in her chair as the broadcloth trousers chafed the delicate skin of her derriere. The wig itched, too, but she refused to embarrass herself further by scratching.

"Dressing as a man was an original touch."

She heard the laughter in the velvety voice and scowled. "How else was I to gain admission to a gentleman's club?"

Julienne resisted the urge to flee as Lucien Remington rose from behind the desk and rounded it. She licked suddenly dry lips as she took in his height and the breadth of his shoulders. He was even more devastating up close than he had been across crowded ballrooms. Black hair and tanned skin displayed his extraordinary eyes to perfection. A strong jaw and generous mouth bespoke of his sensual nature, which was lauded far and wide by well-pleasured ladies of his acquaintance.

"Exactly, Lady Julienne. A gentleman's club. Those garments do not disguise the fact that you are all woman. Ridgely's foxed, or insane, not to have noticed." His perusal paused briefly on her breasts before rising to meet her gaze.

"No one noticed," she muttered.

"I noticed."

And so he had. Almost immediately. She'd been in the club only five minutes at most before he'd grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her into his office. But then, it had taken her only five minutes to make a mess of the whole affair.

His voice softened. "What is so urgent that you would take such drastic measures to speak with your brother?"

As he leaned against his desk directly in front of her, the material of his trousers stretched over firmly muscled thighs. He was so close she could feel the heat emanating from his body. She smelled a hint of tobacco and starched linen, and another delicious scent that could only be the man himself.

Remington cleared his throat, drawing her attention. Julienne flushed at the knowing smile that curved his lips.

She straightened her spine, refusing to be cowed despite how beautiful he was or how flustered he made her. "My reasons are my own."

Remington bent, bringing his mouth inches away from hers. "When your reasons include my club, I reserve the right to know what they are."

Julienne's gaze was riveted to his lips. If she leaned forward just a tiny bit, she could touch them with her own.

Would they feel as soft as they looked?

He pulled away, then lowered to his haunches and placed his large hands on her knees. She jumped at the heat that burned through the broadcloth. "Who is your brother?" he asked.

Julienne's mouth parched the instant he touched her, making speech difficult. Lucien Remington was simply gorgeous.

She'd always thought so, always compared her suitors to him and found them lacking in all respects. No one was as handsome, or as interesting, or as… wicked.

Her tongue flicked out to wet her bottom lip, and his eyes followed the movement. An ache came to the place between her legs. Julienne attempted to push his hands away, but when she touched his skin, her palms burned. She pulled away quickly. "A gentleman does not put his hands on a lady," she scolded.

His hands slid higher, squeezing gently, his mouth gifting her with a roguish smile. "I never claimed to be a gentleman."

And he wasn't, she knew. His determination and ruthless business acumen were the stuff of legend. If it wasn't precisely prohibited in writing, Lucien Remington would do it. He showed no leniency when it came to expanding his empire. He was widely disparaged for his "vulgar pursuit of money," but Julienne found it rather thrilling. He cared nothing for the regard of others, a nonchalance she wished she could affect herself.

"Now, about your brother…?"

"Lord Montrose," she blurted.

A devilish smile teased the corners of Remington's mouth. "That explains why he hasn't answered your messages, sweetheart. The earl owes me a great deal of money. I suspect he's avoiding me."

She said nothing, but she clenched her fists. Their situation must be worse than she'd thought. It was common for Hugh to carouse and spend days on end with his scapegrace associates. From experience she knew he most likely wasn't in danger. But that didn't ease her worry. Or their predicament.

"Why don't you tell me what you need?" Remington coaxed, his long fingers rhythmically kneading her lower thighs. "Perhaps I can help."

The sensations he elicited spread up her legs and into her breasts, flushing her skin. Her nipples hardened. "Why would you want to do that?"

His powerful shoulders flexed as he shrugged. "You are a beautiful woman. I like beautiful women. Especially troubled ones who require my assistance."

"So you can take advantage?" She stood, her thoughts and body in turmoil, and his hands fell away. "I should not have come in here."

"No, you shouldn't have," he agreed, his voice soft. Remington rose at the same time, towering over her. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders, and Julienne was forced to tilt her head back to look at him.

She turned to leave, but his grip on her elbow stayed her. Heat radiated from his fingers and spread through her body.

"Unhand me," she ordered in an unsteady voice. "I wish to leave."

She didn't, not truly, but she must. Remington's proximity was doing terrible things to her. Wonderful, terrible things. Things it most likely did to countless other women.