Savannah Heat (10 page)

Morgan’s tongue teased the corners of her mouth, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. She could feel his fingers splayed across her back, the movement of muscle in his powerful arms and shoulders. She tasted the brandy he’d been drinking and opened her mouth to his sensual urgings. When Morgan’s tongue swept her lips then plunged inside, melting heat unfurled through her body and her knees felt so weak she wasn’t sure they would hold her up. God in heaven, it wasn’t supposed to be like this!

Silver started to tremble. She was playing a game of fire, and she knew it. But the stakes were too high to run scared now. As long as she didn’t let things go too far …

Morgan deepened the kiss, and Silver slid her arms around his neck.

This was nothing like Michael Browning—nothing at all!

Morgan broke away from her, and she tried to read his expression. His chest rose and fell, his breathing was nearly as ragged as her own. “Is that what you had in mind, Silver?”

Unconsciously her fingers touched her lips, still warm and tingling from the heat of Morgan’s mouth. “I’m—I’m not sure.” She was rarely at a loss for words, rarely felt uncertain, but she felt uncertain now.

Morgan’s eyes seemed to glitter. She didn’t exactly know why.

“On the other hand,” he said, “maybe you’d prefer something a little more passionate.” He tightened
his hold on her waist, crushing her against his solid length. Then he kissed her hard, bruising her mouth, battering her soft pink lips. When she tried to protest, he roughly thrust his tongue between her teeth, and Silver’s eyes went wide.

She tried to break free, but Morgan’s arms constricted, holding her like twin steel bands One hand pressed against her back, while the other slid lower, to cup the cheeks of her bottom and force her even closer. She felt something hard and throbbing, something hot and rigid that left no doubt about what it was.

Silver tensed, uncertainty turning to fear. When she tried again to twist free, Morgan shifted his weight, lifted her up, and in an instant she found herself sprawled beneath him on the bed.

“Let me go!”

“Is this what you wanted, Silver?” One big hand cupped her breast and he kneaded it mercilessly. Using a long sinewy leg to pin both her own, Morgan forced her wrists above her head. One hand hiked up her skirt and petticoats, and his fingers found the waistband of her thin cotton drawers. He released the tie and yanked them down, exposing the soft white skin of her belly.

“Shall I go farther?” he taunted, his palm teasing the smooth flat surface below her navel, threatening to stray lower, to the triangle of downy blond curls that lay just a fraction of an inch below his hand. “Did your father raise a whore as well as a vixen?”

At the hateful taunt in his words, something snapped in Silver’s head. An instinct to protect herself born of the life she had led, something so wild, so primitive she felt she might explode with the fury of it.

“Let go of me!” she shrieked. “Get your hands off
me, you bloody bastard. If you don’t, I swear I’ll kill you!”

Morgan’s mouth, little more than a thin, grim line, turned up in a contemptuous half-smile. “Now that’s more like it. Sweet Salena replaced by that heartless bitch Silver Jones.”

Beneath him Silver writhed and twisted and struggled to break free, but Morgan held her fast. He chuckled mirthlessly. “What’s the matter, sweeting? My kisses didn’t please you after all?”

“Touch me again and I’ll kill you.”

“So you have said. Still …” His finger moved lazily from her belly button to the edge of her drawers, skimming along her flesh and making it tingle. “It might be worth it.”

Silver twisted and arched her back but couldn’t break free of his hold. “I hate you!”

Morgan laughed aloud, the sound harsh and grating in the confines of the room. “You know, Silver, I think I like you better this way. At least we both know where we stand.”

“You knew, didn’t you? You knew what I was doing all along.”

“I suppose I might have hoped once or twice I was wrong.”

What did he mean by that
?

“I’m returning you to Katonga, Silver. Nothing you can do is going to change things.” Morgan tugged her drawers back up over her hips and flipped her skirts back down.

Her face flushed scarlet, but she forced herself to look at him. “If I’m a heartless bitch, Morgan Trask, you’re a cruelhearted bastard.”

Morgan merely grunted. “Some would say we make a perfect pair.”

Releasing her wrists, Morgan stood up leisurely.
He didn’t bother to hide the thick hard bulge at the front of his breeches, just picked up his shirt and drew it on. He left without a backward glance, slamming the door behind him. It occured to Silver then that Hamilton Riley and Wilson Demming had seen them come into Trask’s cabin. After the way he’d behaved, they were sure to believe the worst.

Damn him to hell! She hated him for what he had done and hated herself even more.

Tears stung her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. Trask was a man, nothing more It didn’t matter what he did; she wouldn’t let him defeat her In truth the anger she felt was directed more at herself than at him Trask had merely bested her at the dangerous game she had played Another man might not have stopped when he did. Another man might have done the terrible things.

Silver shuddered at the painful memory and swung her feet to the side of Trask’s wide bed. She felt drained and humiliated yet strangely keyed up. Maybe she should be grateful to the major instead of angry, she mused with a trace of bitterness. For in truth, in those few brief moments before his kiss had turned cruel, Trask had aroused something in her she hadn’t really believed existed.

Trask had made her feel passion.

After what had happened on Katonga, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to feel that kind of emotion. Michael Browning had conjured little more than a pleasant stirring. One brush of Morgan’s lips had turned her to flame.

Damn him! Why did it have to be a mean-tempered, arrogant rogue like Morgan? A man she clearly loathed. The way he treated her was inexcusable. He was a cad of the very worst sort. Then again, what should she have expected? He was a
friend of her father’s. Obviously they were very much the same.

Dismissing Jeremy Flagg, the lanky, crooked-toothed second mate, Morgan took the wheel. The smooth, weather-worn wood felt good beneath his hands, steady and solid and reliable. A ship was something a man could count on. Something to depend on, even when the seas got rough. Not like a woman. Not at all like that vixen Silver Jones.

He shouldn’t have kissed her. At least not the way he had at first. He hadn’t meant to when he hauled her down the ladder to his cabin. He’d meant to punish her, teach her a lesson about playing games with a man like him.

Then she’d looked up at him, and he’d seen a spark of something in those big brown eyes. No matter what deceitful games she played, those twin dark pools always spoke the truth. He had read desire in those eyes—not an act, not a game—desire, pure and simple.

And Morgan had to taste it. He just couldn’t help himself. Worst of all, the feel of her in his arms, his mouth against hers had been so heady he would never forget it. Lips as delicate as rose petals, skin as soft and smooth as silk. He could still smell her feminine scent where it clung tenaciously to his clothes.

Morgan felt little remorse about the way he had treated her. She was lucky she’d picked on him and not somebody else. Any other man would have done more than ruffle her skirts! In truth it had taken a will of iron for Morgan to keep from taking more liberties than he had. If it hadn’t been for William, he probably wouldn’t have stopped until he’d bedded her.

He couldn’t help wondering, if he’d let her continue her game, would she have let him?

Morgan cursed roundly, furious that a willful bit of baggage like Salena could draw him into her net. What would William say if he knew what Morgan was thinking?

Fifteen years ago it had been William Hardwick-Jones’s swift intervention that had saved him from Newgate Prison—or worse. Morgan’s father, once an adviser to the king, had died when Morgan was twelve, and his mother’d lived only a short while longer. Morton Paxton, his mother’s brother, had been forced to take Morgan and Brendan in.

Morgan’s teeth clenched at the memory though his rage should have long been spent. Paxton was a meanspirited, tightfisted man who goaded Morgan endlessly. No matter how hard he studied, it wasn’t enough. No matter how long he worked, the hours were too few.

Not used to that kind of treatment, Morgan had grown surly and begun to rebel, getting into one scrape after another. The youths he ran with drank too much and brawled at the slightest opportunity. Then one night, while he and his friends were raising hell at the Draught and Garter, the heir to the marquess of Devon insulted the tavern wench Morgan was wooing, and Morgan called him out.

In a saber duel the following morning, fifteen-year-old Morgan Trask killed the Viscount Halsey.

The only man Morgan could think to turn to was William Hardwick-Jones, an old friend of his father’s Morgan had always admired and respected. A man he prayed would help him. William didn’t hesitate. He made arrangements for Morgan and Brendan to leave England on the next ship out of Liverpool and
gave them money enough to start a new life in America.

Morgan Trask owed the earl of Kent and was duty-bound to repay him.

One way or another Salena was going home.

The quiet routine Silver had been used to changed dramatically after her encounter with Morgan. Both Lieutenant Riley and Wilson Demming avoided her; they were congenial and polite—and sure she was the major’s woman. Silver found the notion infuriating, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Let them think what they would. Once they reached Katonga, she would never see any of them again.

Morgan avoided her even more—and that was fine with Silver. Oh, he was polite enough, almost too polite. Every time he opened his mouth with a cordial hello, Silver wanted to slap him. Because every time she looked at those beautifully carved, oh so sensuous lips, she remembered the feel of them moving over hers. She could still recall the silky warmth of his tongue, the masculine, brandy-tinged flavor of his breath.

The memory seemed burned into her brain. Yet she was sure that to Morgan their encounter had been only another means of proving his authority. From what Jordy said, he had women in every port. A kiss to him meant nothing.

Unconsciously Silver clenched her fists. Sitting on a deck box, the noon sun bright overhead, she glanced out across the water, almost too lost in thought to notice the buzz of flying fish that leaped in the air beside the ship. A school of them must be running nearby, she thought, just as one of them landed with a dull thud upon the deck.

The poor scaled creature looked so helpless lying
there at her feet, gasping for air. She didn’t relish the idea of picking the slippery thing up, but she couldn’t stand to see it suffer.

It was a feline growl, not far away, that moved her to action. Silver scooped the poor fish up by its sheer, wiry fin, raced to the rail, and tossed it over just as Sogger bolted up the aft ladder at a dead run.

“Sorry, my friend,” she said with a sympathetic smile, “you’ll have to stick to rats a bit longer.” She almost felt guilty. Everyone enjoyed a tasty fish dinner once in a while; why shouldn’t Sogger? She reached out to pet his mangy orange-striped fur and scratched behind a mashed and torn ear, probably the result of some battle he had fought. Sogger purred contentedly.

“At least
you
haven’t abandoned me,” she said, then noticed the shiny brown boots that appeared in her line of vision. Her eyes followed them up to a pair of long lean legs. She lifted her gaze to his face.

“And you think I have?”

Silver’s face flushed crimson though she tried to will it not to. “Actually, I’m grateful, Major. The less I see of you, the better I like it.”

Trask didn’t answer. Backlit by the bright Caribbean sun, he looked taller than ever. She had never seen a man with shoulders so wide or a waist so narrow. With his feet splayed against the roll of the ship, the muscles in his thighs strained against his tight-fitting breeches. So did the hefty weight of his sex.

“Then you should be happy to know,” he said, “that day after tomorrow we reach Katonga. You’ll be rid of me for good.”

“There’s always something to be thankful for.”

“Yes …” Trask started to leave, then turned back. “There is one thing I’d like to know.”

Silver eyed him warily. “What’s that?”

“What happened in my cabin … I’ve been wondering about that kiss …”

Silver tensed. She should have known the rogue would never play the gentleman and let the incident pass. Then another thought occurred: At least the major had been thinking about it, too. “What about it?”

“In the beginning … were you pretending, or is it possible you enjoyed it, maybe just a little?”

Damn him! And damn his boundless arrogance! “As you so clearly pointed out, Major Trask, I’m a heartless bitch. Of course, I was pretending.”

“Of course,” he said coldly. “Enjoy what little you have left of the voyage.” He turned and walked away.

Silver watched his retreating tall figure and wondered why the thought of never seeing him again cast a dim haze over her day. She didn’t care about him; why should she? He certainly didn’t care about her.
It’s just because you’re going back
, she assured herself, the awful knowledge that she had only two more days of freedom—such as it was.

“Afternoon, Miss Jones.” Jordy sauntered up beside her, his eyes shyly cast down.

“Hello, Jordy.”

“Pretty day, ain’t it?”

“Isn’t it,” she corrected.

“Isn’t it.”

Silver released a weary sigh and glanced out to sea. “I suppose so.”

“You’re feeling bad ’cause you gotta go back home, ain’t—aren’t you?”

“Yes, Jordy, I am.”

For a moment he looked uncertain. “Seems to me you oughta be glad you got one—a home, I mean.
Cap’n Trask says your daddy’s an earl. That means you’re rich. You probably live in some fancy mansion, like the cap’n.”