Savannah Heat (28 page)

After arranging her hair in shiny silver swirls behind her ears, she put on the beautiful turquoise gown she had worn to the cockfights, one of the two elegant dresses she had brought along. She would flirt with Connie, flirt with Jacques, and with Ham. She would prove to Trask he was right about her—then she would laugh in his face.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” She flashed a radiant smile from the door to the plush salon. The men shoved back their chairs and came to their feet—all except Morgan. His smile was mocking as he slowly stood up.

Hamilton Riley seated her. “You look lovely, Miss Jones.”

“Thank you, Ham.”

“Your presence in the room is like a beacon of light, my dear,” said Connie.

“
Belle extraordinaire.
” Jacques said.

“Surely this must be an occasion.” Morgan goaded, “Pray, tell us, Miss Jones, what is it?”

Silver just smiled. “It’s the occasion of my liberation from the yoke of society.”

“Ah, now that sounds intriguing.”

“I’m afraid the rest is my secret. You gentlemen need only know that from now on convention holds no place in my life. I shall do exactly as I please.”

Morgan arched a brow. “Since when haven’t you?”

Silver ignored him. For the rest of the evening she flirted outrageously, laughed uproariously, got a little bit drunk, and in general had a smashing good time. The others seemed enthralled—all except Morgan, whose mood grew blacker by the hour.

Finally he excused himself and returned to his quarters. Silver enjoyed her triumph. That she had ruined his evening she had no doubt. With a pointed look at Connie that warned him not to ask, she accepted Ham’s gracious offer of a stroll on deck and finally returned belowdecks a little after midnight.

Morgan opened the door even before she knocked. “Well, if it isn’t Lady Salena. Home from her evening at the ball.”

Silver bristled. “Get out of my way.” With more effort than she needed, she shoved open the door, pushing Morgan aside. She could tell he’d been drinking by the subtle scent of brandy and the slightly glazed look in his eyes. His hair was mussed and his shirt unbuttoned to the waist and hanging open. Silver fought not to notice how dark his skin looked, the way the muscles rippled across his chest.

She moved toward the door to her cabin, but Morgan caught her arm.

“How about a brandy?” he asked. “Surely milady isn’t ready to retire.”

“Lonesome?” she taunted. “Surely a man of such high moral standards wouldn’t lower himself to the company of an unprincipled woman like me.”

His eyes moved down her body, raking her, his gaze so hot it made the heat curl in her belly. “He might.”

“You’re a bastard, Morgan Trask.”

“And you’re a flirt and a tease.” Morgan hauled her against him. “I showed you once before what would happen if you acted that way. Apparently that’s exactly what you’re after.” Morgan pressed her back against the wall. His hands captured her wrists, pinning them effortlessly on each side of her face.

“Let me go!”

“Is this what you want, Silver?” Morgan ground his hips against her, his arousal hot and hard.

“No.”

“Say it. Tell me you want it, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I just want you to let me go.”

“I don’t believe you.” Morgan’s mouth came down hard, covering her soft pink lips, his tongue plunging inside. Silver fought to resist the sweep of passion, the hunger that sent hot blood through her veins. Morgan’s body pressed against her; she could feel his shaft growing harder, thicker, hotter. God, how she wanted him.

Morgan pulled away, his breath warm and male beside her ear. “Say it, Silver, tell me what you want.”

“I hate you,” she whispered.

“Show me. Show me how much you hate me.”

A sob caught in Silver’s throat. Morgan trailed hot kisses along her neck and shoulders, then lowered his mouth to the pale flesh swelling about her dress. When he released her wrists, Silver whispered his
name. Her arms slid around his neck, and she twisted her fingers in his hair.
Morgan
, she thought, wanting him more each moment, hating herself for it, despising her building need. With a groan of surrender, she kissed him with all the savagery she felt, all the hurt, all the anger. Molding her lips to his, she thrust her tongue inside his mouth and demanded a response that matched her own.

Morgan gave it to her. His tongue fenced with hers, furious, then teasing, bold, then relentless. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, and returned to her mouth, nibbling, tasting, sampling, driving her mad.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his fingers pulling the pins from her hair, letting the heavy mass cascade around her shoulders. “Tell me what you want.”

When Silver only moaned, Morgan slid her gown off one shoulder and bared a breast, his hand cupping it, lifting it, his mouth lowering, then fastening on the crest of her nipple. Silver swayed against him, his arm around her waist the only thing holding her up.

As Morgan’s tongue laved and tasted, circled the stiff peak, hot sensation washed over her. Silver’s palms ran over his chest, feeling the stiff, tantalizing strands of his chest hair, making his muscles bunch.

Morgan’s mouth moved back to hers, exploring, arousing. Then he pulled away. “Say it, Silver. Tell me what you want.”

Silver wet her lips, praying he would continue, wishing she didn’t care. “I need you,” she whispered.

“Not good enough.” Kissing her again, he set to work on the buttons down her back, freeing her bodice, sliding down her chemise until she stood naked to the waist. His eyes raked her, burning into her flesh. His hands followed his eyes, gliding along her
skin, cupping and kneading her breasts, working a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making it tighten rock hard. His mouth moved lower, suckling fiercely, working its magic until both breasts felt full and achy, and the place between her legs throbbed and burned.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his voice husky.

She wouldn’t say it, she vowed; she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Morgan lifted her skirt, his hand moving up her thigh, the heat of it scorching her flesh. He cupped her bottom, kneaded it, then found his way through the slit in her cotton pantalets. Long brown fingers parted the folds of her sex, and he slid them inside her.

“Say it, damn you!”

Silver licked her lips. Morgan’s finger slid farther inside, out and then in, the rhythm sending white-hot fire through her body. Silver stifled a sob in her throat.

“Say it, Silver.”

“I want you,” she whispered, “please.” She hated herself for begging but couldn’t seem to stop the words. “I need to feel you inside me.”

Morgan smiled with grim satisfaction. As he pressed her harder against the wall, his hands worked the buttons up the front of his breeches, and his hardened shaft sprang free. He lifted her up, settled her legs around his waist, kissed her hard, and drove himself inside.

Silver gasped at the white-hot heat that careened through her body. Morgan made a husky sound in his throat, and Silver felt the pounding of his heart beneath her hand. Her own heart thundered wildly.

“Tell me you want me,” Morgan commanded. “Tell me you like the way this feels.”

She wet her lips. “I want you.”

One of Morgan’s hands cupped her buttocks, holding her in place; the other caressed the peak of a breast. She felt shaky all over, hot and damp and tense with unspent passion. Morgan moved inside her, his hard shaft throbbing, filling her, plundering the sweetness within her. Both his hands gripped her now, holding her buttocks as he plunged himself inside. Silver moved against him, on fire with the burning sensations. Thrusting her hips up and down, she worked his hardness inside her, kneading him with her body until he groaned.

“Silver,” he whispered, his fingers laced in the long, thick masses of her hair.

His body grew taut, his muscles contracting, his urgency matching her own. He thrust harder, deeper, faster, impaling her again and again. Silver felt consumed by her passion, the tension so great she was certain she would unravel into a thousand glistening threads.

“Come with me,” he beckoned, and with a hot surge of fire, Silver’s taut cord of passion came undone. Brilliant spirals of sweetness washed over her, a sea of forbidden delights promising to drown her in pleasure. As the joyous sensations reached their crest, Silver cried out Morgan’s name. She wasn’t sure when he lifted her into his arms, only felt the softness of the bed beneath her, saw his hard body poised above her, knew that her pleasure had not ceased and that Morgan still plunged into her.

With a last great spasm, his head fell back, and he stilled, his body sagging against her, the sheen of his exertion mingling with her own. Morgan kissed her gently, tenderly, his hands cupping her face as he looked into her eyes. Afterward they lay quiet, sweetly entwined, their anger and passion spent, replaced
by a glowing warmth. As her heartbeat slowed, he moved to her side and eased her into the circle of his arms.

For the first time in days Silver knew a rightness, a wholeness that she had been missing, a peacefulness she had never known before. As she slipped into a restful, dreamless sleep, Morgan loomed in her final thoughts—and the hazy notion that she was right where she belonged.

They made love two more times that night, not in anger but with a tenderness neither could explain—or deny.

Though she feared the consequences, Silver felt her love for Morgan grow with every passing hour. Lying there beside him, she sensed a rightness, a feeling of unity with herself and the world around her. Though Morgan didn’t understand her, and certainly didn’t approve, she believed he felt something, too.

Hearing his movements in the cabin, Silver roused herself sometime near dawn. Propping herself up against the head of his berth, she shoved sleep-tangled hair from her face and hooked it behind an ear.

“Good morning,” Morgan said. He stood in front of the broken shard that served as mirror, his shaving mug in hand.

Silver watched with fascination as he whipped the short-bristled shaving brush over the cake of soap in the bottom of the mug, then spread the thick white lather over his jaw and down his throat. Picking up his straight-edge razor, he began the long, clean strokes that swept the night’s growth of beard from
his face. There was something intimate about watching him, something sensual that made her want to slide her fingers down those same hard planes and valleys, to touch the scar that marked his cheek.

As he stood there naked to the waist, his breeches snug over a pair of hard-muscled hips, Morgan’s broad back and narrow waist stirred memories of the night before, and soft heat curled in her stomach.

“How did you get the scar?” Silver impulsively asked.

Morgan’s smooth, sure strokes didn’t slow. “I was fifteen … living with my uncle. We didn’t get along.” He sloshed the razor through the water in the basin on the bureau and started shaving the other side of his face. “I was trying to prove myself, I guess—something like what happened to Jordy.”

“Go on,” she prompted when he didn’t continue.

“I got in a brawl at a tavern in London. Ended up in a saber duel with a viscount. I got the scar—he wound up dead.” He washed the balance of the soap from his face, then dried with a white linen towel. “It isn’t something I’m proud of, but I was pretty hotheaded back then.”

Silver smiled. “And now you’re a man of gentle disposition.”

Morgan grinned at that. “Let’s just say I’ve mellowed a little.” He shrugged into his shirt and began to do up the buttons. “Your father got me out of England on a ship bound for America. I’ve never been back.”

“My father did that?” It seemed incredible. “Why?”

“Because he and my father were friends. Edward Trask was a minister to the king.”

“How much did you pay him?”

“It was a gesture of friendship, Silver. No money
was expected. In fact he gave me enough funds to get Brendan and me started in the States.”

“So that’s why you owe him.”

“Yes.”

“He must have been different then,” she mused, more to herself than to him.

Morgan walked to the berth and sat down beside her, his heavy weight creaking the slats beneath the mattress. Leaning over, he brushed her lips with his. “We need to talk about last night, Silver.”

She had known this was coming, just as she was beginning to know him so well. “You’re worried about making love to me.” Her voice held a hint of trepidation. She had known he would want to discuss it—she just didn’t know what he would say.

Morgan smiled. “I guess you could say that.” His hand cupped her cheek. “I know I should apologize, but I find the task difficult, if not impossible. Maybe if I hadn’t been drinking, things might not have gotten out of hand. As it is—”

“Are you telling me you’re sorry it happened?”

“No,” he said firmly. “Not unless you are.”

Silver smiled at that. “Not in the least.”

Morgan looked relieved. “I want you, Silver. Just looking at you lying there makes me desire you all over again.”

Silver lifted her arms to him, beckoning his embrace.