Nicole Jordan (24 page)

Then suddenly, Deverill lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the bunk. He joined her there, stretching out on his side in the narrow space, facing her so that their bodies touched. Antonia stared into Deverill’s hot, sea green eyes as he slowly began to stroke her stomach. His heat, his rougher skin and stronger hands, felt incredibly different from her own softness, and she quivered with arousal, barely able to breathe.

Then his hand moved lower over her abdomen to her loins, seeking, probing, opening her downy curls to his teasing fingers, until he held the hot center of her in his palm. Antonia’s hips jerked as a moan escaped her.

“Be still,” he ordered, his voice deep and resonant and sensual. “Lie there and let me pleasure you.”

She wanted to obey him, but he was slowly rubbing his finger down one swollen lip of her sex and up over the other. Then his thumb found the slick bud secreted between the folds, moving maddeningly in a light caress, circling the tiny pearl that was already tight and hard and aching. Antonia shuddered at the riveting pleasure.

Deliberately, he increased the pressure. When she moaned again, Deverill caught the sound with his kiss, settling his mouth firmly over hers.

His tongue played in a leisurely, erotic dance while he continued his tender assault with his fingers. She could feel her dampness grow, seeping and spreading from her woman’s core to her inner thighs.

A moment later he pushed her thighs apart and gently slid his finger inside her. She arched wildly against him, her heart racing with echoing thunder.

A second finger joined the first, and in another score of heartbeats, she was writhing. She could feel a mounting fire centered around the imprisoning caress of his hand. Her whimpers turned to near sobs, until finally she was able to bear the torment no longer. She gave herself up to the shattering climax Deverill urged upon her, her body shaking and contracting before falling limply back against the pillows.

With satisfaction, Deverill watched the flush of orgasm heat her face and spread down her throat to the crimson tips of her breasts. Even when her spasms faded, he kept his fingers where they were, lingering along her plump lips, spreading her juices. Yet he was gritting his teeth all the while. He felt his cock surging up toward his belly, felt the fierce ache in his sacs as they swelled nearly to bursting.

He wanted more than anything to spill himself in the welcoming warmth of Antonia’s body. But she was undoubtedly too tender for him to enter her again so soon. He also didn’t want to run the risk of impregnating her. Yet he could still show her the ecstasy she had missed this morning, could still find a way to take his own pleasure.

He drew back, gazing down at the dusky triangle between her thighs, watching the play of his fingers in and around her glistening sex. Her sweet, musky scent rose to tease him, stirring his arousal even more savagely. He wanted to know what she tasted like there, wanted to savor her.

Shifting his weight, Deverill moved over her, using his knees to spread her legs.

Lying limp and sated, Antonia vaguely realized he was kissing her bare breasts again. His lips moved over the swells, caressing provocatively, then lower, brushing over her still-pounding heart, the skin of her abdomen, his tongue darting out, hot and slick, to trace a sensuous path down her body to the apex of her thighs. . . .

When she realized his intent, she went rigid, her fingers grasping reflexively at his hair.

“No,” Deverill commanded, “don’t tense your muscles. You’ll enjoy this,” he promised, his rich, deep voice dark and seductive.

When he bent his head again, the appalling realization struck Antonia that she wanted him to kiss her there between her thighs.

Deverill obliged, his tongue grazing over her folds, making her breath hiss through her teeth. And when he settled his open mouth on her pulsing cleft, her hips nearly came off the mattress.

Holding her still so he could have his fill of her, Deverill drew the sensitive nub into his mouth, forcing her to start another shuddering climb. Antonia wailed softly, her fingers tightening in the thick waves of his hair as the coiling heat inside her burned higher.

“That’s right, give in to it . . .” Deverill whispered hoarsely.

She could do nothing else as fire leapt from his mouth to her flesh. The sensation was too intense to bear.

Her head thrashing frantically on the pillow, she shifted her grasp and dug her nails hard into his shoulder blades, hearing her own rasping cries, the sound of a woman in the throes of pure bliss.

When her hips heaved and bucked beneath him, his fingers clamped down hard to keep her still, driving her higher and higher until at last a shriek tore from her throat. As she arched and convulsed in ecstasy, his lips kept on plying her, dredging the final exquisite spasms from her shaking body.

In the hushed aftermath, Antonia lay weak and dazed, panting harshly. She could scarcely believe the intensity of her own incredible response. She’d gone wild in Deverill’s arms as he pushed her to discover the depths of her own intense pleasure.

Yet he still was full and swollen. He’d had no release, she realized, remembering how he had spilled his seed into his hand this morning.

She inhaled a slow breath, suddenly feeling bold. She wanted badly to touch him.

Reaching down, Antonia brushed her fingertips over his surging, hard, silky flesh. His body instantly went rigid, as hers had done moments before.

Seeing his reaction, she felt her confidence growing. “Deverill . . . let me pleasure you this time.”

He sucked in a breath and grimaced, as if in dire pain. “Antonia, love, there is no need.”

“But I want to, truly.”

“Your hands are bandaged.”

“Then show me how to manage with them.”

She watched as his features became taut with passion and the denial of releasing it. Finally, he gave in. Holding her gaze, he grasped her wrist and moved her hand to stroke the thick, pulsing heat of him with just her fingertips. His wide shoulders were rigid with tension, the tendons in his neck drawn taut as he showed her how to caress him.

No longer tentative, Antonia drew her fingers lingeringly over his arousal, closing them over the swollen head with delicate pressure, taking pleasure in the strangled groan he gave.

Deverill shut his eyes at the sublime sensation and tightened his fingers around her wrist, guiding and tutoring her, displaying how to stroke his cock and sacs with the same erotic rhythm he’d used to pleasure her, teaching her the spots where he was most acutely sensitive.

When she caught on easily, his body clenched, his mind imagining that he was taking Antonia, surging into her. The sweet fantasy was his undoing. The explosion that ripped through him was as powerful as any he’d known, rocking his body and sending him hurtling into ecstasy.

The tumult of his furious release left him spent and shuddering. It was a long while before Deverill realized he’d spilled his seed onto Antonia’s stomach. Promising himself he would bathe away the evidence later, he rolled onto his back and pulled her to him, resting her head in the hollow of his shoulder.

She gave a soft sigh of contentment. “I still won’t marry you,” she whispered tiredly.

Deverill had barely enough energy to smile. She was warm and weak from his lovemaking yet still spitting fire. Just the way he wanted her.

Then her lips pressed into one of the puckered scars on his chest, and his entire body tensed. He didn’t want her asking questions he had no desire to answer.

A few moments later, though, he caught the sound of her soft, even breathing and realized she had fallen asleep.

Feeling a fresh stirring of desire and a dangerous tenderness, Deverill let his own eyes fall shut. He wanted to sink into sleep with Antonia all soft and warm and curled around him, but he would have to leave her soon. He couldn’t spend the night with her and still hope to maintain any pretense of her innocence to the world. And if she refused to wed him . . .

Deverill tightened his arm about her, unsure whether tonight had been his victory or hers. Yet he couldn’t deceive himself that he would easily win the war.

Ten

At breakfast the next morning, Antonia could scarcely meet Deverill’s eyes. She was still a little shocked by his lovemaking last evening, for it had been more stunning than her wildest dreams. Even more unsettling, their sexual intimacy had only served to heighten the smoldering sensuality between them now.

They were not alone in the schooner’s stateroom; Captain Lloyd was providing them adequate chaperonage. And the conversation was hardly erotic; the two men were discussing plans for dropping anchor based on harbor depths. Yet to her chagrin, Deverill’s slightest innocent action had a deplorable effect on her senses.

When he took a sip of coffee, it made her remember the taste of his mouth and skin.

When he pointed on a map with a long forefinger, she thought of his magical hands caressing her, bringing her to pleasure.

When he met her gaze across the table, she felt a stark sizzle of heat shiver through her body.

The very air seemed to vibrate between them. Deverill was watching her intently, silently reminding her of all the wanton things they had done last evening, the incredible passion they had shared.

His glance was so spellbinding, she found it impossible to tear her gaze away. And she couldn’t begin to quell her memories, not when they were so fresh and powerful, drumming through her like a vivid heartbeat. Even though Deverill had not spent the night in her bed, leaving her well before midnight, she knew their intimacy during those few hours together had marked her forever.

As soon as she finished eating, Antonia politely made her excuses and escaped above decks. Breathing deeply of the fresh sea air, she moved to stand at the port rail to watch the Cornish coast glide by.

Cornwall, the southernmost county of England, was purported to have a remarkably temperate climate, and the reports seemed true, judging by the pleasing mildness of the summer morning. But it was the splendor of the land that held her in awe—the rugged shoreline scored by sandy coves and rock cliffs and picturesque fishing hamlets. The only views she’d seen that were more splendid were on the Isle of Cyrene. The wild beauty here called to her somehow, making her blood race.

Or perhaps her quickened pulse was solely due to the man who had come to stand silently beside her. Trey Deverill, her lover. She was aware of him with every nerve and sinew in her body.

“So when do we arrive?” Antonia asked in an earnest effort to take her mind off Deverill and last evening.

“Two hours at most. We won’t sail all the way to Falmouth Harbor. We’ll anchor off Graeb Point and hire a carriage at St. Mawes to take us to Wilde Castle, where Lady Isabella lives. Her estate is close to the village of Gerrans.”

She glanced at Deverill with curiosity. “Have you visited her castle before?”

“No, although I’ve docked at Falmouth a number of times, for refurbishing and to take on supplies. And I’m familiar with this stretch of coast.” He gestured toward the shore. “It’s riddled with smuggling coves and secret hideaways for French spies.”

Antonia’s glance turned amused. “It wouldn’t surprise me to find you on terms with all the local criminals.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “At least I’m normally on the correct side of the law. I’ve been called on several times to help contain the local smuggling rings.”

That surprised her. “Why you? I thought your specialty was fighting pirates.”

“Because smugglers’ luggers are small and fast and difficult to apprehend, and my ships have the swiftness and maneuverability that few Royal British Navy vessels possess. Thanks to your father’s designs, of course.”

At the mention of her father, Antonia felt another sharp arrow of pain shoot through her.

Deverill must have seen her flinch, for he quickly changed the subject. “I’m certain Isabella will welcome you.”

“And I will be glad to arrive,” Antonia said, striving for lightness, “if only for the opportunity to borrow a fresh gown. I wonder, however, if Lady Isabella will be as welcoming to
you
once she learns how barbarously you treated me.”

He ignored her provoking gibe. “Captain Lloyd tells me the castle has some magnificent grounds and overlooks a spectacular cove that is ideal for swimming.”

Her mouth quirked. “I consider that fortuitous. If I must languish there for several weeks or more, then I mean to learn how to swim. If I had known how the other night, I could have jumped ship and escaped from your clutches, foiling your abduction.”

Deverill’s grin was slow and lazy. “Where is your gratitude, princess? I saved you from a wretched fate with Heward, you must admit.”

“So you did.” She shuddered to think how close she had come to wedding Heward. “But I don’t intend to award you a halo just yet, Deverill. Not until he confesses to his crimes and is locked away in prison for life.”

“Trust me, I intend to see to it. Meanwhile . . . come below with me. I will change your bandages.”

Antonia hesitated, not wanting to be alone with Deverill. He was clearly an expert at seduction, and she knew very well he would try again to persuade her to accept his marriage proposal. But she could also use the opportunity for her own purposes: chiefly, to quiz him about his plans for proving Heward’s guilt in her father’s death and the Cyprian’s murder. Moreover, although her hands didn’t pain her much and seemed to be healing, she suspected it
was
wiser to apply fresh bandages.