Five years ago Drew Hibbard dismissed Rogan Brockport from his life. Now, they meet again at the Governor's Ball and Rogan will know the reason for the abrupt, unexplained cut. After Rogan saves Drew's life during a pirate raid, he kidnaps him and the perfect opportunity to extract answers from Drew is finally at hand. Betrayal Retribution Undying Love The Devil's Heel Special Content Alert: M/M A commotion near the open window drew his gaze. Above the rapid beating of his heart, he heard Lilyput, his beloved terrier, yapping from the bed. Drew's jaw dropped when a dark form slipped over the sill and turned to face him. He recognized the broad shoulders, muscular thighs and familiar stance. "You! What in hell are you about entering my residence uninvited?" Rogan smiled and stepped toward him with the nimble grace of a jungle beast. "I'd be pleased to enter through the front entry if you'd care to invite me in." Drew felt his throat constrict. "Stay back or . . . ." "Or what?" Under the amber candlelight, Drew saw every stunning feature of Rogan's face, including the gold flecks in his nut-brown eyes. "I'll summon Fallon, have him toss your sorry carcass off my property." "Intriguing but acrimonious. Do you wish Fallon to know about our sordid past?" "Fallon knows everything . . . "everything."" Rogan's eyes widened but only briefly. "That's twice recently I've heard those words, and I can't say I'm pleased. Still, it does simplify things." Drew watched Rogan make short work of his jacket and next, his waistcoat. Stunned into immobility, a shudder passed through him when Rogan freed the buttons on his trousers. Before Drew could blink, Rogan pulled a pistol from the scabbard about his shoulder and pointed it in his direction. "Take your clothes off, every stitch." When Drew hesitated, he pulled back on the hammer. "Do not think to test me; you know I'll fire." "You would shoot me?" Rogan shook his head. "No, but I have no aversion to shooting that mop rag on your bed." Drew's head snapped toward Lilyput and a short groan left his lips. Brockport would make good his threat. The man never bluffed. "Now," Rogan said with a nod toward Drew's clothing. With shaky fingers and rage bubbling up his throat, Drew unhooked the suspenders from his waistband and pushed his trousers and drawers over his hips until they fell at his feet. How he'd love to tell Rogan to go to hell and take his chances, but he couldn't risk Lillyput's life. How could he be sure the recent speculation about the man was nothing more than that, speculation? For all he knew, he'd shoot the dog and for good measure, finish him off before he left the bedchamber. His mind raced as the precious seconds ticked by. He could do nothing at the moment, but at the first opportunity, he'd attempt to disarm him . . . if he didn't succumb to the traitorous thrills snaking through his body first. "Step away from them." Drew obliged and lifted his head, waiting to see what Rogan would do next. He didn't look angry, but Drew couldn't dismiss the aura of danger sifting through the room or the cad's confident stance. Rogan meant business. "The shirt." "What do you intend to do?" Drew stalled for time and freed the buttons at a snail's pace before pulling his arms from the sleeves. Rogan flicked his chin up. "Toss it on the bed and drop to your knees. To answer your question, I wasn't certain what I intended to do. Until last night. After our little "tte--tte," I decided to finish what I started-fuck you senseless."