Ashley touched my chin, closing my still gaping mouth. I expected him to pull away, but his fingers stayed, drifted, inching their way to my lips.
“How was I revived when you pulled me from the sea?” I stared up at him, hypnotized.
“Flemming put his mouth on yours.” He traced the curve of my bottom lip. “He gave you breath until water squirted from your airway.”
“He did what?” I’d never heard of such a thing. “That worked?”
“I should say so.” His gaze lowered, caressed the rise of my breasts above the stays, and returned to my eyes. “I’ve never met anyone so full of life. It pains me to imagine your…vitality being choked from your body.”
A flutter swarmed my belly as the tips of his fingers touched my throat, tracing my pulse. Choking was exactly how this would end if he continued on his path. But for the first time, I glimpsed a genuine struggle in him, an inner battle that gouged creases into his serious brow.
While his king’s desires came before his own, he didn’t want to deliver me to England. Deep down, he knew I would be convicted and hanged.
Choosing a pirate over his country was nowhere near a possibility in his mind. But the situation unsettled him. He liked having me around, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.
He lifted me into his arms and lowered us into a nearby chair, arranging me sideways on his lap with my legs propped on the table.
“Relax.” He touched his lips to my temple.
I hadn’t realized I’d tensed. It seemed my body didn’t trust him. As it shouldn’t.
Releasing a sluggish breath, I ordered my muscles to loosen one by one. Softly, gently, I sank into the cradle of his brawny frame and dropped my head onto his shoulder.
He stretched out his legs and deepened his recline, letting the cadence of the storm lull us into a profound sense of serenity. Now and then, he indulged in his need to untangle my curls—unraveling the wet strands with patient fingers, smoothing out the tresses from roots to ends, and breathing rhythmically with the movement of his hand.
With each stroke, I snuggled closer until my lips rested against the hard lines of his jaw. He had the smoothest skin I’d ever felt on a man, and he smelled delightful, so clean and virile. I couldn’t resist the pull to nuzzle him.
He allowed the intimacy and played in it, too, brushing his mouth across my cheek and against the ticklish place beneath my ear. Off and on, he dropped tender kisses along the frame of my face, seemingly unaware of his effect on me as he absently petted my hair and stared off into the rain.
His affection was neither lust-filled nor expectant. He didn’t grab me or grope me or hurry this along to some indecent end. He was giving me a connection, a closeness that was bigger, stronger than bedplay.
We were meaningful together. Intricate. An unlikely bond formed in the dwelling place of souls.
The moment felt unreal, like a dream between time and space, with no boundaries, no titles. We weren’t enemies in this sphere. We weren’t captor and captive or lord and pirate.
We were but two people who came from and belonged to the sea, reaching for each other because it felt right. It felt natural.
In the security of his arms, I floated into slumber, waking periodically to his lips grazing some part of my face, his breath rustling my hair, or his hands roaming the shape of my hip.
As the rain tapered off, I woke fully and found him watching me with an engrossed expression.
“What is it?” I tried to sit up.
The hand in my hair brought me to a halt and held me there.
“You’re fragile when you let your guard down.” His voice rumbled, setting my chest aflutter. “This spot… Just here.” He touched the curve between my neck and shoulder. “It’s so delicate and feminine. Like the
softest silk.” He caressed the dip again, making me twitch. “You’re ticklish. Even when you sleep. It’s…remarkable.”
I stared up at his beautiful, impassive face where excellent breeding met intelligence and sophistication. Carved and polished from head to toe, he was a nobleman through and through. And a damned good commodore, too, with eyes that missed nothing and an iron will that never bent.
What did he want with me in his arms? What did I want beyond my freedom?
There were no painless answers to those questions.
With each passing second, my intent to win his love felt less like a devised plan and more like a fate I couldn’t stop or control. I needed his affection. Not to use as a means to escape.
I didn’t want to escape Ashley Cutler. I didn’t want to betray him or lose him in any capacity. The greedy, unreasonable truth was I wished to keep him and hold him just like this every night.
What did that mean for Priest?
Did it matter? Priest irreparably hurt me, and Ashley was betrothed. In the end, I would end up alone. Or hanged.
Which was why I needed to stick to the plan. Love hurt. It betrayed and ruined. My plan was safe. It protected me, not Ashley or Priest. It ensured I wouldn’t be the one destroyed in the end.
Not only that, Priest was on my tail right now, and he wouldn’t be receptive to discovering I’d fallen in love with another man.
Had I fallen?
No, not quite. But as our gazes melded, those eyes held mine with an intensity that filled a terrible void inside me. The way he looked at me made me feel special, desired, almost loved.
I was doomed.
My need for this, for the sort of all-consuming love I could have with Ashley… It was greater than my survival. It was more essential than life. More significant than death. It was immutable. Immortal. Beyond all doubt and faith.
I needed him, plain and simple. Which meant I could never hurt him. I could never let Priest hurt him.
As I slowly came to terms with this, I was fantastically, undeniably terrified out of my mind.
I tried to straighten my twisting thoughts, tried to curve my lips into a casual smile, but nothing worked right. Not my brain. Not my mouth. I was cracking. Weakening. Losing my sanity.
We sat motionless, bodies entangled, gazes locked, sequestered together in the fading light, for no other reason than because we fit so perfectly this way.
It was too real. I wanted this too badly.
Doomed.
I looked away, but his stare stayed with me. His eye contact… Good God, it was more intimate and private than anything I’d ever experienced. Staring at him felt like making love, only closer, deeper, farther reaching.
What was this sorcery?
“Bennett.” His accent caressed. A delicious torment. Sensual.
Excruciating.
I closed my eyes, trying in vain to draw air. The need he roused in me was so beautiful and frightening it was all I could do not to weep. I felt it rising—the scalding emotion, the swelling in my throat, the wetness behind my eyelids.
Warm hands framed my face. “Look at me.”
I placed a palm on his chest to push him away. He covered my touch, flattening it to flexed muscle. His heart hammered, strong and fast, and mine tripped over itself to keep up.
Opening my eyes, I found his lips an inch away, the tantalizing seam parting, drifting closer. “What are you—?”
“Your kiss, madam.” He planted it on me, buried it in me, deep and devastating, with a pledge to grow.
His mouth imparted so much passion and potency it stunned my senses. The sensual glide of his lips, the twist of his fingers in my hair, the roll of his tongue against mine—the execution put me to death and brought me back to life.
My chest heaved with the force of my gasps, threatening to tip my breasts over the stays. Then my legs were shifting, readjusting with the help of his hands. We moved together, bringing our bodies as close as possible on the chair.
I settled onto his hard, powerful thighs, straddling his hips—all of which gave his mouth better access to mine.
With my fingers in his hair, and his arms holding me tight, he kissed me through vast, unexplored eternities.
I poured everything into the union. Every part of me filling with heat and giving it back to him ten-fold. He mated with my mouth as though the connection was all he wanted, all he needed. I sank into his passion, welcoming his hard body between my legs as he rotated his hips and ground against my aching.
He felt wonderful, so solid and male and him, the man I’d slept next to for a week. I flicked my tongue against his, whirling, teasing, tasting the sky and the sea and every desire between.
“Touch me.” He panted against my mouth, his hand sliding down the front of my stays.
His lips feasted, and his palm covered my breast, encouraging me to explore.
I didn’t slow at setting my fingers upon the muscled meat of his abdomen, but glided my touch downward, reaching into the space between our spread legs. There, I clutched his throbbing response.
“Christ.” His sharp grunt fanned against my lips, and his hand tightened on my breast.
Holy mother, he was enormous. I traced the swollen outline through his breeches, following the hard curve along his thigh. The length of him stretched from my wrist to my fingertips and farther still. He was thick, too. Thick enough to feel for days after he impaled it.
“Are you pleased?” He grasped my arm, holding my hand against his erection.
“What?” I didn’t like the sudden clip in his tone or the meanness in his grip.
“Does the size of my hunger meet expectations?”
“Exceeds, I should think.” I pulled on my arm. “If you unhand me, I’ll show you my appreciation.”
His fingers opened, and I lifted my hand to cup his face.
“You feel incredible, Ashley.” I searched the chilling blue of his eyes. “Not just the hard parts of you. But the tender ones.” I leaned in and tasted his full sweet lips. “I find your softest parts the most pleasing.”
His gaze warmed, his chiseled features losing their sharp edges as he kissed me back. He molded his hands around the back of my head and
rubbed his mouth against mine, watching me between the unhurried, languid rolling of our joined tongues.
Magic pulsed between us, producing marvels with every touch. My entire being assimilated to the harmony of his, joining us on a level neither of us understood. I knew he felt it. He wore the thunderstruck look of a man who was sinking fast and forgot how to swim.
The temperature of our licking grew hotter, more carnal, and soon the air dripped with fire, spitting sparks across my skin. I wanted to slow it down, to savor the moment and capture the intimacy.
With my hands framing his face, he mirrored my pose, holding me the same way. We lingered in that embrace, kissing, sharing eye contact, as hidden forces bound us closer and tighter together.
Until he pushed back.
His arms fell to his sides, and something snapped between us, twisting a dark, helpless feeling within me. Slowly, our connection frayed and broke. A wall went up, emptying his expression. Then he shoved me off his lap and onto my knees.
“Unlace my breeches and take me out.” He rose from the chair, towering over me. “Don’t make me wait.”
Kneeling at eye level with the erection straining beneath the fabric, I knew what this was. Detachment under the guise of possession. The ugly kind of possession that had no obligation or respect for the object possessed.
A cold sensation, wrapped in hurt, knotted in my belly. I wasn’t prepared for the humiliation. Wasn’t prepared for my body’s trembling betrayal or the tears that swarmed my eyes and cascaded down my cheeks.
He reached down and caught a droplet with his finger. “What’s this for?”
“I don’t want us to be like this.” I flung him a sharp look, and more tears fell. “I don’t want to be your whore.”
I was ruining everything, sabotaging my own plan.
He rubbed my tear between his fingers, studying me with a tedious mien of righteousness. At length, he gripped me under the arms and set me on the chair. Then he disappeared into the aft cabin.
My stomach sank as I cursed my foolish, irrational behavior. What the hell was wrong with me?
It wasn’t long before he returned, clad in full dress—cravat, waistcoat, frock, breeches, buckled shoes. His armor.
As he stepped before me, bending to put his face in mine, I braced for the consequence of my stupidity.
“We’re not equals.” His mouth, that had kissed me so sweetly, now twisted into an authoritative sneer. “Don’t forget what you are or why you’re here.”
His fingers shook as he grabbed his hat, jammed it onto his head, and left.
The sound of the door shutting gave my body permission to release its pain. I doubled over and clapped a hand against my mouth, muffling the pathetic sounds that erupted from my chest.
If he were any other man, I would never tolerate such indignity. But as my captor, he could speak to me in whatever manner he wanted.
But he hadn’t wanted to be so cruel. I’d glimpsed the emotion in his trembling hand. I’d heard the creak in his voice that didn’t match his detached proclamation.
Indifference hadn’t walked out that door. There’d been regret in his footfalls and a burning in his eyes.
He was fighting this hard and unraveling fast. What did a man do when he unraveled?
He lashed out.
We’re not equals.
Those words were for him. He clung to them, desperate for the reminder, because he knew where this was headed, and he had about as much power to stop it as I did.
Fated. Destined. Whatever name I gave it, I’d felt it the day we met. But awareness didn’t make it hurt any less.
As I stared down at my bandaged foot, registering the smarting throb, I suspected there would be more stumbling and more pain before we found our way.
