Charlotte had a talent for certainty, and one thing she was very sure about was that she didn’t approve of what they were doing. She liked it—in fact she would happily continue doing it for the rest of the evening if required, and furthermore take it up the next morning should the opportunity arise—butapprovalwas a different matter entirely.
Captain O’Riley had touched her in a way that was certainly unhygienic. And goodness only knows what kind of nervous damage she had acquired when that strange, powerful sensation of bliss overtook her. There was also still the fact of the amulet being unsecured.
Then Alex stroked a hand over her breast, causing all thought of the amulet to explode in a golden blaze. And now the blasted man waskissing her again. Worse, his gentleness completely ruined the happy image she had of him as a cur. She had been expecting a brief, furious event, such as their arguments had been. But instead he gave her this tenderness, this inexplicable consideration.
Thankfully, she had at last cobbled together somewhat of a script for response. Mr. Darcy also had proved himself a considerate fellow beneath his aloof exterior, and Elizabeth Bennet had reacted with sincerity and love. Charlotte thought this rather extreme, but she could at least kiss the pirate’s jaw, enjoying the texture of stubble against her tingling lips, following the hard curve up to his earlobe. That she bit gently, his earring clattering against her chin.
“Hhnngh,” he said, which was possibly an Irish word; it seemed to express approval.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered into his ear.
He shivered. “Wicked witch,” he said, and Charlotte remembered yes, that’s what she was. Casting aside her nice script, she drew a fingernail along the tattoo of barbed knots that swooped across his chest then down, over his heart, around his navel, into the dark hair at the base of his, er, fifth and definitely not small limb. His breath hitched, and Charlotte smirked with satisfaction. She had a fair idea now of what he intended to do with that particular part of his anatomy, and she stroked a cautious finger along the blushed, velvety skin...
Within seconds, he had her flipped onto her back, legs pushed open, knees up, breath gone. He lay over her, and his eyes blazed with a feral heat.
Charlotte grinned. “I dare you.”
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
“Very well then.” His hand moved down to where it had been so effective before, and she gasped as sensation rampaged through her. She tried to think of a response but suddenly something else was there,pressing hard, and her body tensed, sensing a moment from which there would be no going back. Her heart thundered in trepidation.
Then the world literally caved in.
Alex blinked with confusion as they dropped a depth of two feet to an abrupt, although rather soft, landing. Moments later he realized the beds had slid apart and they’d fallen through the gap to the carpet below. A tangled sheet lay beneath them. The eiderdown stretched across the gap above like a tent.
“Are you hurt?” he asked Charlotte—but she was already laughing. It sounded wild and delighted, like a woman surprised by life and surprising herself that she didn’t mind it.
All of a sudden, Alex found his heart fill with sincere affection. This woman drove him absolutely mad, both mentally and sexually, and yet he really did like her despite it. Perhaps even because of it. There was something so invigorating about her, and at the same time so reassuring—certainly different from the women who approached him with caution or used him for a thrill. Charlotte was neither afraid of him nor seeking mere titillation. She made him feel safe enough to be himself—not the dread pirate, the impious rake. Just Alex, wanting her.
God, wanting her so much he could not wait another moment. He’d only known her a few days, but his body swore it had suffered an eternity of desire for this woman. With a warm smile, he looked into her beautiful, lavish eyes.
“Hurry up,” she demanded.
His smile blazed into a grin. Well then, damn it if he had any choice left but to prove in one long, unrelenting movement exactly how a man used that most interesting part of him.
Her thoughts shattered. She grasped mentally at wise pages, good quotes, but it was of no use. She could barely recall the name of any author, let alone something they might have written. Alex dominated her, body and mind. She could feel nothing but him, think of nothing but him. Overwhelmed, she clutched the tumbled sheet in a kind of despair. It was too much; it was unbearable.
Then he moved back, and she grabbed his hips, pulling her toward him again.
“Don’t stop,” she grumbled.
He laughed. “No fear of that.” He began a gentle pace, inching deeper, all the while keeping his thumb occupied in a way that made Charlotte breathe jaggedly. He kissed her throat, as if trying to ease her airway. “Are you doing all right, darling?”
“Fine,” she gasped.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you—”
“Is conversation usually standard at this time?”
He laughed again. “I beg your pardon, Charlotte.”
It was the first time he’d said her name, and she spun into bliss at the sound of it wrapped warm and sensuous around his accent. Oh dear, this was proof—her nerves were completely in disorder. And her toes might break from curling so hard. Not that she minded, considering how splendid it felt.
