Nicole Jordan (23 page)

Fighting with her, however, was hardly the best way to compel her surrender. Instead, he realized, he would do better to use her own passionate nature against her. Every time he touched her, Antonia melted, and he intended to employ her weakness to his advantage.

This was a sensual game he would win.

He only hoped he could control his own weakness for her, Deverill reflected, remembering how swiftly passion had slammed into him earlier today in his cabin. He’d never been so hungry for a woman before, so hot. His primal need to possess Antonia might very well prove to be his undoing.

After partaking of dinner in the captain’s quarters, Antonia retired to her own cabin, her frustration with Deverill still simmering. It was too early to sleep, since it was still daylight, with the setting sun casting a golden glow through the open porthole window. But she hoped that reading would at least distract her mind from the provoking adventurer who was proving to be the bane of her existence.

She was surprised to find a hip bath taking up a significant portion of her quarters, and more surprised to find the tub already half filled. Then Fletcher knocked a moment later and carried in two steaming pails of hot water.

“His nibs says yer in need of a bath” was Fletcher’s curt explanation. “And yer allowed fresh water, since yer a lady.”

Antonia would indeed relish a bath, since hot baths were her weakness, but she wasn’t quite certain how to manage it with her hands bandaged. However, Fletcher had no sooner left than Deverill knocked and let himself in without an invitation.

When he shut and locked the door behind him, Antonia eyed him with barely controlled vexation. “I trust you mean to tell me what you are doing in my cabin?”

“I am here to play lady’s maid.” When her eyebrows shot up, he added mildly, “With your hands injured, you’re in no position to care for yourself.”

“I will manage somehow.”

“Perhaps, but there is no reason for you to try. Turn around so I can unfasten your gown.”

Her breath caught audibly. “You actually expect to
undress
me?”

“And to help you bathe.”

Retreating a step, Antonia shook her head adamantly. “
No,
Deverill. It would be too improper.”

“What if it is? I’ve already seen much of your beautiful body. And assisting your bath can hardly compromise you any further, considering that I was inside you barely a few hours ago.”

Her face flooded with color as she regarded him mutely.

“You have already seen
me
nude in my bath,” Deverill pointed out.

“That was different. That was purely accidental.”

“Our making love this morning was not at all accidental.” When she started to protest further, Deverill held up a hand. “The damage is done, Antonia. I can’t give you back your innocence. So stop acting so missishly.”

Her eyes narrowed. “There is a difference between acting missishly and behaving like a perfect wanton. I won’t allow you to bathe me.”

“I am capable of undressing you without your cooperation,” he warned.

Mutinously, Antonia crossed her arms over her chest. “You are welcome to try.”

Their gazes locked and warred, clashing like swords. The lust that surged through Deverill at her defiance was sharp and sudden. No one challenged him the way Antonia did—and no one aroused him more. There was a fire in her eyes that dared him to try taming her. Yet he knew better than to engage blades with her directly.

“Come now, vixen, I don’t want to fight with you. Here, I brought you a peace offering.” At her suspicious look, he fished in his pocket and brought out two jeweled combs. “Captain Lloyd intended these for his sister but thought you would appreciate them more, since we have a shortage of hairpins on board. You can use them to hold up your hair.”

To his gratitude, his bribe actually worked. Antonia hesitated only a moment before reaching out to take the combs. “I appreciate Captain Lloyd’s generosity, but I will return them when we reach Cornwall.”

Loosening the twine that tied back her auburn hair, Antonia piled the silken mass high on her head and used the combs to secure the tresses. Deverill heard the faint sigh she gave, as if she found pleasure in having the weight off her neck.

“So you will let me help you bathe?” he asked, not planning to allow her refusal.

Her eyelids lowering, Antonia studied him with speculation, obviously debating with herself. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust your benevolence, Deverill. You are up to some scheme, I know it.”

“Not at all. I promise to be on my best behavior.”

“That is hardly reassuring. Your definition of good behavior is nothing like the rest of the civilized world’s.”

He gestured toward the copper tub. “The water is growing cold. Do you want to bathe or not?”

She cast a longing glance at the hip bath.

“I am not leaving until you do,” Deverill added. “So you might as well accept my offer graciously.”

Evidently she knew him well enough to take him at his word, for she gave a huff of exasperation, then turned and presented her back to him. “Very well, but I am not undressing entirely. I mean to wear my nightshift.”

“I wasn’t aware you had a nightshift.”

“I fashioned one from a pillowcase to sleep in last night. If you insist on bathing me, I will wear that to preserve a modicum of modesty.”

“As you wish.”

Not giving her a chance to change her mind, Deverill quickly applied himself to unfastening the hooks of her gown. Regrettably, just seeing the smooth, white expanse of Antonia’s back affected him painfully, for it made him too vividly recall how her long, slender legs had wound around him as he thrust into her sweet warmth. He’d been half-aroused all afternoon, remembering their explosive passion.

Cursing the restrictions of his trousers now, Deverill renewed his resolve. He wanted Antonia naked and willing in his arms, and he intended to have her there.

When he finished with the hooks, he made her turn around to face him. Then he knelt to unlace her half boots and peel off her stockings.

“See,” he said casually, “I am kneeling at your feet. There are few women who can claim to have brought me to my knees.”

“I cannot claim it, either, since you are clearly there of your own accord.”

Repressing a smile, Deverill stood and watched as Antonia went to the chest and withdrew her improvised nightshift—a straight sacklike contraption made of white muslin with openings for her head and arms. With her back to him, she eased her gown over her shoulders and arms and struggled into the shift, pulling the hem down carefully with her bandaged hands before pushing the gown over her hips and letting it fall in a pool at her feet.

When she turned to face him, his breath faltered
at her beauty. The shift covered her breasts and loins, but the nearly diaphanous material clung to every curve and failed to obscure her feminine charms, instead revealing the outline of her rose-hued nipples and the dark thatch of curls crowning her thighs. The
sight was perhaps more erotic than total nudity would have been. When Antonia stood proudly, refusing to cower at his bold scrutiny, his loins hardened even
further.

“You truly are lovely.”

“You needn’t flatter me, Deverill.”

He wasn’t flattering her in the least. She was absolutely perfect, from her ripe breasts to her slender waist, to her gently flaring hips, to her creamy thighs, to her long, shapely calves and feet.

His gaze swept back up her body to her bosom. He could imagine kissing those provocative nipples, could almost taste them taut and hard against his mouth. And from there it was an easy step to imagine her naked body, pale and frenzied, as he took her. Heat exploded in Deverill’s groin, nearly searing him with the intensity.

“Get in the tub,” he commanded gruffly, forcibly restraining his desire.

He held out his arm, supporting Antonia as she stepped in. Careful to keep her bandaged hands dry, she sank down in the water, her knees drawn up in the confined space. Another sigh escaped her, this one of bliss.

From the desk, Deverill fetched a linen towel, a face-cloth, and a cake of soap, before kneeling beside the tub. Lathering soap into the wet cloth, he washed Antonia’s face, then her arms and legs. Next he washed her back through her shift. Then finally he returned to her breasts. Dropping the cloth, he glided his slick palms over her muslin-covered nipples.

Antonia sucked in a sharp breath. Her shift was still better than nothing, but she hadn’t counted on the fact that once the muslin was wet, it would be nearly transparent. Nor had she realized how impossible it would be to resist Deverill when he was bent on seduction.

Until then, she had done her best to ignore his ministrations, but when his caresses turned slow and erotic, she felt a hard ache flare between her shivering thighs.

She watched, fascinated, as his dark hands moved against the pale fabric covering her breasts. Deverill was watching, too, his gaze frankly, sharply male.

Striving for control, Antonia pushed his hands away.

“You can’t pretend you don’t relish my touch,” he murmured.

“That is entirely beside the point,” she said all too breathlessly. “I realize now what you are doing, Deverill. You are trying to seduce me into agreeing to wed you.”

“What if I am? You would enjoy your seduction, we both know it.”

The cool conviction in his voice maddened her. “I won’t marry you,” Antonia repeated for the twentieth time.

His smile was slow and dazzling. “So you say. But I mean to do everything in my power to persuade you to.”

She started to argue, determined to withstand his ruthless charm, but then every thought fled when he suddenly stood and began to undress. “Deverill . . . what are you doing?”

“I intend to make use of the bathwater. On a ship, it is a sin to waste fresh water.”

If he entered the hip bath with her, Antonia realized, it would be an extremely tight fit. Not wanting to put it to a test, she ducked lower to rinse off the soap, then groped for the towel and stood up, wrapping the dry length of linen around her dripping
shift.

Meanwhile Deverill had removed his shirt. She froze, seeing his brutal scars. Her heart ached for him. But then he shed the rest of his clothing, and her mouth went dry. His sleek, muscular body was beautiful, rawly masculine. When her gaze dropped to fix helplessly on the turgid length of his jutting phallus, her breath caught in her throat at the amazing size of him.

Deverill surely noticed her shaken response, for he was watching her with an intensity that was unsettling. “Do you remember the feel of me inside you?” he murmured, his voice low and provocative.

How could I forget?
And she knew he understood quite well the piercing arousal he stirred in her.

Still watching her, he returned to the hip bath and gazed challengingly into her eyes as he deliberately slid her down his body. The hot shock of contact made Antonia gasp with pleasure.

Deverill just smiled that wicked smile of his.

Without speaking, he tugged the towel away from her body, pulling it from her nerveless fingers. But he didn’t use it. Instead, he reached out and fondled one nipple lightly through her shift. It stiffened anew and seemed to thrust out against his fingers.

Antonia shut her eyes in dismay. How could her body turn traitor again this way?

He plucked at the wet muslin covering her. “You won’t dry if you leave this on.”

To her dismay, she couldn’t bring herself to protest when he pulled the garment over her head and tossed it aside.

Deverill dried her off then, running the linen lightly over her skin, taking particular care with the damp curls that shielded her woman’s mound. Antonia nearly whimpered, the throbbing heat between her thighs an insistent drumbeat in her blood.

Finally satisfied, he tossed the towel aside. Surprisingly, though, he went to the bunk and turned down the covers.

Antonia bit her lip. “Deverill, you cannot sleep with me.”

“I wasn’t planning on sleeping.” He slid an unnervingly thorough glance over her. “I failed to give you any pleasure earlier, and I intend to remedy my error.”

“Deverill . . .” she began, wanting to protest, but when he crossed back to her, she couldn’t move.

He was staring down at her breasts. The nipples were pebbled and hard, as if begging to be touched. Obligingly, he raised his hands to caress her while bringing his naked lower body fully against hers. She could feel the ridge of his arousal pulsing vitally at her stomach, feel his sinewed thighs pressing into her softness.

Antonia gasped at the exquisite sensations, her heart going wild with excitement. Every brush of his skin against hers spread heat and hunger.

“Shall I make you want me, princess? I can, you know.”

Dear God, he was dangerous. His voice was maddeningly sensuous now, his eyes bright with challenge as he cupped her breasts, defining their shape, making them ache under the delicious pressure.

He was deliberately wielding his seductive powers, weaving a spell to make her helpless with desire. A shiver stole through her. She wanted to resist his sensual assault, but her own body assailed and betrayed her.

“Please, Deverill . . .”

“Oh, yes, I intend to please you.” Bending, he touched his lips to her ear. “I mean to make you scream with pleasure, love.”

The soft words were tauntingly seductive, threatening and promising at the same time, and they made Antonia’s entire body clench in anticipation.

His head dipped farther, his mouth skimming the side of her throat, down over her collarbone to her right breast. He nuzzled her softly, his lips roughly tender, his tongue tracing burning caresses around her fullness. “I mean to have you panting and whimpering with need for me,” he murmured huskily.

She was already panting and whimpering, Antonia thought, dazed. Then his mouth closed hot and moist over the taut bud, and fire plummeted to her yielding, throbbing center.

Her knees going weak, she clutched at his shoulders. For a time he went on suckling, stroking each crest with his tongue, till both were hard, aching points.