Without warning, he bent his head and kissed her. She fought beneath his weight, remaining powerless, her limbs trussed, incapable to push him off. She gritted her teeth together.
He coaxed, gently persuaded, enticing her mouth to open, and when she finally did, Claire felt as if she were being dipped into fire. His lips heated and tormented her, rousing a sudden fever that seemed to originate in the marrow of her bones. His hands slid around her shoulders and to her back, pulling her roughly to him, pinning her against the soft silk of his shirt, pressing her against him, allowing her to feel his strength and power, his heat.
Temptation flickered.
She crushed it.
“Ah Claire,” he murmured. Desire clung to the air like an invitation to sin. The kiss went on and on, teasing, tempting, and drawing a soft moan from deep in her throat. Surrendering, she felt herself softening, molding into him. Her breasts met the muscles of his chest, tipping her blood through her veins and turning her body into living need. She could feel the firm tight need of him straining against her belly.
He wanted her. Every sinew of his muscled body screamed that notion. Claire closed her eyes, reveling in the salty taste of his mouth, the ragged draw of his breath, inhaling the earthy scent of his body.
As abruptly as his embrace had begun, he ended it. He moved off of her, off the bed, standing over her. She felt the space where he once had been. Lifting her lashes, she studied his face for answers. Black stubble roughened the lean lines of his jaw and chin. Claire’s own skin felt rubbed raw where it had touched her.
For a moment her heart stopped. The sweet memory of him in the governor’s garden. The way he took care of all the sick people during the plague. His gentleness with her, and the passion shared in the cottage, spiraled a need in her like a flower rapidly blooming. An indescribable softness began to steal over her.
“I am not marrying, Sir Teakle,” she whispered.
He halted. “What game is this you play?” The ship plowed into a deep trough and dipped precariously. Overhead a lantern swung violently, light escaping into deeper shadows. The light stayed unforgiving on his handsome face, revealing marks of tiredness and strain. He looked as if he’d tormented himself close to madness since their separation. It would be too vain to consider herself the cause of his lunacy.
“The marriage is an illusion. Jarvis paid for our passage to England. Cookie, Lily and I planned to disappear upon our arrival. I intended to hire a solicitor as I came upon some evidence that proves I own the plantation.” Claire lay silent. Confessing to Devon was a balm. His gaze never left her face.
“Claire, there are no other women. There never have been.”
Her breath caught. Was what he said true? In her heart, she believed him. If only she could forget all the bad about Devon. She looked at his hands. Loving gentle hands blackened with gunpowder and covered with blood. Blood from a man he had almost killed. The visible horror of the attack and what he had become rocked her.
Revived memories emerged of his sworn revenge, throwing her over his shoulder, and humiliating her in front of his men then tying her up. The man she had known in Port Royale, a shadow of the man she gazed upon now. Inside, he was warped by fraud, like the shiny pearls he threw at her, lustrous on the outside, but cutting inside to discover it to be paste. If only she could mask her disgust.
“I should have thrown you thirty pieces of silver, the price of a betrayer,” he said.
She saw him hesitate near the door. “Where are you going?”
A cold smile flickered. “Duty obliges me. I have obligations necessitating my command that greater mortals such as you are allowed to ignore.”
“Where are Lily and Cookie?”
“Safe aboard theGolden Gullwith Ames, sailing aside us.”
Claire laid her head back on the pillow relieved for Cookie and Lily.
“When I return, my sweet wife, I’ll expect value for my money.” He slammed the door. A latch clicked as he locked it.
TheSea Scorpionmade good time, cutting through the sea, pressed upon by favored trade winds. Devon drank deeply of the cool night air, hoping that it would help to free his mind. He wrapped his fingers around the aft rail grimly reflecting the milky path cast by the moon across infinite dark water. How many times had his eyes traveled that path, a path with no definitive end? In the distance, he watched his commandeered ship, theGolden Gullpartnering its progress, a testament to Dooley’s shipwright skills and entrusted to Ames’ able command.
Her scent still clung to him. Although far from unpleasant, it unsettled him, the vow of his revenge upon her person unresolved. But beneath the fresh scent of lavender, the haunting essence of the woman he craved. Despite the peace and beauty of the night, he fell prey to the echo of her cruel words which named him thief and a pirate.
His thoughts leapt round him like a serpent swallowing its tail. He had strove this past year to have some sense of civilization. He held his crew to tight moral principles, a strict code of conduct which everyone was bound. He deplored falling into the debauchery of regular pirates and thought he had that decadence beat until Claire landed on his ship. His wife, a stranger in many ways still exerted the same intoxicating pull on his desires, damn her. But he had to manage his impulses, devil take it. He wouldn’t throw her on her back and take advantage of her the minute he had her in his power, no matter how starving his senses screamed to do just that.
Despite the show of courage he so admired, he had seen the fear in her eyes when she faced down Le Trompeur. He had seen the fear in her eyes when she challenged him in the cabin. Nor had he missed her frantic misery and dread when he left her.
He forced down a stab of pity that spiraled up through the murky sea of lust inside him. Her plight resulted from her own devices. If he’d browbeaten her into submission within hours of capture, then so be it. She deserved to stew in her wickedness. Perhaps the kiss hadn’t been a complete disaster after all. Yet she brought him to his knees without really trying, damn her. But why should he care what she thought?
His life was careening out of control. He hated the sensation of helplessness his existence brought, and he raged against his desire. Like a lovesick fool, he strove to lick the crumbs she threw his way. She made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. Thief and pirate she called him. Her words rang repeatedly in his mind, a hammer banging on an anvil.
Hell. So he made a mistake in bringing her aboard his ship. No harm had been done. He would be more cautious in the future. He’d keep his sanity by leaving her strictly alone.
He could do that. He could.
And for his next feat, he’d sprout wings and fly.
