She pushed her upper torso up off the bed and he pulled on her breasts until she was leaning forward, only supported by his hands. She turned her head and reached for her left ear.
"It was this one." She pinched the silver hoop with the black ball on it. "Oh! There it is! I guess I didn't lose it after all!"
"Oh," he said sadly, flexing himself inside her. "I guess you don't need any help after all, huh?"
"I might have lost something else!" she insisted. "Keep looking."
He "looked" for another five minutes, reaching under her to help get her there with his fingers.
"Ohhhh you feel sooooo good," she sighed.
"You know, I was worried you'd think the only thing I was interested in was your body," he said, picking up his pace a little.
"That's stupid," she said.
"You're calling me stupid?"
"Shut up and fuck me, old man."
He punished her for ribbing him about his age by pulling out. She complained loudly until she saw he had only done so to remove his clothes. She scooted around until she was fully on the bed, still presenting from the rear. He climbed onto the bed and gave her what she so obviously wanted.
Now, in the aftermath, even though she said she liked his weight, he rolled, pulling her on top of him, face up. His hands immediately went to her breasts to stroke them.
"You're so good to me," she sighed.
"Why, because every time I come here I have my sordid way with you?" He squeezed her nipples.
"No, because you love me," she said. "It's been a long time since I felt so loved. The sex is only part of it. I like that part, but only because it's you I'm doing it with. You're a nice guy and you care about me. All of that is very good for me and I love you for it. Every day, I wake up smiling, looking forward to seeing you. I love that feeling, I want it to last forever."
Her comment, rather than making him feel good, however, brought to mind the secret he had, which might tear them apart. He didn't want to be torn apart. It must have affected his body in some way, or maybe it was because he didn't respond. In any case she rolled off of him and then leaned back in, putting her arm across his chest.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know," he answered.
"I don't understand," she said, taking his answer for confirmation that something WAS wrong.
"I remember something," he said. "It's not something nice. I might not be the nice guy you think I am."
"What is it?" she asked. She didn't lean back. As far as she was concerned, nothing had changed. She trusted her heart, and her heart said he
was
a good man.
"I don't want to tell you," he said. "I have this memory of doing something wrong ... of hurting someone. I don't think anybody knows about it, but it could get me in a lot of trouble if they found out."
"You
murdered somebody?
" Her voice rose an octave.
"No! Not that!" he said. "I think he was just hurt ... maybe badly ... but not dead."
"This makes no sense!" she said firmly. "You said nobody knows about it. But obviously this man - the man you say you hurt -
he
knows about it. Tell me what's going on, Kris."
"If I tell you and Mitch asks you about it, you'll have to tell him. If you don't know, then you can honestly say you don't know."
"Mitch? Why would
he
be worried about this? It didn't happen here ... did it?"
"No. It was somewhere else. I shouldn't have said anything. I don't want to hurt you and I don't want you involved in this. It might even be something from back when I was a teenager. It could be nothing. Don't worry about it." He sat up. "I'd better go. The book is almost finished and I need to get that done. Then maybe I can figure out what to do."
She tried to get him to stay. She tried to get him to talk about it.
He was almost surly by the time he left.
He forced himself to think about the book and by the time he got to work he knew how he'd end it. The Duchess of Fellborough had submitted to him, but only as a surrogate for the other women. She felt it was her duty to protect them, and Quigley agreed that if she'd submit willingly, she would be the only woman for the rest of the cruise who had to see the inside of his cabin ... and share his bed.
He wrote the scenes in which the duchess sobbed and then was quiet, lying stiff beneath her rutting rapist, and then later was seduced by the things he made her feel. True to his word, he took only her for the rest of the voyage and set the women free on the shoreline of England as promised.
Mechanically, Kris did his job, keeping one eye on the clock and the other on the computer screen as he wrote about how the duchess, once home, used her influence and testimony to mount the mother of all pursuits.
Quigley was hounded and, in one last bloody battle, was captured, his infamous ship sunk. There were only seven survivors from the pirate crew. Quigley was among them, but he wasn't hanged like the rest. Instead, he was taken in chains to the duchess' manor and beaten to the floor in front of her chair. She sat there, six months pregnant, and looked down at him.
"You must be punished," said the duchess flatly.
Quigley lifted his bruised and bloodied face to his captor. He knew she had been on the ship that had defeated them in the end, though she had not shown herself to him then. He had gone into the hold in chains with the rest. His eyes fell to her bulging belly.
"You loved what I did to you," he croaked. "In the end, you loved it."
"You raped me," she said, her voice emotionless.
"You submitted!" he countered. "You took the burden of the others on your own shoulders." He grinned. "Or should I say back?"
A soldier stepped forward. His fist lashed out viciously, connecting with Quigley's mouth, and he fell to the floor and lay there. The man stepped closer to continue the beating, but the duchess raised her hand and stopped him.
"My consent was coerced," she said. "It meant nothing under the circumstances."
"You loved it," he mumbled through split and bleeding lips.
Henrietta Clayworth, Duchess of Fellborough, unwed and obviously pregnant, instructed her soldiers to leave the room. When the doors closed, Quigley sat up, but did not rise.
"You are correct," she said.
He blinked and shook his head. His ears seemed to be ringing.
"I beg your indulgence, milady," said Quigley. "My scrambled brain thought you agreed with me."
"Oddly enough, your scrambled brain was correct," she said. She knelt and reached out to touch his bruised lips with one fingertip.
"I shall let you live," she said softly. "You will use your considerable knowledge of the sea and the pirate trade to help me expunge them from the oceans. You shall provide for the women you ruined and see that the children you so carelessly spawned grow up to contribute to the empire's greatness, rather than soiling their heritage like you did. You, my dear Quigley, shall make amends for your deeds."
"Is that all?" He chuckled. "Those things I will do gladly, if my neck is to be left unstretched."
"There is more," she said, standing. "Kneel before me."
Quigley wasn't ready to die yet. If she was going to let him live, the least he could do was pay her the respect she demanded. After all, that bulging belly held his child. She had said he must provide for the women, one of whom was herself. He admired her. He'd admired her since he first met her. It was that admiration that had led to his agreement with her, whether she counted it valid or not.
"What else, your grace?" he asked, bowing his head.
"I shall birth no bastard child. You shall become my husband." She said it in the same voice she had been using all along, and it took two full seconds for it to register with Quigley. His head snapped up, his eyes open wide.
"You will make love with me at every opportunity," she said. The corners of her lips rose appreciably. "I did love it ... in the end ... and I shall love it again, when this insufferable burden you gave me finally leaves my body and I look like a woman again."
"You've never looked more like a woman than you do now," he said, wonderingly. "Nor have you ever been more beautiful. But you needn't wait until you give birth to our child. I have it on good authority that a man and woman may continue their amorous adventures up until the last possible moment."
"You'd have to take me from behind, like you did when you ravaged my innocence," she said. Her eyes were dangerously close to twinkling. "As I said then, I am no animal to be roughly bred."
"The breeding is already accomplished," he said, the cocky grin back on his face. "Now there is but the pursuit of pleasure to enjoy."
"Do you accept my conditions?" she asked, standing tall and stately.
"I do," he said.
"Guards!"
she thundered.
The doors flew open. Obviously the men had been waiting for her call.
"Take this scoundrel and have him cleaned up. Once he is presentable, chain him to the bed in my bedchamber."
"Chain me?" asked Quigley.
"Tis only proper that you understand how I felt when you ripped my maidenhead from me," she said. "If you please me, I may remove your bonds. If not ... well ... I was your captive for two months."
She smiled sweetly.
"Perhaps you should be taught what that felt like as well."
Kris looked at the screen. He thought he should
feel
something ... having finished the first book he could remember finishing. It was good. He knew that. Lulu liked it and that meant lots of women would like it.
But it didn't feel like he'd done anything special.
He thought about that. He eventually decided that romance wasn't what he'd written in the past. It wasn't his "thing." That had to be the answer.
The arrival of the Cynthia, who ran the morning show, jerked him out of his reverie. He packed up and went home.
He tried to sleep, but the wondering kept him awake: "If romance isn't what I write ... what
is
it I write?"
Even more disturbing was the other question on his mind. What to do about the accident and the man who had been shooting at him ...
Chapter Twenty-seven
It could be that his conscience drove him to it. Many men are haunted by past acts, until there is some kind of resolution. It is certain that his relationship with Lulu had a lot to do with it. He loved her too much to put her in a position to be hurt by his past. At war with himself over the thorn that kept piercing his psyche, he finally came up with what could only be called a half assed plan to at least
try
to move forward.
Kris invited Mitch in, taking him to the living room. Mitch looked around.
"Nice place," he said. "I've always wanted to see what the inside of one of these summer places looked like."
"I'm sure you knew somebody who lived in one," said Kris.
"Yeah, but it seemed kind of rude to just ask to visit so I could gawk, you know?"
"You didn't mind coming over here to pry into my life," said Kris.
"You're different," said Mitch. "You're an anomaly, both professionally and personally." He sat down and they both listened to air whooshing out of the leather-covered easy chair. "So, you said you needed a favor. What's up?"
"I need your opinion on a plot idea," said Kris.
"My opinion?" Mitch sounded surprised. Then he grinned. "Is the woman going to be naked this time?"
"No, I need your opinion as a law enforcement officer," explained Kris.
"Ahhhh," said Mitch. "I give advice for free, but a couple of fingers of good Scotch would most likely get my real opinion."
"All I've got is lemonade," said Kris, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't drink."
"How do you know you don't drink?" asked Mitch curiously.
"Beats me, I just know."
"Well, lemonade will get you a polite determination as to whether your plot will work or not," said Mitch, grinning.
Kris handed him a sheaf of papers, containing fifteen pages.
"You can read that while I get the drinks," he said. "It's an idea for part of a book."
"And you want my opinion on this?" asked Mitch, holding up the pages.
"Yeah," said Kris. "As a friend ... and from your perspective as a cop."
Kris went to the kitchen. He looked longingly at the back door, but he knew he wouldn't get far if Mitch came after him. He was taking a huge chance, but it was probably better to just tough it out and see what happened. He mixed the lemonade, putting four ice cubes in each glass, just killing time. He knew the important part was on page eight. He couldn't decide if he wanted to be in the room when Mitch read that or not. Finally, the feeling of just wanting to get it over with drove him back to the living room. When he handed Mitch the lemonade, the man took it without looking at him, his eyes firmly on the "story outline" in his hand. Kris saw that as Mitch had read each page, he'd put it face down in his lap. He appeared to have four or five pages left. That meant he'd already gotten to the part Kris was concerned with ... the part that this whole charade was designed to deal with ... sort of. Not knowing what else to do, he went and sat down in the other chair.