He shook his head, watching her. She flushed and lowered her eyes.
She raised them again in alarm, for he was reaching for her, lifting her. She felt his arms around her naked flesh, and panic filled her. “You said that you would not hurt me!”
“I said that I would not hurt you. I didn’t say that I wouldn’t touch you…or…er, entertain you!” he whispered.
She cast back her head to scream. She did so and he watched with amusement.
Then he seated her before the tray of coffee and rolls.
“Breakfast, Lady Kinsdale. Do you always scream blue blazes when you are offered a cup of coffee?”
III
When she was settled in the seat behind his desk, he retrieved her coverlet, tossing it over her shoulders. Skye grasped at the garment and sat there stiffly. He moved across the room to his trunk and drew out clothing. He looked her way, arching his brows, and she flushed furiously, turning aside as he dressed. She felt his eyes upon her as he buttoned his shirt and tied his breeches, then sat to pull on his high black boots.
“So, tell me, milady, why is it that you are so afraid of the dark?”
“I am not afraid of the dark,” she lied ridiculously.
“You are not?”
“No.”
“That’s a lie.”
She shrugged. “A gentleman would allow a lady the lie.”
“But I’m not a gentleman. I’m a pirate, remember.”
“Oh, yes. A nasty, brutal beast, and I’ve nothing to say to you upon any account.”
He rose. She still did not look his way, but shivers claimed her despite her best efforts as he moved around behind her. He did not touch her, but his hands fell upon the back of the chair where she sat and his head lowered so that she could hear and feel his whisper. “Nasty and brutal, Lady Kinsdale? Alas! I fear that if I keep my distance, I will dearly disappoint you! You’ve suffered no beatings as yet, mam’selle. The only violence that has come your way has been that given in retribution for your own intent of murder. Bear this in mind.”
Skye stiffened, her fingers curling into the handsomely carved arms of the chair, her gaze remaining straightforward. How she hated this man! she thought. Hated his laughter and his mockery, hated his power. Just as she hated the haunting sound of his whispers and the curve of his smile, and the fine, taut musculature of his body. He was an animal! she thought. A pirate. A vile knave, a beast.
But a striking beast, bold, determined, and blunt. If she were not his prisoner, she might very well find him charismatic, his form alluring, his less-than-subtle innuendo exciting.…
Dear God, she was a captive losing her mind! He was young enough, perhaps, despite the silver that tinted his hair and beard. And his speech was cultured, his manner sometimes even inoffensive. But he was a cutthroat, no more, no less, and she would still fight him and hate him until her dying breath.
“Nothing to say, my love?” He plucked up a tendril of her hair. His fingers brushed her shoulder where the coverlet had fallen away and she was startled by the searing sensation that swept through her. She slapped his hand away, still staring forward, trembling. “Nothing but the obvious, sir. Your teeth may be better than One-Eyed Jack’s, but you are still the same monster as he was. No better.”
He laughed, straightening, and going for the broadsword that lay upon the floor. “I do beg to differ, milady. Had he lived, and had you spent the night in his cabin, I think you would have discovered a vast difference twixt the two of us.”
“Really? Perhaps were I tavern slut, I might have managed to say, ‘what a wonder! The man has his teeth, and for garbage, his stench is not too severe.’ But I am no tavern wench, sir, and from where I sit, refuse is refuse, and all to be abhorred.”
His laughter was swift and genuine. “Ah, from your lofty heights, mam’selle! I don’t wish to disturb such noble ideals, but I tell you this in all truth, a woman is a woman, and a man must be judged by his measure, and not by his position upon this earth. The finest lady, the most noble duchess, tumbles upon the mattress much the same as the tavern wench. She learns to long and ache and desire in the same fashion, to whisper her lover’s name, to curl to his caress and strain to his form.” He came back behind her, bending over her. “And she learns so much more quickly when he still has all of his teeth!”
“Your conceit is extraordinary.”
He faced her and lifted her chin. “That you can doubt my words, mam’selle, lends credence to the very truth of them. There is a grave difference. Had you spent your night in Jack’s cabin, you’d not have awakened thinking there could be no difference in men.”
She wanted to wrench from him. He held his grip. “I did not say men, sir. I spoke of refuse—pirates.”
“Such harsh words, milady! When I carry still in the boundaries of my heart your sweet promise to please me in any way, to offer any diversion I might desire.”
“Diversion!”
His lip began to curl with humor. She did twist her chin from his grip. She raised her hand with a vengeance, halfway rising, determined to strike him. She just barely caught his cheek before his fingers wound around her wrist. He twisted his jaw and she was pleased that she had hurt him, then she was suddenly frightened, for a pulse ticked against his throat and she did not care to be hurt in return, and she had definitely angered him as well. She sank slowly back into the chair, her eyes locked with his. She already knew that when the soft silver darkened to a cobalt blue, his temper was flaring. But he did not strike out at her in return. He swallowed, as if he clamped down on his temper. His smile returned. “Were you aware, milady, that you’ve splendid breasts?”
