She opened her mouth to scream and gasp in terror, for she had never seen him so angry. No sound left her, for his mouth ground hard upon hers with a punishing power. His tongue ravished her lips and teeth, forcing them apart. She gave way to breathe, and then felt the startling warmth as he filled her with the heat and lightning and intimacy of his kiss. She longed to fight, to twist. She had no power to do so. His fingers curled within hers, his weight bore her down upon the earth, and the passion and the savagery of his assault were stunning. She lay there and felt the ground, and it seemed to tremble beneath her. She heard the soft sound of the water, but it was no melody within her ears, it was a rush, a flow, a cascade. It mingled with the searing flow of her blood. She did not fight…she felt his lips, and the hardness of his body. She felt the sun, and the taste of the man, and the tempest of him.
And felt that tempest sweep into her being.
His hands were upon her, stroking the length of her, fire through fabric. They touched the bare flesh of her thighs, and she gasped, unable to breathe, for his lips burned their fiery path against her throat. They fell to the rise of her breasts, and still she did nothing but stare at the sky above her, beset by soft, flowing clouds. She felt the sun, but the sun had lost its heat, for fire burned deep, deep inside of her. It came where his lips seared her, where his fingers stroked her flesh, where the very hardness of his body drove her down to the earth.
His fingers tore upon the ribbons at her bodice, and the fabric gave way. Her breasts spilled above the bone of her corset and his lips found that tender flesh as his hand cupped the mound to the hungry desire of his teeth and tongue. A molten, demanding tug raked upon her nipple, and then it was laved by his tongue. The sweet, blinding sensation ripped into her like cannonshot, firing throughout her body. His beard teased her bare flesh with ever-greater intimacy.
“No!” she cried out suddenly, but he had seized her mouth again. She struggled, but fell limp as languor overcame her.The very earth continued to tremble. Perhaps it was not the earth. The trembling came from deep within her, a beat, a pulse, a sweet yearning need to know more.…
She was not a prisoner. Her hands were free and they were upon his shoulders, and it did not occur to her that he was a pirate, only a man, and a man who had shielded her against all enemies. Muscle rippled beneath her fingers, and in this strange paradise with the water rippling around them and the tropical breeze a tender touch upon them, he was all that she had ever desired in the deep secret shadows of her heart. The scent of him filled her; the force of his passion swept her into netherworlds where nothing mattered at all except for the sleek animal grace of him, and of his touch.
Suddenly he wrenched away. He stumbled to his feet. His back to her, he looked up at the sky. “God damn you!” he raged at her. He jerked around, caught her hands, and pulled her to her feet. “What would you have of me?” he shouted.
She jerked away from his touch, horrified that it was he, and not her own protest, that had put a stop to what they’d been doing. “I wish that you would leave me be! I wish that I could be away from this place!” she cried, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She could not erase the feel of his lips. She felt his eyes upon her, burning still, and she realized that her bodice was askew, her breasts bared and spilling forth. She blushed deeply, but she did not lower her head and fought for whatever control she possessed. Still her hands trembled as she brought her fingers to her laces. He tore his eyes from her breasts and looked directly into hers. “You will be gone soon enough, I swear it!” he told her heatedly.
She turned from him, running toward the offending mare. The frightened beast skittered away. An oath burst forth from him. “Don’t ever run from me, you little fool. You would never manage it, and in each of your attempts you are hurt or cause havoc!” He caught hold of the mare’s reins and brought her around. He reached for Skye’s waist.
“I can manage, leave me be!”
“You cannot manage.”
He set her firmly upon the horse. She picked up the reins and stared down at him. “I think, Captain Silver Hawk, that you are running from me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Lady Kinsdale, I will never run from you, I swear it. I’ve tried to leave you be, as you so ardently wish. And even when you singe my soul with the heat of your flame, I do back away. Don’t try me again, lady. In this battle I tell you, the gentleman is surely giving way to the rogue within me, and if next tempted, the pirate will prevail.”
Hot shivers ran down her spine. She jerked the reins from his hand, nudged the mare, and turned to race away from the lagoon, and from the haunting, bitter laughter that played upon the air in her wake.
Skye returned to the stable in a tempestuous mood. She left the mare to Señor Rivas, and walked hurriedly into the house, ignoring Mr. Soames, who came to greet her by the stairway. She raced up to her room and slammed the door hard, then sent the bolts hammering into place at that door, and at the door that connected her room to the Hawk’s. She paced the room in deep agitation, then glanced at the connecting door again. The lock wouldn’t mean a thing to him if he wanted to reach her. A lock? Why the man fought battles upon the sea and had seized her very ship! What was a lock to such a man.…
A lock lay within the heart, or within the soul, or so he had told her. No man could hold the key to such a lock, unless it was given to him, and freely so. And this the Silver Hawk seemed to know, and know well.
She stiffened suddenly, aware of a door slamming below. The Hawk had returned, too, and it seemed that he, too, was not in the best of humor. His shouting could be heard throughout the house.
Skye raced to the hallway door. She could not make out the crisp words, only that it was his voice, deep and vibrant, commanding. She heard his footsteps upon the stairs, and then the door to his room opened and slammed, and she stood dead still, her hand cast to her throat. He would come to her then. He would ignore the door that lay between them, he would come to her in anger, seize her.…
Seconds ticked by. The door slammed again. The Hawk was gone. She breathed a deep sigh of relief and cast herself across the bed, then stared up at the canopy. Surely, he had business to attend to. And he had broken away, not she.…
She flamed with humiliation. He wanted her gone. This would not go on much longer. Perhaps, say what he might, he had his own sense of honor. She was his cousin’s betrothed, despite the fact that that cousin be distant, and born on the right side of the sheets.
Betrothed…
She had no wish to meet such a man! Not when her lips remained swollen and her flesh burned from another’s touch.
She sat up, pressing her temple between her palms. God help her, she did not know herself anymore.
She leaped from the bed and threw open the door to the hallway. Mr. Soames had said that he was there to serve her. Well, she wanted to be served. “Mr. Soames!” she called down the stairs.
“Milady!” Within seconds the elderly gentleman had climbed the stairs to reach her. “I’d have some brandy, if I may, please,” she told him.
He arched a brow in surprise that she should ask for spirits, but quickly lowered his brow again. “Yes, milady,” he said, and was quickly gone. She paced again as she awaited his return. He arrived with brandy and a single crystal glass upon a silver tray. She thanked him, and waited for him to leave.
“The Hawk will have supper with you, milady. He will knock for you at eight.”
“Will he? You must tell the Hawk that I do not care to have supper with him,” she said.
“But, milady—”
“You have heard me, Mr. Soames, and you have said that you will attend to my every wish. Well, I wish you to tell your master that I will not have supper with him.”
