A memory of their dance in her bedchamber floated through her mind. It had been romantic and candlelit and dreamlike. She’d been forced to cut short that magical night. She would not have to cut short this one.
She faced him, curtsied in her boots and breeches, glided into his arms, and danced with him.
“I cannot tell you how fetching you look in those breeches.” He smiled down at her.
“You don’t look half bad in yours,” she admitted, returning his smile.
He pulled her close and she breathed in his scent. His lips brushed her forehead.
“Are you foxed?” she asked.
“No.” He sighed. “I, too, have been drinking far too often for far too long. It takes a lot more whiskey than we had tonight to do the job. I was merely hoping to getyoufoxed.” His grin was roguish.
“Sorry to disappoint.” She laid her head against his chest.
“Not to worry. I’ll just have to rely on my charm instead of my alcohol.”
They both laughed at that, his chuckle rumbling in his chest, vibrating against her cheek. They danced for the next several moments, Danielle memorizing his heartbeat beneath his shirt. She closed her eyes and imagined he was her beau and they were at a beautiful London ball. The song came to an end and she pulled away from him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Thank me?” His voice held a note of surprise. “For what?”
“For dancing with me. Twice. I’ve never danced with anyone before I met you. I probably will never dance with anyone else again.”
He pulled her back to him. “Nonsense.” He smiled at her. “We can dance whenever we like. It’s an advantage of being a pirate.” He slowly pulled her back into his arms and they gently swayed together in silence.
Warning bells sounded in Danielle’s head. It was one thing to stop being so churlish. It was another to get so close to him that his arms were around her waist and she was breathing in his musky scent. Nothing good could come of this. Nothing but…
His voice sounded huskily in her ear. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
She sighed and tipped back her head. “What took you so long?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
His hands went to her hair first. Plucking the cap from her head, he sent the hat spinning into the corner. She tried not to laugh. All right, perhaps she was atouchfoxed. He pushed his hands through her hair, letting the locks fall over her shoulders. She tossed her head back to shake it out.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to run my fingers through your hair?” he asked against her mouth.
“As long as I’ve wanted to run my fingers through yours?” She pulled his head down to hers and let her fingers tug at the strands of hair at his nape.
He kissed her temple, her cheek, the side of her lips, before returning his attention to her mouth. He cradled her face in his palms while his lips brushed against her, his tongue plunging, then another brush, and another plunge in a rhythm that slowly drove Danielle mad. She pressed both palms to his shirtfront, feeling his muscled chest through the cloth.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you here?” she asked between kisses.
“Are you certain you’re not foxed?” he asked, with a smile against her lips.
“Mmm hmm,” she murmured. “When I saw you without your shirt last night, I nearly climbed into bed with you.”
“Why didn’t you?” He stepped back, quickly unwound his cravat, and used both hands to pull his shirt over his head. He tossed the garment on the floor. Instinctively, she reached for it.
“Leave it.”
She turned back to stare at the gloriousness that was his chest. She ran her fingers over it, marveling, watching the muscles jump and flex in reaction to her touch. “You look like you’re made from stone.”
“Is that a good thing?” He kissed her again and her legs felt wobbly.
“Like you’re unreal. A statue.”
