by ML Guida
But Phearson wasn’t forcing himself. His breath was hard and warm on her skin. “We should stop.”
She looked into his eyes and saw a promise of heat and sin and pleasure beyond her wildest imagination.
Rosalind thought of Captain Foster and what it would be like to endure his dreaded kisses, his touch. She made a bold decision–one she hoped she wouldn’t regret. “No, don’t.”
“Are ye sure? I’d like to think I’m an honorable man, but there is only so much I can stand.”
“Phearson, I’m betrothed to an old man who sickens me. Do you think he can give me a night to remember?”
He laughed. “No, he canna. Then, let’s make some memories.”
He gently pushed her down onto the cot and covered her body with his large frame. His hands didn’t stop moving, stroking, and smoothing over her arms. Her heart was thundering so loud she was sure he could hear it. He moved his lips over her neck, and she moved her hands over his large shoulders, impressed by his strength.
He sat up and wiggled out of his shirt. She marveled at his broad chest, and she lifted her shaking hands to go on a shy and exploring journey. She hesitantly, but boldly, caressed his skin, then swirled her fingers around the silky hair around his nipples and realized that his nipples were aroused. He sucked in his breath and put both his hands on either side of her shoulders.
“Yer tempting me.” His voice was heavy and husky.
He kissed her hard and possessively.
She returned his passion, then ran her hand down his back, but instead of feeling smoothness she felt raised skin. She frowned. “Are those scars?”
He kissed her lips. “I told ye I had a harsh and cruel captain.”
“He whipped you?”
“Among other things, but I dona want to think about him, I only want to concentrate on ye.”
He lay on top of her, and his hand bunched up her dress and edged up her leg. Her heart quickened, and she trembled as he cupped the juncture between her thighs. She gasped. It felt so good, but it was so wrong. Her mother had taught her to save herself for a husband, but her mother was handing her over to a man that thought nothing of selling men into slavery.
“Phearson,” she said, her voice was heavy. “If we stole Mother’s jewels, what would you do?”
“Bribe a crew and finally be captain.”
She looked into his dreamy eyes and thought of the sea–away from her stepfather and away from the dreary nights of working in the Inn and away from a betrothed who would make her life an endless misery. “Would you take me?”
“Ye would be my pirate princess.”
She wanted to believe him, but he was an admitted thief–and a hundred years old and possibly not human. What if the only thing he wanted was the combination to the safe? Her choices were slim, and so far, he’d been a champion at every turn.
The tunnel and imprisoned men flashed into her mind. “But what about the Pirate’s House Inn?”
“I have a plan for that. One Doyle will never forget.”
She frowned. “What would–”
“Not now.” He suckled her neck, and all thought left her head.
“Before we do this, I have to know, what are you?”
He turned his head way. “I canna lie to you.” He turned, and she froze.
His eyes were bright red. “I’m cursed. I’m a vampire.”
Her breath silenced, and she couldn’t help if this was her last one.
His eyes returned to their natural color. “’Tis not what ye think. A demon cursed a lake, and I unknowingly drank from it.”
Her heart thundering, she found her voice. “You’ve killed.”
“Aye, if I didna my captain would–”
“Torture you?”
“I had to do what he asked to survive.”
“Am I next?”
He shook his head. “No, never. I am a man first, Rosalind. Can ye accept me?”
Fear crept into his eyes as hers diminished. Ever since she’d met him, he’d done what was right. He’d defended her when no man ever had. He cared about people and stood up against her stepfather. Vampire or man, he’d been there when she needed him most.
He lowered his head. “I think I should take a dip in that river.”
The sadness in his voice brought her out of her dilemma. Right or wrong, she’d made her decision.
She pressed her palms against his cheeks. “No, I want you.”
“Are ye sure?”
“You’re going to make me ask again?”
Desire filled his eyes. His answer was to move her quaking thighs apart and wedge his hips between them. Her eyes widened at the bulge pushing against her. Panic filled her, but she didn’t want to lose her virginity to a pompous old man. Phearson might have cast an unearthly spell on her, but she’d rather lose herself to him than Captain Foster.
“Please get up,” she urged.
He groaned and lowered his head, but rolled off her.
“I definitely need to dip into the river,” he mumbled. His eyes widened when she slipped off her dress followed by the shift. “Rosalind.” He flashed his gaze over her, and appreciation flared in his eyes.
He took her hand and helped her back into the cot.
“Love me,” she said, her voice tiny.
Phearson smiled, then his calloused hands were on her naked body, exploring every inch of her. He kissed her, then his mouth lefts hers, licking and lapping her skin. She wiggled beneath him, sweet sensations rolling through her. He took her nipple into his mouth while she clawed her hands into his thick hair. She arched her back, allowing him to take more of her flesh.
He slid his hand down toward her jungle of curls and slipped a finger inside her and moved it back and forth, drawing a passion that she never knew she had. Unfamiliar, but fierce, sensations rushed through her. On instinct, she moved her legs apart even further. She explored his hot skin, feeling his muscles bulge beneath her palm.
Her heart beat wildly as he pushed off her, and in one quick move, removed his trousers. He returned, his fervor stronger. He was poised between her thighs, hard and muscular, a man used to taking what he wanted. He kissed her, then with one hard thrust, he was inside her. Sharp pain ripped through her, but once he slowly shifted his cock back and forth, the pain eased, replaced with a friction between flesh upon flesh. He thrust his hips again and again, each time sliding his cock deeper inside. An explosion of pressure built inside her until she thought she’d die. Her orgasm came fast and fierce, and she arched her back, calling out his name.
Phearson quickened his thrusting hips, then his slick body trembled as his hot seed poured into her feminine core. He collapsed on top of her, resting his head in the crook of her neck. He panted hard, his warm breath making her skin even hotter.
“I am sorry. I dona know what happened. I should have gone slower.”
She caressed his head. “I’m not complaining.”
He looked up at her, then kissed the hollow between her breasts. “I promise I’ll teach ye things that will give ye so much pleasure ye’ll beg for more.”
She played with his hair. “That confident, are you?”
“Aye.”
The mischief in his eyes made her break out into a hot flush, wanting to feel his hands and lips on her flesh again.
Chapter 12
Phearson had never met anyone like Rosalind. She accepted him both as a man and a vampire–something he’d never expected. He planned to climb out of bed or sleep, but he couldn’t resist exploring her body one more time. He sucked in his breath as she kissed him, licking and lapping his nipples.
He grew hard again and wanted her, but he wanted her hot and wriggling for him.
“Lay still, vixen.”
He slowly licked and kissed his way down her stomach, his tongue swirling in her belly button.
“What are you doing?”
“Driving ye mad.” He edged down the bed until he was over her feminine curls. He lapped up her sweet cream.
“Phearson!”
He laughed at her shocked voice, but didn’t stop. Her protests turned to soft whimpers and moans. He licked the budded pearl then darted his tongue inside her velvet opening. She screamed out his name.
“I can’t take this anymore. Please!”
He rose over her body, and in one swift move, he thrust deeper, taking long strides. She matched his rhythm, harder and faster. Blood swirled between his temples and pulsed in his flesh. She released her passion in a loud cry and scraped her nails across his back. Sweat trickled down his body, and he trembled. He tossed back his head and released himself. His heart raced so hard he thought it would burst out of his chest.
He collapsed onto Rosalind. “Ye never cease to amaze me.”
She stroked his hair, her fingernails brushing over his scalp.
He shivered.
“I keep thinking about those jewels and what would happen if we stole them.”
He lifted his head. “What do ye think would happen?”
“If we are lucky, a new life.” But she tensed beneath him. “If caught, I truly believe my stepfather would kill me.”
He brushed her hair off her face. “I promise I will never let him hurt ye.”
She studied him as if trying to determine if he was a bald-faced liar. He held her gaze and refused to look away.
“Night will be the best time to go. Mother is home alone while he is at the bar. You won’t hurt her, will you?”
He shook his head. “She wona even know I was there.”
“What about the tunnel? You said you had a plan.” She ran her leg down his.
He shivered, trying to concentrate. “I think we have to make it so terrifying in the tunnel that Doyle would never want to use it.”
“What would scare him so bad?”
He wasn’t sure if he should say it or not, but he blurted, “Captain Fear seems to scare him.”
“Captain Fear.” She trembled. “He’s terrifying. I saw his eyes through his mask–they were dark red. I’ve never seen anything like it before until you. He’s a vampire. He has to be. But maybe he’s not like you, Phearson. He could turn on us. There has to be another way.”
“I dona know.” He kissed the top of her forehead, wishing he could tell her the truth, but the fear in her eyes silenced him. He hoped they could rob Doyle’s house without him drawing on his vampire powers. He held her close. “First, we need those jewels.”
She laid her head against his rapidly beating heart. “Tonight, let’s go tonight.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
With the ruby, and if those jewels were as valuable as Rosalind hinted, then he’d be close enough to bribe a crew. Normally, he would just take the prize and run, but Rosalind had touched him. Rather than only thinking of himself and how to survive, he was thinking about a woman and how to save her.
Phearson and Rosalind waited in Colonial Cemetery for Doyle to leave. Rather than wearing a dress, she was clothed in a pair of his trousers that were rolled up and a shirt. With her leather mask, he thought she looked more enticing, more daring, more mysterious than her usually drab dress. He had difficulty concentrating as he inhaled her sweet smell of magnolia.
Doyle wasn’t a fool and left a few men at the house. One was Matthews, who looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. He paced back and forth on the porch with a pistol drawn. Phearson didn’t recognize the other two, but they looked like they were between thirty to forty years old but not in the best of shape. They definitely were not used to hard labor.
“I know those men,” Rosalind whispered. “They are the ones who meet with Mr. Doyle in secret in his study.”
He narrowed his eyes. “They’re part of the Pious Twelve.”
He couldn’t hide the anger in his voice.
“I wonder if they were even looking for me.”
The sadness in her voice touched his heart.
He picked up her hand and kissed her wrist. “I will always come for ye.”
Gratitude glistened in her eyes.
“What are we going to do?”
“Remember–I am a vampire.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you going to kill all of them?”
He kissed her forehead. “Only if I have to. They need to learn a lesson. They kill all vampires, even the ones who do not kill their victims. They only take what they need and leave their victims alive.”
“I have never heard of such a thing. They existed in my time and now, in Savannah. But the Pious Twelve is hunting them down. It’s time for them to learn that not all vampires are easy to kill.” He looked into her wary eyes, holding his breath. “D’ye trust me?”
She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him lightly on the lips. “You know I do.”
“You’re a tempting wench.” He pressed her body against the tree.
“Phearson, what are you doing? We don’t have time for this.”
He could feel her heart beating as hard as his. He thought he could do this as a man, but not with three of the Pious Twelve guarding the house. They’d be more dangerous this time.
He hesitated. “I have to tell ye something.”
She frowned. “What?”
He lowered his head and gently covered her mouth with his palm.
“Phearson,” she muffled. She squirmed.
Her curves and hips alarmingly aroused his eager body. Ignoring the desire to kiss her again, he drew on his vampire power. His fangs lengthened, and strength flooded through his muscles. He was stronger, faster than a man and about to terrorize a woman who had the power to steal his heart.
He slowly lifted his head and looked into her now wide eyes. She immediately stopped moving and sucked in her breath.
“I’m Captain Fear.”
She struggled, kicking her feet and pushing on his chest.
“Listen to me.” He pressed his body against her, pinning her to the tree and stopping her useless struggles. “I’m not going to hurt ye. I would never hurt ye, lass. I thought I could go in there as a man, but there are three of the Pious Twelve. Our only hope is for Captain Fear to distract them. D’ye understand?”
She stared at him with owl eyes.
“D’ye promise not to scream?”
She nodded.
“Good. I’m going to slowly remove my hand.”
He held her gaze as he dropped his hand and stepped away from her. Her chest rose and fell, and she leaned her head against the tree, watching him.
“You lied to me.”
Her cold voice chilled him.
“What?” He was expecting horror and terror, but not anger and hate.
“You have both the ruby and the watch, don’t you?”
“Aye, I do.”
She slapped him hard across the face. “You bastard. You planned to doublecross me, didn’t you?”
Most men would have run screaming from the truth of his vampire form, but Rosalind rose up against him. He grabbed both her shoulders. “I wouldn’t double cross you. Do you want to do this, or not?”
Anger, hesitation, resignation fell across her face. Her shoulders sagged. “Yes.”
“After this, ye do not have to see me again.”
She winced, but didn’t answer. He wanted her to plead to stay with him, but she didn’t. He should have known. Women like her didn’t want to be with a man like him.
Hoping she wouldn’t turn and run, he said, “I’m going to attack. Wait until the men are concentrated on me.”
“But you could be killed.”
“No, I canna. I’m immortal.”
“Of course, you are. Just go.”
Her dismissive behavior tore at his soul, but ’twas not the first time a lady had looked down at him, and it wouldn’t be the last. He should have just stuck with his whores. At least he knew what to expect from them.
Not looking at her, he drew on his vampire powers––muscles and bones crunched and shortened––and he transformed into a large bat.
“Oh, my God!” She put her hand over her mouth.
He flew straight at Matthews screeching.
“My God!” Matthews screamed as he aimed his pistol. He fired just as the two men rushed out of the house.
The shot whizzed past Phearson. Matthews reloaded, but before he could fire, Phearson unleashed his talons and banged into his head hard. Matthews slammed his head into the wall and passed out.
The lights went on at a nearby house. A man called out. “What’s going on out there?”
A man with a shrill voice called out, “Get back inside. ’Tis a vampire.”
The two men fired wildly at Phearson. He changed back into a man. One of the men brought out a knife and poured water onto it, which Phearson assumed was holy salt water.
The man held the knife over his head. “Prepare to die, demon.”
“Ye think it’s that is easy to kill me?”
Phearson advanced on them, and the two of them backed away from the house. He hoped Rosalind was making her way toward the house, but he hadn’t seen her yet. He needed to keep these two codfishes busy to give her a chance to get to the safe. He lunged. The man swiped the dagger but was too slow. Phearson grabbed his arm and sank his teeth into his flesh. His partner turned and ran down the street screaming.
Phearson dropped his opponent, who landed on the group, unconscious. The bastard was lucky Phearson didn’t kill him. He turned around to look for Rosalind, but didn’t he see her. She could be hiding in the cemetery or lurking in the house or running away. He knew ’twas a matter of minutes before his enemies brought more reinforcements. He needed the jewelry and hoped Rosalind made the choice to steal her stepfather’s jewels.
He stepped over Matthew’s body and entered the house. ’Twas an ornate home with leather couches, stained glass lamps, dark hardwood floors. But what struck him most was the painting of Doyle that hung over the fireplace. With his chest puffed out and the leer glistening in his eyes, the artist had captured his arrogance and greed.
