Beyond paradise (13 page)

"Not exactly," she whispered, her knees atremble, "but I would be honored if you—and not Etienne—would be the one to enlighten me."

With a smile, he relented. How could any man resist? He bent down and touched his lips to hers, cautiously and sensitively at first. But when her arms flew about his shoulders, he could be cautious no more. He opened her lips with his, and forced her to take his tongue.

Thirteen

Sylvie whimpered with delight as he lifted her in his arms and tossed her on his hammock. Her belly sank as though she'd missed a stair on a long climb downward, and she grinned in anticipation of what was to come next. She did not think of her fiance or of her family. They were not there, and she was not betraying them, she would tell herself. She had sworn to marry Etienne, and that she would do. But nobody had ever said she couldn't adore another, or that she couldn't learn something about men before her freedom was gone. It was her once-in-a-lifetime secret adventure, this pirate ship, this man, and she would not miss a moment of it. She reached up and clutched his waist. The skin was soft between her palms, but the muscles were so hard. "You're beautiful," she said.

He liked the way she touched him. Her hands were warm and caring. But he couldn't play for long; he had needs, needs which had perhaps grown unmanageable during his imprisonment. Kneeling over her restless body, clutching her between his knees, he lifted her chin with a callused knuckle. "I think I'm supposed to be telling you that you're beautiful,

Elizabeth Doyle

not the other way around." He lifted a corner of his mouth, and she adored the light shadow that graced his upper lip.

"I already know you like my face," she teased. "I can tell by the way you stare."

"Is that so?" he asked cheerfully. "Well, if I'm guilty of staring, at least I didn't do so while you were chained to a prison wall."

Sylvie gasped at the embarrassing joke. "I did not!" she cried.

"Of course you did," he said, bending down for a kiss and stealing one. "You looked at me as though I were a piece of meat. How would you like it if I did that?" He tore her dress open right between her breasts, and laid them out before him to emphasize his point. They hung low like ripe fruit, dotted with a berry at each end. He caressed one in each hand, massaging them or trying to squeeze the juice from them. Sylvie's thighs grew damp.

"Mmmm, I know you didn't mind," she said on the far end of a sigh. "I know you didn't mind my staring."

"Of course not," he whispered against her lips. "I thought it might help me escape, and it did."

"Is that the only reason you didn't mind?" she asked, finding what was left of her old gown being drawn lower and lower toward her feet.

"Yes, that's the only reason," he said, circling her dainty ear with a finger. "Otherwise, I would have found it deeply dehumanizing." His smile shed light on the true flattery he recalled in retrospect.

"What do you think of a woman who yearns for a man she sees chained to a wall?" she asked.

He'd been hoping she would ask. "I think," he answered devilishly, "that she needs a good thrashing. Or a good love-making," he added, nibbling on the hollow of her neck,

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"whichever poison she prefers." His hand moved between her thighs.

"Wait" she gasped.

He waited. And there was no impatience in his mellow brown eyes. "Too fast?" he asked gently.

Her insides were tickling and exciting her. She swallowed. "I've never been touched there."

He nodded understanding^, then thought of a good idea. He clutched her hand in his and led her patiently to the place he longed to penetrate. "Guide my hand," he whispered. He felt her little hand tremble in his. "Go ahead," he urged into her wide eyes. Slowly and timidly, she put his hand where he'd tried to put it himself, and gave her nod of approval. "Feel strange?" he asked with an adorable smile. She nodded with excitement. Allowing his hand to rest somewhere so naughty, in fact, feeling his hand there with her own, was delicious and frightening. "Can I show you something?" he asked. In reply to her nod, he tapped against the tender bud with which even she was unfamiliar. He swirled his finger around it while her own hand gradually fell limply away, and as it grew, he gave it a stern jiggle. Sylvie thought she might scream. In fact, she wrapped her mouth around his sweet shoulder to prevent it. "It's all right," he said, stroking her hair with his free hand. "It's supposed to feel like that."

She wanted to wrap her legs around him. "You're ready for that, are you?" he asked. "I'd have to say I am, too." He smiled boyishly as he fidgeted with the top of his breeches. He'd been visibly aroused for some time now, and was relieved to free himself of the cloth. He kneeled upright a bit, his belly so near that Sylvie could smell the sweetness of his skin. She lifted her lips and kissed him there, then reached up and begged him to come down so she might kiss his chest. He obliged, falling on her, catching himself with his

Elizabeth Doyle

elbows. She traced each hard, pink nipple which shone so brightly against his tan skin until he stopped her, lifted her chin, and brushed his lips against hers. "I have to go inside you now" he said. "Are you timid?"

She said, "No," but he could see it was a lie.

He smiled at her bravery and blessed her with a reassuring kiss on the forehead. "I'll be gentle," he said, and he prayed that he could.

Sylvie only wished she could open her legs wider, she was so eager to welcome him. She spread them as well as she could, clutching her own knees to exaggerate the posture. Jacques could hardly resist the sight of her womanhood so brazenly bared before him, so raw and tender and welcoming. He pierced into it so quickly, he nearly forgot his vow to be gentle. He nearly forgot that there was a virgin in his arms who needed reassurance that she was in safe hands. The moment Sylvie lurched and her legs tightened around him, he squeezed her in his powerful arms and said, "I'm sorry. That was the hard part. I should have warned you."

"It's all right," she said, but she was still trembling.

He touched her lips, for they were the part of her body he knew the best. He was always watching them, always reading them for words. "I won't let it hurt anymore," he promised her. And slowly, he began to move inside her. He could feel her uncertainty, as her legs were still clutching him, but he was patient about it. He didn't ask her to loosen her thighs, or to try to relax. He just moved slowly, and waited for the comfort to set in. When at last her thighs softened of their own accord, he took both her breasts in his palms and started nibbling at them, quickening his pace within her. Sylvie ran her hands through his shorn hair, squeezing the silky strands between her fingers, watching the dim, gray afternoon light catch the golden highlights. She

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let her legs fall wider and wider apart. It was as though he were scratching something inside her that positively itched.

"Harder," she whispered into his hair.

Feeling her breath, he looked up with mild annoyance. "I can't hear you, Sylvie. Look at me."

"Harder," she said. And he obliged, capturing her lips in a subconscious attempt to keep her from uttering words he couldn't hear. He was rubbing the inside of her, making her swell with excitement that was bound to erupt. She could hear a light slapping of skin as though he were urging her into explosion. "Oh God," she said, feeling that something immense was about to occur.

"Let it happen," he whispered, "just let go."

She looked up into his sweet brown eyes and felt that he was all around her, that she was enclosed in his warmth and his strength. She turned her head to the side and kissed the arms which were her walls, then the chest which was her ceiling. All around her was the masculine scent of smooth skin, the power of lean muscle. One of his thrusts did her in, and touched that perfect spot. She cried out against his stub-bled cheek, and he felt her quake all around his member. The sexy vibration of it was enough to make him take his own advice and let go. He pushed hard to relieve himself of his need, indulging in a few insensitive moments of personal conquest. He thrust at her as though he were a weapon and she, a target. And then he felt a surge of relief such as he had not known in far too long. Sweat broke out all across his face and his eyes closed. He planted gentle kisses across her face, thanking her for making it happen. And then he collapsed at her side, pulling her unyieldingly to his chest with a weary arm, and forcing her to take some comfort there. "Thank you," he said, and lifted her chin to see her reply.

"Don't thank me," she said. "I liked it/'

Elizabeth Doyle

He rewarded that answer with a quick kiss on top of her head. "I need some tobacco," he confessed exhaustedly. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to reach." He stretched across her with a groan and found some snuff. He opened the tiny tin box, stuffed a wad of it under his lip, and lay back.

"Why do you use that?" she asked. "It has no point."

He fingered her hair absently, but with affection. "Only someone who's never tried it would ask that." He breathed heavily for a long while, stroking Sylvie as though reassuring himself that she was real. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, snuggling against him, listening to the fast-falling rain, and wishing the moment could last forever. She couldn't imagine doing what she had just done with Etienne. She couldn't imagine letting him touch her in those places, letting him intrude upon her so. And yet, she knew that some day, she must. For her family, for their honor, she would lie before him. But she would never regret the rainy afternoon she'd spent in the arms of Jacques. One moment she had stolen for herself. One astounding adventure, one precious afternoon—these things would always be hers. The rest, she would give away. "I am so glad for what we just shared," she told him.

He smiled faintly. "So am I. And don't worry, Sylvie. I know I don't have much, but I will take care of you."

"Hmm?" Her smile was dreamy as her hands roamed affectionately across his golden chest.

"I said, don't worry. I'll make an honorable woman of you."

Her eyes flitted curiously from left to right and then left again. "I'm not sure I've caught your meaning."

He clasped her hand strongly in his. "I intend to make you my wife."

Fourteen

"Oh my, do we have a misunderstanding? Oh, this is not good. Not good." Sylvie was on her feet, pacing frantically back and forth, holding her torn dress at the bosom.

Jacques sat upright, rubbing his hair as though he had just awakened, and looked eerily casual when he replied, "There's no misunderstanding."

She cast a wary glance at his unreadable face and narrowed eyes, but did not cease her pacing. "No, no, you see, I cannot marry you. I thought we understood that."

He sighed heavily, and Sylvie thought for one moment that he was coming to terms with her words. But instead, he stood up, moved stealthily beside her to where he had to look down to meet her eyes, and said, "You're the one who doesn't see. I'm marrying you, Sylvie. There's nothing to discuss."

She nearly laughed, but then thought better of it. "You are serious?"

He took her hand in his, holding it more as a restraint than as a show of affection. "Of course I am. Did you think I would bed you and then toss you out?"

Elizabeth Doyle

"Well, that was my plan, yes."

"I'm sorry, I'm confused," he said blankly. "I thought you came to me willingly."

"I did," she assured him. "Of course I did."

"Then I'm afraid you're the one who's suffered a misunderstanding." His dark eyes were so narrow when he was hiding his thoughts. But his mouth twitched as though he were enjoying a good joke with himself.

"What. . . do ... you ... mean?" she asked slowly, as though he were new to the art of reading lips.

"I. .. mean ... that.. ." He stopped making fun of her in midsentence and bit his lip. This was no time to get annoyed that she was speaking slowly to him. People had always done that, and it was off the point. "I mean that," he repeated at normal speed, "I don't play the role you're wanting me to play."

She narrowed her eyes quizzically and fearfully.

"I don't do that," he repeated with a raise of both eyebrows and a slow shake of his head. "I don't make love to a woman—a woman like you—and then toss her back to the sea. As far as I'm concerned, you're already bound to me. We're already man and wife."

"But ... but you're a pirate!" she cried, stamping her foot. "You're supposed to be glad you're rid of me! You're supposed to be eager to move on to the next conquest. You're supposed to—"

He interrupted with a wry grin. "If you were going to use a man for one last delight before marriage, you should have made that clear. I'm sure there is an abundance of men on this ship who would have accommodated you. But you picked the wrong one to toy with." His smile vanished. "You've just had a drastic change in wedding plans."

Sylvie let her jaw drop open for dramatic effect. Then she

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