Falling for the Pirate (7 page)

He bent his head and pressed a kiss to her lips. That, at least, she understood. That was easy as breathing. She opened to his urging, obeyed the gentle demands of his lips, his tongue, his teeth. He made a small sound of surprise in the back of his throat. He hadn’t expected her acquiescence—but he took it greedily, like a starving man. He tilted his head forward and drank his fill.

His hand moved to her waist, a sudden shock of heat that made her gasp. He pulled her flush against his body so she could feel the breadth of him, the hardness. Like a living structure. That was how he felt to her—massive and rigid, and yet he pulsed with a kind of manic energy.

“Julia,” he murmured, and it sounded like a warning.

Against what? She already knew what he wanted from her. She was already giving it to him.

She sighed. The word
please
slipped out, even though she hadn’t meant to say it. Even though she didn’t exactly know what it meant. She knew better than to ask for him to stop. It was more a request for him to acknowledge her.

And he did.

His head lifted. “Julia.” His voice was lower now, deeper. He sounded as if he’d drunk a full bottle of wine instead of one glass at supper. Drunk and mystified. “Why are you allowing this?”

Because it was all she had to give. “Why not?”

Anger sparked in his eyes. He turned her around so she faced the wall. “Anything I want, then? Is that what you’re offering me?”

She had that sense again.
Out of her depth.
What was there to offer? He was ordering from a menu she had never seen before.

But then he added, “Is that what it’s worth to you?”

He could have meant anything. Her health, her safety. Her future. And it didn’t really matter. It was all worth this much to her, so she let him reach around her body. She closed her eyes to the dark patterned wallpaper. He cupped her breasts through her dress and chemise, sending fierce heat through her body. He knew how to bring her pleasure—and he cared enough to try. She would be grateful for that tomorrow. Not today.

His thumbs and forefingers found her nipples. They kneaded her softly, drawing a low, sharp sound from her. It affected him, too. He stiffened behind her. His breathing grew harsh against her temple.

“Christ, Julia. What is this? What are you doing to me?”

“I’m not doing anything. I’m trying to obey.”

He pushed her away. His face was ravaged—guilt, frustration. She read it all with dispassionate acceptance. He could mirror all the things she felt, because she could not feel them for herself. She was empty.

“I don’t want a doll in my bed,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. Her passivity, he meant. He didn’t like it.

“Would you rather I fought you?”

He stared at her, incredulous. “No, damn you. That isn’t what I—oh, hell.”

Well, then, she honestly didn’t know what he wanted. Which wasn’t a surprise, since she hadn’t ever understood him, not on any level.

She had the sensation of a feather floating down, of falling back into her skin, moving around, testing her own body. Wherever she had gone before, she had returned now—and she studied him with open curiosity.

“I thought you wanted me to…to lay with you,” she said haltingly.

He looked cross. “I’m asking why you would allow it.”

“Because I owe you.”

“For what, exactly?”

“I’ve told you.” She spoke slowly, patient with him since he didn’t seem to understand. “On the roof, remember? For the clothing and the food. And for the doctor. I hadn’t realized you’d brought a doctor the first day, so that’s two visits. I don’t know how much it all costs, but this…is the only thing I have to give you in return.”

“Don’t forget the cocoa.”

She blinked. “Yes. And that.”

His eyes were solemn in the shadows of the hallway. “You’re telling the truth,” he said flatly. “About losing your memory.”

“Of course I’m telling the truth. Why would I lie to you about that?” He said nothing. “If I had somewhere else to go, wouldn’t I go there instead of staying here to be ravished by you?”

He laughed, suddenly. She had learned he had a tendency to do that—particularly at times that were the least appropriate.

“There won’t be any ravishing,” he said.

“No?”

“Not tonight,” he amended.

“Captain Bowen,” she began brusquely, not sure what would follow.

“God, I almost raped you.” He shook his head. “Ravished you. Accepted payment. Whatever you call it, I took you, and I didn’t care.”

Well, he
hadn’t
actually taken her…yet. It didn’t seem wise to point that out.

“I understand how the world works,” she said—to absolve him—instead.

He chuckled darkly. “Then perhaps you can explain it to me, love. I certainly don’t understand. Why are you here?” He sounded pained again. “In
my
house? You! Of all people.”

That seemed unnecessarily harsh. She couldn’t help whatever inherent faults she had. “I was
trying
to repay you, if you’ll recall.”

“Go to sleep, Julia,” he said, world-weary and bemused.

“Well, all right. Although…”

“I can ravish you tomorrow, if need be. For tonight, go to sleep.”

Chapter Seven

Nate went to the place he always did when he needed to think,
Nightingale
. The ship lay quietly on the water, its silhouette framing the moonlight in angles. Bennett sat on the railing, feet dangling over the side.

“Halt! Who goes there?” he asked, then snickered.

“Shouldn’t you be in your bunk?”

“Not tonight, Cap’n. Quartermaster said if I was so set on stayin’ awake, I could make myself useful. I’m standing guard.”

The last was imbued with a furtive pride, careful not to show its head or be slapped down. Nate would have preferred the boy sleep. Whatever he learned in his lessons would have the greatest impact on his life, and he couldn’t focus if he was tired.

Then again, maybe a chance at real responsibility would provide the boy with what empty reprimands could not—discipline.

“A lookout,” Nate mused, “must be ready to sound the alarm at any sign of trouble.”

“I will, Cap’n.”

“But more than that, he’s the ship’s first line of defense.” He glanced back at the empty dock. “If we were under siege right this minute, who would be responsible for protecting the ship and crew?”

“I would, Cap’n, and I wouldn’t let nobody on board.”

Nate eyed the boy, with his shirt an inch too short and his hair askew. Bennett must have sensed his doubt, because he added, “I’d push the gangplank off myself before I let anyone board us.”

“There’s a lad.”

Nate continued down to his cabin, already on a more even keel. The steady rock of his ship was like the pulse of his own heartbeat. In a storm it might beat quickly, moving over choppy waters, the rapid thud of footsteps over the deck. But on a quiet night, like this one, the steady thrum matched the sound of his own heart.

He dug into the cabinet for a fresh bottle of rum. Direct from the Caribbean, this rum. A gift from a Spaniard captain he had traded with. He eyed the seal, wondering if it was poisoned. Only one way to find out.

Settling into his bunk, he took long swigs until he was clear-headed enough to think about
her.

Of course I’m telling the truth. Why would I lie to you about that?

Then again, maybe he should think about something else. Anything else.

If I had somewhere else to go, wouldn’t I go there instead of staying here to be ravished by you?

God, did she have to be so matter-of-fact about her ruin? Shouldn’t she cry or wail or fight him? Though, he wouldn’t have found the deed any easier if she had done those things.

Revenge on Hargate had been his goal, his only goal, for over a decade. How could he have abandoned it so quickly? More important, what was so damned special about her that he would forget everything that mattered? His mother deserved better than that. His father deserved better. Men stuffed into cells the size of holding crates deserved better.

The bed here was almost as comfortable as the one on land, even with the steady motion. Perks of being captain. The frame of the bed had been built into the cabin bulkhead, connected through bolts and thick planks—part of the ship itself. A thick mattress was tucked into the deep grooves and tied down, besides.

A mirror had been installed on the wall at the foot of the bed, courtesy of the ship’s previous captain. Not very practical, even if it was bolted down. But then, the previous captain hadn’t been a practical man.

Nate closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He’d been so sure she was mocking him.

And maybe she had been, at the beginning. When she’d first ventured into her father’s warehouse—
Nate’s
warehouse—and told him her name was Julian. The excuse of losing her memory had been too convenient in the face of her identity. But she’d been willing to give him her virginity in exchange for a handful of gowns and the price of a doctor’s visit. That didn’t match the picture of a high society chit on an errand for her father. As desperate as Hargate was, he wouldn’t give up his daughter’s honor, would he?

A knock came at the door.

He was tempted to ignore it. If he’d been at home, he would have. But this was his ship. Its men were his responsibility. The very boards and glue that held it together were his responsibility.

“What is it?” he called.

“Can I come in?”

Juliana.

He sat up abruptly, sloshing rum onto his pants.
Christ
. Slamming the bottle down, he stood. She waited outside the door, hands clasped demurely in front of her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he snarled.

“I needed to talk to you.” She made a vague, half-hearted gesture toward him. “May I…?” Her voice trailed off. He was damned sure she’d never invited herself into a man’s private cabin before. Good. And he hoped she never did it again, especially not to him.

“No,” he said flatly. “What you
may
do is tell me how you got here.”

“Mrs. Wheaton called the carriage.”

Damn, he was definitely going to dismiss the woman. Either that or raise her salary. He could make out Bennett’s form outside the door. “Standing guard, were you?” Nate asked wryly.

“She looked too nice to throw her into the water, sir.”

“Indeed.”

“And I figured if she were a robber of some sort, you could dispatch her as well as I.”

Yes, that would make sense. Unfortunately, it hadn’t quite proven true. He could physically overpower her. He
could
ruin her. He just…hadn’t.

“Return to your post. And, if you could, try not to let any other strangers on board. For tonight, at least.”

The boy nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

Nate shook his head as he watched him go. Discipline or not, he’d speak with the quartermaster tomorrow about not leaving Bennett on the night watch. He wasn’t concerned about safety. There was rarely an incident while in port, and they always kept a crewman in the crow’s nest just in case. However, the boy was too trusting. A pretty face and a smart figure, and suddenly he was tripping over himself to accommodate her. Foolish, that.

“Come inside, then,” he muttered. “Since you’re here.”

“Er, thank you.”

Her blue-green dress shimmered in the dim light like the sea at night. The full skirt hid the shape of her legs, and he had a faint moment of regret that she hadn’t worn the grimy shirt and trousers. He would have liked to see her in boys’ clothing again. To touch her in them.

Perhaps the traditional attire would keep his ridiculous desire in check.

She had to pass by him to enter. The scent of her—unmistakably feminine—heightened every damned nerve-ending in his body.

So much for keeping himself in check.

She peered at his cabin with a curious look, and he was annoyed at himself for wondering what she thought of it. Too small, probably. He had long ago removed the more impractical furnishings of the previous captain—except for the mirror. It had always seemed a shame not to use it. But still, the space would appear tiny to a land dweller. Unimpressive compared to the Hyde Park townhome she had lived in. Crude and plain, and only somewhat clean.

She turned back to him and smiled. “The room suits you.”

Wonderful. “You needed to speak with me?”

“Yes. I do. About what happened earlier.”

“Nothing happened earlier.” Much to his frustration. Ancient retribution and immediate physical longing tied together, forming a knot within his body. He could scarcely move from it, barely look at her. And having her so near was drawing the knot tighter.

“I would like to propose a bargain,” she said.

“Because you understand the way the world works,” he recalled.

She nodded, though he detected uncertainty in her brief hesitation. In the way her gaze touched every inch of the tiny cabin, except for his bunk.

“Explain it to me,” he murmured.

“A woman without resources has two choices to procure what she needs to live,” she began, and he could tell she’d rehearsed the words. Repeated them to herself, perhaps, until she could bring herself to come here. “She can steal it. Or she can earn it.”

“And you don’t want to be a thief.”

She swallowed. “I don’t.”

“But you have no idea what
earning
would entail, do you?”

“That’s not true. I am informed.”

He laughed. “Who informed you, darling? Did Mrs. Wheaton give you a primer before tucking you into the carriage?”

A flush darkened her cheeks. “I’ve read things. In books.”

“You’ve read things,” he mocked. “In books.”

“I know about kissing. And…and passion. And anyway, I can learn.”

Yes, he had no doubt she could learn. He wanted to teach her so badly his teeth ached as he held himself back. Jesus, he wanted to show her kissing. And passion. He wanted her to teach him right back. Restraint strummed through every muscle of his body.

He almost groaned. What the hell was he thinking? Revenge wasn’t for him to
enjoy
. And he wasn’t a man who kept a mistress. And yet…

She had read books about passion.

Christ.

“Of course, you may refuse me. I don’t blame you for wanting a different woman for this purpose. However, I do not think I should remain in your home without means to repay you.”

She turned away, and he could only stare helplessly at the slender lines of her body. He watched her chest rise and fall—too fast. She was nervous. She was
scared
. And that had ceased to be his goal.

It never had been.

Tell her she can work as a house maid. Tell her she will earn a small wage and sleep in the attic.

“Come here, Julia.”

She didn’t look at him. “Then again, upon discussion, we may come to a satisfactory arrangement. I’m sure my requirements are much smaller than—”

“Julia.”

Her expression fell. But she came to him. Terrified, bewildered, she came to him. He couldn’t have spoken then. The trust she put in him was too great, too undeserved. She was extending an olive branch, not realizing he’d already burned down the tree long ago. He couldn’t tell her, though. He could only pull her between his thighs and tilt her face to his, and press his lips against hers—could only breathe her in to fan the flames.

Just for a minute, he closed his eyes against the past. There was no honor to avenge, no retribution to seek. He didn’t kiss her because he had to. He kissed her because she tasted so sweet.

And because, in that moment, he could imagine that this was enough.

…

Julia felt the change in him. At his house he had been tense, his movements stiff, his seduction calculated. But here on the ship, his kiss felt…natural. An extension of the words they had exchanged and the heated glances he gave her.

It felt inevitable that he would nudge her lips open and press inside, and so she let it happen, without the detachment she’d felt on land. She let him inside her body, and opened her soul.

He moved his tongue along hers in a slow, steady rhythm. An answering throb began low in her belly—and he knew. The mastery with which he tilted her head back and devoured her proved he was aware of every heated reaction in her body, but she couldn’t resent him for it. He gave her the gift of his experience, his attention, and she returned the favor in the form of utter submission. It didn’t matter whether he would become her protector or whether she would fall from grace. He was already protecting her; she had already fallen.

“Julia?”

A tremor shook his voice. She couldn’t account for his hesitation now, but he wanted her. She could tell by the way his body leaned toward her, even as he tried to set her away. She could tell by the barely-banked fire in his eyes.

“I need to feel you on top of me,” he said.

And yes, because of that, too. Because he wasn’t afraid to bare himself alongside her.

He sat on his bed with a creak of ropes, then helped her climb onto his lap, pulling her up and lifting her skirts until she could settle with her knees straddling his thighs. Like riding—only she doubted the animal between her legs could ever be broken. He would always lead, and she found she didn’t mind.

“What are we doing?” she asked.
How far are we going?
she meant.

He pressed a kiss to her jaw, then another. With two fingers, he lifted her chin to give himself access to her throat. Each press of his lips, each new inch of skin seemed to answer her. Far, farther. What were they doing?
Everything
.

“Why did you come to my ship, Julia?”

She knew he didn’t want to hear about negotiations or rationales. He wanted the truth, and maybe he deserved it, too. “I wanted to feel alive.” After cold water and dark shadows, after sinking. “I wanted to choose something.” Penniless. Friendless.

She wanted to choose
him.

But as she had told him the truth, he owed her the same. “Why did you stop, in your house?” she asked. “Why did you leave?”

He paused, breathing hard, his cheek against hers. She could feel the bristle there; it scratched her gently with every harsh breath. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He said it as though it should be a revelation, as if he’d surprised himself with the confession. And she knew that sometimes it did hurt, this act. That knowledge came from the dark rooms of her memory. Who had told her that? And when? It didn’t matter, though. Everything hurt. Healing and hungering and losing hope all hurt, and those were just the parts she remembered.

“You’ll be gentle,” she whispered, but she didn’t really believe it. Until his fingers sank into her hair, finding each pin and removing it with such tenderness her throat ached. Tears sprang to her eyes. He treated her hair like silk, and that meant she was precious, too. Silk hair and satin skin and lace eyelashes, that was how he touched her—careful and reverent.

He was massive. His arms could block her in. His hands could hold her down, and they had. He had used his body against her, before, but he had never hurt her. He didn’t hurt her now, either. He cherished her, by remaining beneath her, so she could set the pace.

When her hair was down, he kissed her again. The air around them changed, grew charged. As if a storm had brewed unseen, and now it raged around them. Sitting astride him, her face was now higher than his. She looked down, and her hair formed a veil, shielding them from everything else. The world narrowed to the space between his mouth and hers—the hot air, the damp sounds. The impossible pleasure such a small, soft touch could create.