“I—I—” she stuttered, but she had no choice, for he wound a foot about her ankle and jerked upon it and she came sprawling down to the earth. She sputtered in protest, but he halfway rolled atop her, laughing, and then he pulled her against him upon the soft mosses. “It’s all right,” he said softly. Her head rested upon his shoulder. His hands held her close to his body. His long hard frame curved around her back, like a living wall of security.
She smiled, curiously thrilled by the words. She didn’t need to face him, and so she closed her eyes.
“Umm,” she murmured. “You were ready to hand me right over to a pirate for being trouble.”
“You are trouble,” he agreed.
She did not dispute him. She closed her eyes, and slept in the wilderness, content to do so with him near.
As daylight came, she dreamed, and yet it was real. There were sun rays breaking through the leaves and trees, and she could hear the tinkle and melody of water.
The lagoon…
She lay by the water, with the Silver Hawk. She could feel the warmth of the sun and breathe the fragrance of the earth.
She could feel her lover’s hands upon her, stirring and provocative as they had always been. She could feel the heat of his breath at her nape and the tender stroke of his fingers over her breasts. She could feel the length of his body, hard and as hot as molten steel.
She lay there in her web of melody and sound and sensation, a dreamer in her distant paradise. His hand shifted, slipping beneath her shirt. His fingers stroked a fantastic dance upon the bare flesh of her thigh, and formed over the soft tender curve of her derriere. She murmured, and she would have turned to him to cast her arms around him, but he held her still. His touch was no longer gentle but demanding as his hands latched firmly upon her hips. Then she gasped, startled by the searing steel rod of his sex thrusting deeply into her. “Shh!” his whisper came to her, and he held her tight. The world erupted into life and vibrance and sweet fury. He moved against her with the force of the wind and waves, with the driving, undaunted tempest of a storm at sea. It swept her by surprise, but it enwrapped her completely in its splendor. It raged within and around her, and it left her crying out softly, reaching for the sunlight, reaching ever higher for a grasp of rapture. It exploded upon her, as sweet as silken drops of sugarcane, filling her limbs, her body, her very center with warm liquid ecstasy. She trembled and felt him, groaning and shuddering, and holding her fast one last moment as his body surged into hers, seeming to touch the length and breadth of her in one sweep of magic.
Then he fell still. His hand rested upon her naked thigh, exposed beneath her skirts.
She opened her eyes and heard the delicate sound of the brook. She looked up and saw the trees, and she felt his limbs entangled with hers still, the life and pulse of him within her still.…
He withdrew from her, and she felt him adjust his breeches; she felt the buckskin next to her naked rump.
It was no dream.
She turned with fury to face her husband. His eyes were open, lazy silver daggers that touched upon her with satisfaction and pleasure and masculine triumph.
“Oh!” she screamed, wrenching free her skirts from beneath him, struggling and scrambling to her feet to right her clothing. He rested upon an elbow, completely and respectably clad. “How could you!” she sputtered.
The cloud fell over his eyes. “How could I, madame? Indeed, how have I waited this long?”
“But you knew—” She broke off.
“I knew what?”
“You knew that I wanted no part of you!”
“Oh?” His casual air left him as he sprang to his feet, lithe and agile as a cat. His hands upon his hips, he faced her. “I beg your pardon, wife. I did not hear you scream in protest, nor feel your hands upon me in any fight. Would you like to know what I did hear, what I did feel? Just this, milady. Soft sweet moans coming from your lips. The jut and rhythmic sway of your hips against my own. A lush sweet cry of pleasure escaping from your lips.”
“You did—not!” Skye protested furiously.
He arched a brow in stunned surprise. “This was deadly force?”
“Yes!” she cried too quickly. His eyes instantly narrowed and his voice took on the gravel of demand.
“Is this something like the force that the awful and despicable pirate used against you?”
She gasped aloud and stepped forward, slapping with all the strength that she could muster. He allowed her hand to fall across his face, but then he swept her hard against him, threading his fingers into her hair with a cruel grip and setting his lips upon hers with fire and determination. She struggled and squirmed and fought him and he held her still to his pleasure, coercing in his touch as well as demanding, filling her with his fire until it burned between the two of them and she went limp in his arms, lacking the power to fight him any longer.
He broke away from her and his tongue just teased her lips, then his mouth fell against her eyelids in a gentle touch. He lifted her chin and whispered, “The next time, milady, I will make sure that there is no mistaken identity on your part beforehand. The kiss will come first. And you will face me with your eyes open, and you will whisper my name.”
“There will not be a next time!” she cried.
“I say that there will be.”
She shook her head, no longer fighting his hold, but suddenly and fiercely close to tears. “I cannot make you understand!”
