Heather Graham - [Camerons Saga - North American Woman 02] (13 page)

Had she waited for him? she wondered.

No!

But perhaps she had. Perhaps she had waited to feel the explosive sensation of lightning tearing into the very core of
her body, as she’d felt when his fingers had curved over her breast.

“Never!” she whispered aloud, shamed and humiliated. She leaped out of the tub, grabbing her towel, wrapping it around herself.

That was when the doors opened.

Fully clad in his boots and a handsomely trimmed frockcoat, he was holding a ledger in his hands and he seemed preoccupied with it. When he came full upon her, he stopped in surprise. Skye hugged the end of the towel to her chest and stared at him, her eyes wide, and did not say a word.

Nor did he speak. He tossed the ledger upon his desk. For the longest time he watched her, and she felt her blood begin to race within her.

“You like to bathe,” he said politely.

“Yes,” she managed to reply. He was very grave.

“Did you sleep well, mam’selle?”

“Yes.”

He went silent for a moment. “Robert came and took you about the deck?”

“He—he did.”

He ran out of small talk then. He took the two steps that brought him before her. She didn’t try to run. She didn’t even think to do so. His silver-blue eyes held hers in a curious grip, and she scarce had breath in her body. Her flesh burned, and she felt rooted to the floor.

She could not run.

He paused before her and his fingers very slowly threaded through her hair. He tilted her head back, and then he slowly lowered his lips to hers.

His touch brought the lightning to her again, and a sweet fever seemed to rage through her body. His beard and mustache teased her flesh as his lips pressed against hers with a consuming force that swept all thought from her mind. His tongue teased the edge of her mouth, causing her lips to part to the provocative demand. His tongue filled her, and the kiss was planted deeper and deeper.

No longer was he content with the sweetness of her mouth. His hands fell to the small of her back, bringing her flush
against him. Then his fingers fell against her cheeks, along the slender column of her throat, to the rise of her breasts.

Not once did she think to fight him.

Not even when his hand closed over the full naked curve of her breast and she dimly realized that her towel had fallen. Not even then did she fight him. She did not think to fight, for thought eluded her completely, and the shattering sensations ruled her heart and soul. The liquid heat of his kiss swept into the length of her, the sensual stroke of his callused fingertips brought a peculiar sob to her throat.…

It was the sound of that sob, wanton and hungry, that shocked her from her paralysis. She pressed hard upon his chest, but he held her there tightly. She beat against him desperately, but he did not free her. Her head fell back and she met his eyes. They were dark with a brewing tempest, frightening to behold. “Don’t play with me, girl, so help me!”

“Play!”

“Don’t tempt, lady, and for the love of God, don’t tease!”

“I have not! You are the puppet master here, pulling the strings like an almighty god! You seized me! You imprisoned me, and you give out orders like a tyrant king. You are a master of torture. You taunt until I am insane. I fear rape, I fear death, and you play with me like a cat with a mouse!”

He touched her cheek, his eyes still stormy, his features tense. She strained against him, but his thumb fell over her damp and swollen lips.

“Was that, milady, a threat of rape?”

“Please …”

“You made a promise. Perhaps you do mean to fulfill it.”

She jerked from him, falling to her knees, reaching for the towel. He came down beside her, resting upon the balls of his feet. “It seems that I am the plaything, lady. You cling to me in the night, and trust in my goodness. In the darkness I could take whatever I desired, couldn’t I, Lady Kinsdale?” Her head was down, but he lifted her chin.

“I was kidnapped—”

“Answer my question.”

“All right!” she shouted. “It would be easy for you then. So easy. I’ve oft wondered why you didn’t …”

“Rape you as you clung to me in terror?” he demanded sharply.

“Yes!” she whispered. Tears came to her eyes, glazing them. He would not let her free.

He shook his head slowly. “I will never have you that way, milady. Coming to me in fear of the darkness. I will have you only when you turn to me because desire, not fear, guides you.”

Her eyes widened.

“I will never desire a pirate!”

A slight smile touched his features. His finger rode slowly, sensually over the bare slope of her shoulder.

“If I willed it, you could be coerced into desiring me this very moment,” he said softly. Then he rose abruptly, and she felt very small as he spoke down to her. “You are right, milady, on one account. I am a master of torture, and it is myself that I so abuse. I will depart, until you are safely clad.”

He turned smartly upon a heel and left her. Slowly she rose, her body on fire, her limbs quaking. She was lethargic at first. She could scarce will herself to move.

She touched her lips with her fingers, and she started shaking all over again. She could feel his lips still, she could feel his hands upon her.…

He was coming back. He had said so.

She dove into her trunk. She had one nightgown left within it. Soft blue flowered cotton with satin ribands about the puffed sleeves and waist. The cotton was gossamer, sheer but strong.

She plunged quickly into the gown, and none too soon. There was a sharp rap upon the door, then the Hawk entered once again. For a pirate, he was absurdly regal, striking in his outfit of black, from his elegantly cut coat to the plume that danced upon his hat. Robert entered behind him, and the pirate captain gave his mate the ledger. “Care will be taken, the gravest care,” he said.

Robert looked her way and nodded. Then he smiled nervously, finding her eyes meeting his. “Supper comes, my lady,” he told her.

She didn’t care. She wanted only to escape the presence of the Hawk.

“I am not hungry,” she whispered. Robert nodded vaguely, watching her, then his eyes narrowed as he looked at the Hawk again. The pirate captain had taken his chair behind his desk, and seriously studied figures within a second book.

Skye crawled into the bunk, far against the wall. The two men continued to talk about cargo to be bartered, bought, or taken. She closed her eyes. Their voices droned on.

She drifted to sleep, hearing their conversation like some lulling sound. Sleep was sweet, and sleep was good, until the darkness suddenly intruded upon it.

She was trapped. She pushed and shoved and she could not escape. It had come to choke her, the darkness. She could not breathe, she could not swallow, she could not summon the air to scream.…

“Skye!”

His voice fell upon her like a gentle ray of sunlight. Her eyes flew open.

His face was above hers. Light filled the room; there had never been any darkness.

“Oh!” she cried, and she tried to cover her face with her hands. The fear had seized her, and would not let go.

He must have come to bed with her that night meaning to sleep, for his chest was bare, and though the coverlet spread over his lower torso, she assumed that his legs would be bare as well. It was the way that he slept.

His arms came around her and the gentle touch of his fingers led her cheek to rest against his chest. He stroked her hair. “What is the terror?” he asked her softly.

She shook her head. He sighed.

At last, her shaking began to ease. She pressed against him, her face rising upon his chest to meet his eyes.

“You—you needn’t comfort me.”

“It’s all right.”

“But you say that I crawl to you … and taunt you.”

“It’s all right.”

“I do not mean to do so.”

He caught her hands, and eased them from his chest. Her
hair spilled over the golden breadth of it. His features seemed tense, for all of the gentle tenor of his words.

“Truly, you do not have to comfort me!” she whispered.

He sighed very deeply. “Milady, it is all right. It is my pleasure, Skye Kinsdale, I swear it. Lie still, and sleep once more.”

She closed her eyes, and felt his body shudder.

My pleasure! he thought.

And truly, torture beyond all earthly reason.

V

T
he Silver Hawk stood high atop the forward deck of his ship, legs firmly planted, his hands upon his hips. The breeze rushed by him as he surveyed the channel they so carefully navigated. They were clear, he knew. Robert was at the helm while certain of his sailors climbed the rigging with the agility of monkeys, leaving them enough sail to catch the breeze, but cutting in deftly for speed and maneuverability. They were coming upon the island of New Providence, to the lusty port town where rogues held sway and thieves and butchers ruled.

He knew the port well. He had come here often enough.

Some curious little tremor seized him suddenly, as if he had stepped from a hot bath into the chill of a winter’s day. He shook away the feeling with a shrug of his shoulders. There was danger here still, he thought.

But there was always danger. He had entered into this devil’s pact of his knowing that danger abounded.

Still, this was different.

It was the girl, he knew.

He should have gone on to Bone Cay, he thought, even if it
increased his travel time. He couldn’t have done that, not plausibly so, but it was from this den of thieves that he would send his messages out and strike his bargains for the return of the ship and the hostages. And he had to come here now, for this was where the captains all came to plot their courses and pick their prizes. It was imperative that he come.

It was just the girl, damn her hide!

She would be safe. He would leave her carefully bolted within her room. They would take the long boats in, and he would leave her in the care of Jacques DuBray. That mammoth Frenchman was a master with a rapier. No harm would come her way.

He took his glass from his pocket and surveyed the scene they came upon. He could see the shanties of the town, the ribald colors and patterns that made up the pirates’ haven. Kegs of gunpowder and salt fish lay on a wharf. A dark-haired whore stretched atop the bow of a small cutter, her skirts high against her thigh, her legs bronzed from the sun. She waved a fan in a leisurely fashion, idly listening to the talk of the two men who straightened fishing nets nearby. Further into town, there were more decent structures that resembled houses, but most of the place was beach and shanty … and warehouse for ill-gotten gains.

It was not a place for a lady.…

He scowled suddenly and leaped down from the bow peak. He waved to Rutger Gunnan at the wheel and nodded out his satisfaction at their course. They would cast anchor soon. “Tell Robert we will set to shore within the hour!” he called.

Rutger nodded his assent. “Aye, Captain!”

The Hawk turned and approached the door to his cabin. To his great annoyance he paused before sliding the bolt and entering his own realm. He’d been a fool to ever bring her here. She’d been such a challenge with her lightning speed with a sword that it had seemed necessary to cast the very fear of demons into her soul.

He had not suspected that they resided there already, nor that it would be he who would suffer the torment of the damned rather than she.

Impatiently he shoved the doors open and entered his cabin.

She was perched upon the window seat. The drapes were back and daylight streamed in. Her legs curled beneath her; she wore a soft white muslin with a brocade bodice, which was fashionably low cut to display the rising curves of her breasts. The skirt spilled out over a volume of petticoats in a soft burst of snow white and soft pastel. She worked on some piece of mending for him, which brought another scowl to his lips. Her hair was free.

The color of a sunset.

Cascading and waving over her shoulders and breast like a web of radiant silk.

He itched to run his fingers through it. Actually, he itched to do much, much more. When she looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips, her aquamarine eyes shimmering like the most glorious Caribbean sea, he wanted to stride right to her and wrench her into his arms. He wanted to play the pirate in the most heinous fashion, rip her beautiful gown to shreds, and leave her with no doubt as to his rapacious desires and determination.