Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance (18 page)

Amazingly, it didn’t revolt her the way it had with Roche. Roche had made her feel soiled, disgusted. Cale made her feel like a woman. For the first time in her life, she felt sensual.

She liked the feel of his strength beneath her hands; it gave her pleasure to know he held it back to keep from hurting her.

With him, she was safe, completely safe. He wouldn’t harm her or her child. There was no damage to be done here. She was already with child; her honor was beyond salvaging and Steele wouldn’t need to fret about leaving her with a bastard child. She could act upon the desires stirring her without consequence.

She slid one hand up his arm, over his shoulder, and down his chest where she spread her fingers wide.

“Mine isn’t the only heart pounding.”

*

He’d seen it
coming. Despite his apprehension, his every nerve warning him to stay clear, he’d anticipated it was only a matter of time before need overrode reason. And it was need now, pure and simple, pumping through his veins. Pumping straight into his groin.

He knew she felt it, yet she didn’t seem afraid. Despite her racing heart, nothing in her expression showed fear. He suspected a fair bit of it showed on his. He shouldn’t be this close.
They
shouldn’t be this close. The look in her eye was warning enough.

Desire, curiosity, shyness, and enough assertiveness to make him sweat. They all rolled in the green depths of her eyes. It was the assertiveness scaring him. That and the way she tilted her head and studied him, as though planning her strategy.

“Why is your heart racing?” she whispered.

“I think you know why.” He wasn’t going to lie, not to either of them. But neither was he going to continue on this course. She had a child to consider. While he craved to bury himself in her, fill his hands with her flesh, he wouldn’t use her the way Roche had. He lifted his hands from her shoulders and stepped back.

“You desire me,” she stated.

“I can control myself, Grace. You don’t need to worry.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to.”

A lightning bolt of lust speared him. It threatened to steal his reason, his resolve. “Grace…”

His heart stumbled when she came back to him, pushed those generous breasts against him. He set his jaw, tried desperately not to think of where his cock lay cradled. She couldn’t know what she was doing.

Yet he knew she did, when, with her gaze locked onto his, she placed her hands onto his cheeks, rose onto her toes, and lifted her mouth to his. Her breath fluttered hot against his lips, tempting him, inviting him.

Sweat broke out along his temple. He knew he shouldn’t. Not only for her sake but his as well. He hadn’t kissed a woman since Catherine. He’d bedded strumpets when he couldn’t take the need any longer, but he’d never kissed them. Kissing involved the heart; it involved feelings and desires deeper than simple lust.

There was nothing simple about what he felt for Grace.

And, damn it, he didn’t want to feel any of it. Didn’t want to care. He’d loved a woman once and losing her had destroyed him. He couldn’t go through it again. But his heart wasn’t heeding his head’s warning. And Grace wasn’t making things any easier for him.

She was right; he desired her. Worse, he craved her. The longer he was around her, the more the need consumed him. He’d tried to fight it, tried to pretend it wasn’t there, but it was. And the part of him he’d kept locked up since Catherine simply wanted to feel again.

Not hate, not anger, but trust and desire. He yearned to lose himself in something soft and good, something that filled him, rather than something that took away another piece of his soul.

And Grace, warm and yielding in his arms, was nothing but good. He didn’t know if her breasts were always so full or if they had ripened with pregnancy and he didn’t care. Not when they were molded to his chest, not when the swells of them rode high and firm through the opening of the shirt she wore over her tattered gown. His shirt. Seeing her in his clothes aroused him. But even better would be if she wore none at all.

And with that thought filling his mind and heating his blood, Grace touched her lips to his.

It was an innocent kiss, a meeting of closed mouths, a kiss one could give a relative. He felt it to his soul.

Having her mouth on his, no matter how chastely, sizzled his brain and any logical thinking. Doubts, fears, hesitations, and thoughts scattered. There was only Grace.

Clasping her waist, Cale opened his mouth, slid his tongue along her bottom lip. She shuddered against him. It should have warned him away, told him she wasn’t ready for what he was after, no matter what she believed, but it only fueled him more.

Moving to her upper lip, he ran his tongue along its trembling curve. Another shudder and this time a sigh. Her lips parted on it. His eyes closed as her moist breath slipped into his mouth. Every muscle and nerve in his body sparked. He didn’t want to go too fast. If she wanted this, he needed to give her time to think, to think and to accept. He dug his fingers into her flesh, desperately trying for control.

He lost the battle when her tongue peeked out, a quick flick against his.

“Again.” He urged, his mouth still touching hers.

Then, to show her how, he eased into her mouth and sampled.

His kiss was soft, slow, designed to slip into desire, rather than drop into it. It was a good plan until Grace became the one doing the tasting and the licking. Then he felt the drop, as though the deck suddenly fell out from under him.

Feeling unsteady and needing something solid to support him, he walked her back until she was once again pressed into the wheel.

His hands went around her, pulled her snugly against him. Her fingers dug into his hair when he angled his mouth and finally, finally, kissed her the way a woman was meant to be kissed.

Her mouth was lusher than any jungle, hotter than any sunbaked sand, and sweeter than any sugar cane. He tried not to devour, but it was difficult with the soft mewing noises coming from her throat. Her hands clenched in his hair as though she couldn’t get enough. Which was perfect as he didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her either.

Relentlessly, he seduced her mouth. Her moans went straight to his loins; the way she rubbed against him strained the already tenuous grasp he had on his control.

He wanted more but loathed leaving her lips, especially with her tongue tasting him as thoroughly as he’d explored her. He let her. Hell, he was incapable of doing anything else. It felt too good. She wanted him. She wasn’t simply acquiescing; she was taking. Bloody hell, it felt good to be wanted again.

And he needed her to feel the same, to feel how much he desired her.

His hands slipped underneath the shirt she wore and cupped her breasts. Her gasp surged through him like a waterfall, drenched him in desire. Yes, this is what he’d been after, Grace lost and melting in his arms. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted her undone. Completely.

Despite the gown as a barrier, he molded her breasts to his hands, thrust them up. It was the first time he was grateful for the plunging scoop of her gown’s bodice. Through the gaping neckline of the shirt, his eyes feasted on the mounds of her breasts.

“Look at you.” He sighed before dipping his head.

*

His beard abraded
her skin, but his tongue more than made up for the small discomfort. It ran hot over her flesh, sinfully skimmed the seam between her breasts. Through the bodice of her gown her nipples hardened, the feeling both exquisite and uncomfortable. Moments ago a heaviness had settled in her bosom; it was why she’d rubbed against him. She’d needed to alleviate the ache. But this, this was so much…more.

Roche had never kissed her, never done anything with her breasts but squeeze them painfully. While her bosom ached now, it wasn’t painful but no amount of rubbing was easing the discomfort. If anything, it was making it worse.

“Cale.”

He jerked back. Emotions sped across his face and raced through his eyes too fast for her to read. All she knew was that he’d distanced himself from her, in more ways than one. While her body mourned the loss of his heat, the magic of his touch, her heart ached for what she feared she’d just lost.

“I’m sorry.” She hastened to apologize. “Aidan told me your real name. He didn’t mean to and he made me promise not to ever tell you I knew, but…” She pulled her arms into her chest. “Calling you Steele didn’t feel right. Considering.”

It was as though he were looking through her and not at her. His eyes were out of focus, as if he were in another place and time and he didn’t appear to have heard her. Feeling foolish, Grace pushed from the wheel.

He caught her before she could take a step.

“Don’t go.”

If he’d been out of sorts moments ago, he wasn’t any longer. His attention was on her, his gaze intent. Having his undivided attention, having his hand on her, if only her arm, once again had her skin warming and her belly fluttering. Had he been Irish she may have thought him a faerie for he seemed to have the power to bewitch her.

“Are you sure? Because a moment ago—”

“It was the shock of hearing my name. I haven’t heard someone speak it in many, many years. Especially not the way you said it.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I can call you Steele again, if you’d prefer.”

In the most romantic of gestures, he took her hand, raised it to his lips. His beard was soft against her fingers as he kissed the back of her hand.

“I haven’t been addressed by my name since I took over as Steele and I’ll admit it jarred me, but you’re right. Steele has no place here. I feel more like Cale than Steele and I’ve you to thank for that.”

“Me?” How was it she could be responsible for such a thing when it was him who brought out changes in her?

His smile stole her heart. “Yes, you.” He circled his arms around her waist, pulled her close and tight. “Say it again.”

It was difficult to think with his body pressed hotly against her, with his lips hovering over hers. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to talk. She pushed onto her toes, reached for his mouth.

“Say it.” The rumble of his voice trembled against her breasts, the moistness of his breath had her own catching in her throat.

She hadn’t witnessed him in battle, but seeing him in the combined glow of the moonlight and the lantern, his eyes dark and serious, his focus unwavering, she had no problem seeing him as Steele. Yet she knew with certainty it wasn’t Steele who was about to kiss her.

“Cale.” She sighed before his mouth claimed hers, before his hands once again slid around to her breasts.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a wee bit afraid. Not of him, she trusted he would take care with her, but her only experience in such matters thus far had been ugly and painful. While it would be different with Cale, the disgrace of Roche’s abuse lingered, taunted her from the shadows of her mind. The rough hands, the sweaty grunts. Grace shuddered.

Cale lifted his head, cupped her cheek and said, “We can stop right here, Grace. There’s no shame in that.”

“I want this. I want you.” And she wouldn’t let Roche steal her one chance—for she knew she’d never give herself away again—to wipe away his filth with something clean and meaningful.

“I want this.” She repeated again. “I need this.” To prove it she stepped away from the wheel, lay down on the deck. Then, clutching fistfuls of her skirt began to raise them upward. The garments breached her knees before Cale lunged down, latched his hand onto her arm.

“What are you doing?”

“We can’t do this without me skirts lifting.”

Cale’s head bowed, his long sigh shattered her confidence. Had he changed his mind? Mortified, Grace rolled away, would have come to her feet if his arm hadn’t curved around her waist and held her there.

“Let go.”

“Grace, look at me.”

“I’ll not be looking into your eyes to see sympathy there. Let me go now, and we can both pretend that for a moment you hadn’t actually considered coupling with me.”

“I haven’t changed my mind, Grace.”

“’Tis not your pity I’ll be after.”

“No, I thought it was my body.”