Starlight & Promises (22 page)

Once he was inside her?
What was he thinking? The errant notion surely resulted from his cock’s wishful thinking. He had no designs on the willful innocent’s virginity. Once they found the Smilodon and her uncle, they would part ways. He would leave her wiser but none the worse for wear. Most likely, they would never cross paths again. Why did that thought bring a tightening to his chest? He had no inclination to pursue the source.

He peered over at her. “Are you all right?”

“I believe so,” she said in a wobbly voice, “but why am I so wet?”

His chest shook with laughter. “Ah, Sam, that necessitates a long story better saved for another time.”

He got wearily to his feet and pulled her up beside him. “Come with me. I know of a stream nearby. We both need a bath.”

During the following weeks on shipboard, Samantha and Christian sought out opportunities to be alone and continue their love play but with a restraint Christian enforced. He had aroused new, compelling feelings in Samantha, and now he paid the price. She tested his resolve at every turn, pushing him to the limits of his endurance and patience. Each day it became more difficult to adhere to the constraints he placed on himself.

Nights generally found them at the aft railing, watching the ship’s wake in the starlight or embracing in some shadowy corner of the ship. She tried to entice him into taking her to his cabin. Determined to leave her virtue intact, however, he declined, and arguments flared. Strained relations resulted for a few days following their disagreements, but the siren song of passion soon pulled them back together.

On a crystalline night during the dark of the moon, Christian came up behind Samantha while she rested her forearms on the railing and gazed out over phosphorescent ripples on the ocean’s surface.

Samantha pointed to the green and pink sparkles. “What causes it?”

“Tiny animals so small they can be seen only with a microscope. Some scientists believe the animals absorb sunlight during the day, store it inside, and release it at night.”

“‘Tis beautiful,” she said with a sigh.

His mouth teased the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Beautiful,” he mumbled against her skin.

She began to straighten, and he placed a hand on the small of her back. “Stay where you are.” He moved closer behind her, the hard length of his manhood pressing through her dress to rest along the cleft of her buttocks. His tongue tasted her neck and ears. His hands circled her breasts, fondling her nipples through the cotton barrier. He stepped back and lifted her skirt.

Samantha stiffened at cool air wafting across the backs of her legs. “Chris, someone will see us.”

Running the tips of his fingers up her calves and thighs, he caressed the bare skin below her pantalets. “No, they won’t. It’s dark here, and my body will shield you from view.”

His hands kneaded her legs and buttocks, and sparks sped through her veins. Reckless and wanton, she leaned over the railing with her skirt up around her waist. She’d not seen his face yet. ‘Twas as if a mystery lover accosted her in the darkness.

Moving his feet between hers, he spread her legs apart. The split in her pantalets opened to the night, and a breeze teased the lips of her sex. The muscles in her thighs tensed. When he rubbed his cloth-covered erection against her cleft, she moaned, hollowed her back, and lifted her hips.

He wrapped his arm about her, fingers finding the nub of her desire and stroking it until her sheath wept, and she moved rhythmically against his hand. With his other hand, Christian stroked her from behind. As Samantha moved closer to orgasm, a finger slid inside her, and she tensed at the unfamiliar sensation.

Christian whispered, telling her how good she felt, how hot and slippery, and her walls clutched his finger. He moved the digit, stroking her, dipping deeply and withdrawing, and when she relaxed, her body accepted the incursion with delight.

His finger moved faster, the rubbing on her clitoris more insistent, and she floated upward toward ecstasy and shifted her legs wider. Now two fingers moved inside her. Rivers of fire and ice flowed outward through her limbs, draining her of strength and will, and Samantha exploded inside, a cry breaking from her. She flew over the edge, splintering into shards of light, and collapsed across the railing.

Christian withdrew his hands and turned her quickly into his arms, holding her close. Aftershocks claimed her, body and breath, and her legs gave way.

While she regained her senses, his lips descended and pulled from her the last dark dregs of her passion. He still pressed heavily against her belly, and she looked up into his eyes.

“I want to touch you, Chris.”

He grew still, nodded. She tried to unbutton his trousers, but her shaky fingers were unable to manage the feat. Christian brushed aside her hands and released the buttons, leaving his underdrawers as a last barrier between them.

Eager fingers explored the turgid flesh beneath the cloth, and Christian moaned and arched his neck, the tendons stretched tight at Samantha’s light touch. She rubbed her palms across him and marveled at the heat, and his penis grew larger and harder, while her touch grew bolder.

Finally, with a grimace of pain, Christian pulled her hands away.

“Did I hurt you?” Samantha asked.

He uttered a short laugh. “No, tigrina, but if you continue, I’ll have to change my trousers.”

When she opened her mouth, he stopped her. “Leave me alone now. Go back to your cabin.”

Soon she left his sight, departing with a pout on her face. He opened his drawers and, with swift, hard strokes, finished what Samantha’s naïve touch had begun, all the while imagining he was inside her.

After catching his breath and straightening his clothes, he debated the wisdom of continuing with this dalliance. He feared Samantha was falling in love with him, confusing passion with more permanent feelings, although the fault lay with him. He had toyed with her heart and body and was beginning to despise himself for his selfishness.

Christian avoided examining his own heart too closely, however. He had two options: stay away from her or marry her. Perhaps he would be well advised to pull back for a while, grant them some time to cool off. But he had tried that course before, and his good intentions fell all to hell and back whenever she drew near. His need for her took over, and he wanted only to bury himself in her heat and wetness. Even thinking of how she would feel brought his penis to attention again, and he cursed into the wind.

He never should have touched her. From the moment he saw her floating in that blue pond, all her charms and secrets revealed by her transparent camisole and pantalets, he became lost. Their game of “shark” merely had inflamed him. And he
was
a shark, Sam his unsuspecting bait. In the innocence of her awakening passion, he had caught her in his sharp teeth before she understood what was happening. Her virtuous beauty and fiery nature drew him like a moth to a candle flame. And like the moth, he would rather die than forego his own fascination.

He could not recall burning this hot for one woman, wanting her constantly and walking around in a permanent state of arousal. She possessed such natural seductive enthusiasm and a great deal too much misplaced trust. Little did she know that tonight he’d been only seconds away from releasing his cock and plunging into her virgin flesh. He dared not come that close again. He had to break it off.

Christian avoided Samantha as much as possible for the remainder of the voyage. Her face reflected her hurt feelings, her inability to understand why their relationship had changed. He alone understood.

The distance he enforced was for her own good … and his. He declined explaining his withdrawal, suspecting that even a short, intimate conversation could lead to disaster. Each night he tossed in his bunk, unable to sleep, pounding the pillows and bemoaning his own weakness. Finally Garrett moved into the crew’s quarters to get his rest.

Samantha also slept poorly, though her cabinmates slumbered like hibernating frogs and noticed naught amiss. She agonized over what offense she had committed to deserve Christian’s indifference. When she posed the question, he brushed off her inquiry, saying he was too busy to take the time for conversation. Too busy? He’d not been too busy to initiate her to passion. Why then did he withdraw it? Was he already through with her?

She resorted to questioning Garrett, nigh pinning him against the railing with no means of escape, and grilled him.

“What is Christian’s problem?” she asked in a shouted whisper, waving her hands in her agitated state. “Why does he blow hot and cold, being tender and loving at one moment, arrogant and bullying the next? I vow I cannot fathom what tangled thoughts run through his mind. ‘Tis maddening, and I am on the threshold of taking out his heart on the point of a sword!”

Garrett raised his hands, palms outward. “Don’t fly into a dither, Sam. You have no skill with a sword.”

She huffed. “Well, I would if I did. And that is hardly the point, is it?” Though she pleaded with him to help her understand what demons rode Christian and made him act in such an incomprehensible way, Garrett held his counsel, and Samantha stormed away.

As Christian retreated more, avoiding any discussion regarding his sudden coolness, Samantha’s temper unraveled further. She went out of her way to cross his path, defy his orders, and attract his attention, even if, more often than not, she drew his wrath and not his loving touch. ‘Twas better than cold indifference, although she secretly held in her heart every sharp word and angry gesture directed her way.

A chasm of monumental proportions opened between them, and the closer the ship drew to their destination, the wider it became. Samantha was reaching her wit’s end and sought to end the estrangement, return to their sharing of intimacies. Not only his tender touches and the thrilling love play, the loss of those she could bear, but also their laughter and sharing of confidences. His arm about her, his body bracing her against the ship’s rocking, his voice in her ear, and the smile lighting up his eyes and face.

Her anger grew apace, and by the time they sighted Tasmania, she became as remote and unapproachable as he, ignoring his commands and flaunting her disrespect in front of the crewmen. A seething cloud seemed to hover over them, crackling like a thunderstorm with animosity and repressed sexual hunger. The undercurrents of their frustration threatened to sweep up those closest to them, who learned to keep their distance for fear of being dragged into the fray and forced to take sides. Samantha and Christian were two islands of misery, separated by stormy waters, in the midst of a vast ocean.

T
asmania arose on the horizon at dawn in a dark green vision of mountainous terrain.

The
Maiden Anne
sailed into the sheltered harbor of Sullivan Cove, and Samantha inspected the town spread out along the mouth of the Derwent River. Richard had described much of it in his letters, and now Samantha reconciled his written words with the sights before her.

Docks delineated the shoreline in a half circle, with Hunter’s Island, containing the guardhouse, store tents, and commissariat storehouse, on the eastern curve. The town plan formed a simple grid, with four main east-west thoroughfares and six smaller north-south streets that crossed the Derwent at their northern end.

Garrett appeared beside her, braced his hands on the railing, and leaned into the breeze coming off the water.

“See,” she said, pointing, “beyond the docks are the houses of the surgeon, surveyor, and chaplain, which sit between Delvey and Macquarie Streets and next to George’s Square, that large green common.”

“Have you been to Tasmania before?” he asked.

“No, but I have read and reread Richard’s letters. Many times he described the town in detail.”

“What’s that large white house?” he asked, indicating a whitewashed stone mansion.

“Government House. It has lovely gardens, and behind them sits the officers’ quarters. Those rather orderly looking set of buildings across Macquarie Street are the Royal Marine Barracks flanked by convict quarters on the east and the houses of the mineralogist and Lt. Lord R.M. on the west.”