Savannah Heat (32 page)

“I thought you came here because of what’s happening.”

“I came here because of you.”

“I told you before, Colonel, I’m not interested in becoming involved with you. I thought I made that clear the night Major Trask confronted us up on deck.”

Buckland’s arms encircled her waist, and he pulled her close. “I won’t deny you have a bit of a temper. I’ll not soon forget the resounding blow you dealt me, nor do I wish to incur another.”

“Let go of me, Colonel.” Silver tried to pull away, but Buckland only tightened his hold.

“What I want from you, Salena, is your affection, not your scorn. I’m willing to risk your fury again if you will but give me a chance to express my feelings for you.”

Buckland forced her back against the bed, then down on the gold brocade counterpane.

“I’m not interested,” Silver warned, her temper growing hotter by the moment. “I wasn’t then; I’m not now. Stop this—”

Smothering her protests with his mouth, Buckland thrust his tongue between her teeth. Silver’s fury swelled until she could barely remember where she was. The colonel’s heavy weight held her down on the soft feather mattress. She could feel his stiff arousal pressing against her thigh.

His hands gripped her wrists, and when she struggled, he held her surprisingly immobile. Shifting her wrists above her head with an ease she wouldn’t have guessed, he grasped them both in one hand, then slid his fingers over her bodice to cup a breast. Only Silver’s fury tempered her growing sense of alarm.

Buckland was bigger and stronger than she had realized. Without a weapon of some sort, she might not be able to stop him. Silver twisted, trying to break free. Buckland’s grip tightened, and Silver struggled harder. His mouth stifled her protests while his body held her fast. Silver arched beneath him, twisting and fighting to dislodge his heavy weight. She heard the rending fabric, the sound of buttons bursting free, and the front of her gown popped open, exposing her corset and the soft pale flesh that rose above it. Buckland’s fingers settled over the rounded swell.

That was the way Morgan found them.

“Let her go,” he commanded, and Connie Buckland froze. Morgan’s voice had never sounded more deadly; hard, cold anger bit into every word.

Silver saw him standing in front of the door he had softly closed behind him, feet splayed, hands balled into fists, and felt a bitter despair well up inside her.
Dear God, this can’t be happening
. But it was. One glance at Morgan’s taut features, the muscle that bunched in his cheek, and Silver read the truth.

Whatever hopes she had nurtured were gone. Her last chance to right things had flickered and died like the embers of a once-bright fire.

There was nothing she could do or say, no way to convince him. He would think the worst, just as he always did, treat her with the cold, hard scorn she had never once deserved. The lump in her throat threatened to choke her. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

“Get away from her, Buckland.” The warning was so harsh they cut through Silver’s grief and turned her misery to anger.

To hell with Morgan Trask! she vowed. He would win the game, but in winning, he would lose. When the colonel’s grip on her wrists grew slack, Silver slid her arms around his neck.

“Don’t go, Connie,” she coaxed. “This is none of his business.” Silver pulled his mouth down to hers, and Connie stiffened in protest. She ground her hips against him and made passionate whimpers in her throat. Connie strained away from her, though she held him fast, then his body jerked upright like a puppet on a string.

“It’s all I can do to keep from beating you senseless,” Morgan told him, releasing his hold on Connie’s
uniform coat and shoving him toward the door. Silver pulled her gown back in place with trembling fingers and stood up, her eyes fastened on Morgan.

“I’m the senior officer here,” Buckland warned, straightening his jacket with a dignified air. “You don’t order me to do anything. And unless you’re willing to risk court-martial, I suggest you keep your hands off me.”

“Court-martial?” Morgan repeated. The scar across his cheek looked taut and strained. “I doubt you’d want this little … indiscretion … bandied about. Besides, you need me, Colonel—and we both know it.”

Buckland looked at Silver, who swallowed hard, torn between fury and tears. Mumbling an oath beneath his breath, he turned and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Morgan swung his gaze to Silver, pinning her with an impenetrable green-eyed stare.

“You can get out, too!” Silver stiffened her spine and turned to face him.

One corner of his mouth curved upward. “Surely you’ll be lonesome now that the colonel has gone.”

“Thanks to you.” She tilted her chin in a show of defiance, but her bottom lip trembled.

“Yes …” he said, “thanks to me.” There was something in his voice, an inscrutable note that shouldn’t have been there. With arrogant nonchalance, he pulled off his jacket and tossed it onto the gold brocade chair in the corner.

“I told you to get out.”

“I’m staying.”

Silver watched in utter disbelief as Morgan untied his stock, unfastened the cuffs on his ruffle-fronted white shirt, the buttons down the front, then tugged it from the waistband of his breeches. Bare-chested,
he moved to the chair, sat down, and pulled off his boots. When the second boot hit the floor with an echoing thud, Silver snapped out of her daze.

“Fine,” she said, her fury barely contained. “You may stay if you like—I will leave.” Holding her dress together as best she could, she stormed across the room toward the door. Morgan surged to his feet and caught her arm, spinning her to face him and pulling her hard against his chest.

“You’ve staying, too.”

She could feel the heat of his body, but the fires he ignited were of anger, not passion. The lump in her throat threatened to choke her. He had witnessed Buckland’s assault and believed she’d enjoyed it, encouraged it. “The hell you say! Let go of me and get out of my room.”

“You’d rather have Buckland?” he asked, but she heard no trace of anger in his voice. Instead a smile softened the lines of his mouth, and his bright green eyes were warm on her face.

Silver eyed him warily. “Wasn’t that obvious?”

“I’ll admit that’s what it might have looked like to some.”

“But not to you, I suppose.” She strained against his chest, trying to pull away.

“To me it looked like a beautiful young woman being set upon by a pompous, overstuffed ass.”

“What?” Silver stopped struggling. “You’re taking my side? I don’t believe it. You—you’re just saying that because you want to take Buckland’s place. You think you can sweet-talk your way into my bed.” Silver arched away from him, but Morgan’s hold only tightened.

“I’m saying it because I was standing outside your door. I heard every word you said to him.”

“But—”

“Every word,” he repeated. “I’ve been a fool, Silver. A crazy, jealous fool who ought to be taken out and horsewhipped for the things he has said.”

“You heard him? You know the truth about what happened?”

“From the colonel’s own mouth.”

For a moment Silver just stared at him. Then tears touched her eyes, and she had to glance away.

Morgan turned her face with his hand, forcing her to look at him. “I was a fool,” he repeated, “I’m sorry.”

Silver slid her arms around his neck and leaned into his chest.

“Forgive me, Silver,” he whispered into her ear. When she straightened, Morgan brushed the tears from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m not like Charlotte,” she said softly. “I never will be.”

Morgan kissed her then, with all the passion he had withheld.
God, he wanted her
. Silver kissed him back with equal abandon, her fingers clutching his shoulders, then sliding once more around his neck. Morgan laced his hands in her hair, feeling the silky strands beneath his fingers, Tilting her head back, he kissed her eyes, her cheeks, the line of her jaw, then the graceful arch of her throat. His loins swelled and hardened, his shaft growing thick and heavy and pressing against the front of his breeches.

Through the open back of her dress, Morgan’s fingers skimmed over her flesh; he eased the gown off her shoulders, lowered the strap of her chemise, and bared her breasts. He could feel her trembling as he cupped and lifted the heavy weight, then used his thumb and forefinger to tease her nipple to a hard, taut, dusty rose peak.

“Morgan,” Silver whispered into his ear. Her lips
felt warm against his throat, then they returned to his mouth. Her tongue found its way inside, the honey-sweet taste of her causing an ache close to pain. With a groan of surrender, Morgan lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

As his fingers freed her garments, his eyes moved over her face. The tears had dried, no glistening trail marked their path, but Morgan had not forgotten. What if he hadn’t heard the truth? What if he had found them together and believed the worst, accused her unjustly, just as Silver expected? The joys she offered would have been lost to him. But something told him he would have lost a gift far more precious.

Morgan removed the last of her clothes, brushing her lips with a kiss, but when she reached for him, he pulled away.

“Don’t lie to me again, Silver,” he warned softly. “I know I deserved it, but I’m asking you now—please—don’t ever do it again.”

Silver brought his hand to her lips and gently kissed the palm. “Only tiny white lies,” she promised. “I’m afraid they’re part of my nature.”

He didn’t press her. She was Silver. She would do as she pleased. Still, he hoped his words would give her pause. He wanted to trust her, and he was beginning to. It was dangerous, he knew. He’d been hurt before. He would never forget the awful pain of Charlotte’s betrayal, the agonizing months of trying to block the image of her, naked and writhing beneath another man.

Trusting Silver meant opening himself up to her, allowing long-buried feelings to surface. There was grave risk involved.

Morgan inwardly smiled. Silver Jones was worth the risk.

Silver watched with quiet fascination as Morgan stripped off his breeches. Lamplight played over the hard planes and valleys of his chest, the subtle indentations of his ribs, the muscles across his arms and shoulders.

His waist was narrow, his stomach flat. Her fingers itched to touch the round, hard curves of his buttocks. The memory of them flexing beneath her palms as Morgan drove into her sent a jolt of heat through her body. Standing beside the bed, naked and aroused, Morgan untied the mosquito netting to keep out the small flying creatures of the night and joined her on the soft feather mattress.

“I’ve never desired a woman the way I do you,” he said softly, lowering his mouth to take her lips. His kiss seemed less urgent, but there was a leashed quality in the taut way he held her.

Silver recognized the power he withheld, his determination to give as much pleasure as he took. His mouth moved over hers, his tongue sweeping in, urging hers to fence and parry. The warm moist cavern felt smooth, his breath tasted of brandy, a hint of
tobacco she hadn’t noticed before, and the coppery taste she had come to know as desire.

It was a taste that inflamed her. Morgan’s mouth moved down her body, kissing and nibbling, making her writhe beneath him. When he cradled a breast and drew her nipple into his mouth, Silver moaned. He was taking his time, moving with slow, agonizing purpose. The sweet torture felt almost painful.

“Please, Morgan,” she whispered, the words she’d once held back now slipping with ease from her tongue. “I want to feel you inside me.”

“Soon, sweet vixen.” His mouth trailed a burning path from her throat to her shoulder.

Not soon enough
, Silver thought. When Morgan moved lower, his tongue darting into her navel, Silver almost begged him for the pleasure she knew he could give. How much longer would he make her wait?

As if in answer, Morgan nudged her legs apart and settled himself gently between her thighs. His hands laced through the soft blond hair that protected her sex, then he separated the delicate folds and lowered his mouth to the rigid bud at the entrance. Too late Silver realized his intentions. Not until his mouth and his tongue lapped at her with such determination that waves of pleasure rushed over her and passion roared in her ears. She fisted her hands in the bed sheets and bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out.

With a burst of white-hot fire, a profound sweetness washed over her and tiny stars burst inside her head. Her body went rigid, the spasm of pleasure hurling her higher and higher.

That was when she felt him, probing the entrance to her core, his shaft thick and pulsing. With fierce possession, he drove himself inside her, the heat of
his arousal firing her passion anew. He slid out and then in, hot and hard and wanting, urging a mindless pleasure like nothing she’d known.

“Morgan!” she cried, arching her body to receive each powerful thrust. He was driving against her, lifting her buttocks, pounding, pounding, and still she wanted more.