A Woman Made For Sin

by Michele Sinclair

  “I’m trying to be gentle, Aimee,” he rasped, barely able to talk.

  She pulled back to look at him, their gazes locked. “Please don’t,” she moaned. “Be gentle later. I need you . . .”

  Hearing her plea, Reece could wait no longer. He pulled back and thrust into her again, rejoicing in her cries of pleasure as her body contracted around him. He pressed his face into the curve of her neck and thrust again, this time harder and faster. Her legs wrapped around him, spreading herself wide, instinctively locking her ankles behind him to keep him there. Aimee clutched him and rode each thrust, hardly aware of the passionate moans she was making.

  Reece’s blood roared, wild and hot, through his veins. He was balanced on the dangerous edge between joy and agony. He could not recall feeling so intensely alive in his entire life. Rocking her against him, he kissed her mouth, her neck, her ear, listening to her heart pound and her fast, short breaths. Her hands had turned wild, stroking him everywhere they could reach. Again and again he buried himself deep within her. Hard and fast. Slow and tender, wishing he could make being with her last forever.

  Aimee’s body quaked, and burned, and throbbed. She inhaled with every gasping breath. The world was spinning away and taking her with it. She parted her lips to cry out her pleasure and Reece clamped his mouth tightly down over hers, joining her soft sounds of passion with those of his own. His tongue plunged into her mouth. Hungry and urgent, he demanded everything and she gladly surrendered to his claiming. With a tiny, muffled shriek of surprise, Aimee surrendered to the glittering storm that swept over her. Her whole body sang the song of release accompanied by Reece’s gruff sound of masculine satisfaction.

  She had climaxed with a shock of incredible pleasure that shook her whole body, and Reece felt it all. His fingers closed around her buttocks with urgency, for every muscle in his body had tightened almost to the point of pain. Although he tried desperately to still the surging of his hips, his self-control had completely escaped him. The sounds he emitted would have shamed him at any other time, but every sense, every thought was caught in a whirlwind of pleasure. And then a heavy shudder racked him as he felt his release welling up from the base of his spine, from his toes. It rushed over him like an immense wave, until in a surge of euphoric satisfaction, a triumphant exclamation escaped his lips.

  Aimee cried out with joy, feeling his release and then his collapse. Reece was finally and truly hers, she thought triumphantly. From this moment, he belonged to her just as surely as she belonged to him.

  Chapter 19

  October 28, 1816

  The beginnings of a commotion across the full room caught Clive’s attention. He was relieved to see that it was not Bessie in the middle of it, but Ellie. With Ellie, he was no longer concerned with her ability to handle the men’s grumblings. Bessie, however, was another matter. And that was a fact that mystified Clive.

  It had been a week since Ellie had walked into his establishment, and in that short span, she had improved greatly. Then again, she had been so bad that any progress was noticeable. However, as she became more comfortable in her role, she had also started asking his customers questions—bizarre ones about ships and the colors of their pinnaces.

  Clive had said nothing. Her direct inquiries were just more evidence that Ellie knew nothing of the men or the lives of those who grew up and worked on the docks. One just did not volunteer information—even to a pretty face. Nevertheless, he was a little curious as to why she was so interested in ships and their owners. Whatever the reason, he was fairly certain it was related to why she had been so insistent on working for him.

  Ellie refused to give up though, despite the obvious futility of her efforts. Each time she started probing someone, they would interrupt and shift the conversation to a subject they considered far more interesting—her. And while Clive refused to allow anything but drinking in his place, he could not blame the men for contemplating other ideas. The damn woman always smelled like flowers, and if the idea were not so preposterous, he would have thought she bathed before each shift. Her fresh scent gave men ideas, which usually turned into a situation Clive had to control with his fists.

  But not with Ellie.

  Somehow, the wee thing was able to turn a man down without his needing to intervene. He could only ever hear a part of what she said, and from what he could tell, it seemed straightforward enough. Most smiled, and some even laughed, but not a single man ever got truly upset.

  Clive knew that he was not the only one who noticed Ellie’s confounding abilities. He had spied Devlin watching with admiration, but Bessie had the opposite reaction. She would glare at Ellie with obvious envy. And last night, her resentment had grown to new levels of hostility.

  Ellie had admirers, but so did Bessie. She was not a traditional beauty, but with her busty figure and wild hair, she could capture a man’s attention. Having always been partial to curvaceous redheads, Clive had hired her without a second thought. And he had never regretted it. Bessie was always feisty and oftentimes irritable, but he liked her that way. He just wished that she could learn how to handle the customers better when they wanted more than just a drink. Unfortunately, she had never acquired the ability to politely turn a man down. And to hope she would glean any of the persuasive skills Ellie effortlessly used was futile.

  Still, things between the two women were calm, and they might have continued that way if he had just kept his mouth shut. But Clive liked Bessie and knew that she needed every halfpenny she earned. So he casually mentioned that she should try to be nicer to the men, thinking it would help increase her tips. Unbeknownst to him, his revelation came on the heels of a lost tip—all because Bessie had rudely told the man just what part of his anatomy he would lose if he should ever comment on her body again.

  Clive’s suggestion had been the last straw and Bessie had exploded. She focused all her anger and frustrations toward him. Clive considered himself a patient man and fairly tolerant of Bessie’s mood swings, but insulting him in his own place while it was full of customers was not something anyone was allowed to do, ever. Consequently, he had overreacted. Loud enough for all to hear, he bellowed that it was time for Bessie to take a lesson from Ellie—who could not just deliver drinks but keep the men happy.

  He had wished instantly that he could recall his words. Bessie might not look like a sensitive soul, but she was. And he could not have insulted her more. Clive grimaced at the memory.

  “I’ll never learn the one lesson that little girl could teach me. I’ve never been paid to open my legs for a man and only a whore would know the art.”

  Clive had never seen anyone move so fast, but suddenly Devlin was at Bessie’s side, whispering something into her ear. Her blue eyes had grown large with fear as he took a firm hold of her elbow and escorted her out the door. He paused only long enough to say that Bessie looked a little hot and would be back after she had cooled off.

  At the time, Clive had been stunned. Not just that Bessie could have said something so foul, but that Devlin would react in such a way. Even now, after a day to think about it, Clive was still not sure whether he was grateful or angry at Devlin’s high-handedness. Controlling Bessie had always been hard. Not because Clive did not know how, but because he never wanted to hurt her.

  Ellie, on the other hand, was still a mystery. She was growing on him though. Kind and nice, the customers liked her. And yet, he still had no idea just who she really was.

  Bessie, though, was like him. She had been through a lot of hardships in her life, and as a result trusted very few people. He was one of those few. That meant a lot to him, so if she wanted to hate Ellie, he was not going to intervene. He refused to see the disappointment and hurt in Bessie’s eyes again.

  Chapter 20

  October 29, 1816

  Aimee felt warm lips press against her cheek. With a sigh of pure contentment, she rolled over, thinking that nothing could be better than being woken up in such a way. For the past two days, she had be
en living not just a dream—but her dream. Finally, she and Reece were together.

  He had not yet asked her to marry him, but that he would was a certainty with their current living arrangements. When he did, Aimee wanted Reece to have no more lingering doubts. She wanted him to be just as happy with their union as she was, which left her just a little more than a week to prove to him that they truly belonged together.

  Smiling, she reached up and pulled his head down until their lips met. The kiss quickly turned hot, lasting for several minutes. When Reece pulled back, he saw her look of disappointment. Bending his head once more toward hers, he brushed his mouth lightly across Aimee’s startled lips and whispered, “While I would love to continue this, I thought perhaps you might like to join me this morning when I take the wheel.”

  Aimee’s eyes shot wide open. Reece was already dressed for the day. Her hands gripped his shoulders to study his expression. “Shall I be watching or participating?”

  Reece cocked a brow. “Perhaps some of both.”

  Seeing that he was indeed serious, Aimee gave him a quick kiss and threw the blanket off of her. Standing up, she pointed to the door and said, “Just give me twenty minutes and I will be ready.”

  Reece laughed. “No need to rush.”

  Aimee shook her finger once more at the door. “Leave or you will decide that the wheel can wait and convince me of it as well.”

  He took a step forward. “Are you sure you do not want to explore—”

  Aimee gave him a slight shove. “I’m sure. Now go.”

  Reece laughed again and slipped out the door. He could not remember feeling so light in spirit. He was not sure he had ever felt this completely happy. And he was not the only one finding himself smiling for seemingly no reason. Practically all his men were wearing boyish grins as they did their duties—even JP.

  Later, Reece felt someone step in close to him as he stood in the bridge behind the ship’s wheel. He knew without looking that it was Aimee. Men plodded and could be heard long before they approached, and they certainly did not smell of flowers. Her fine-boned hand reached out and pointed to the man climbing the foremast. “Is that Mr. MacDarmid?”

  “Who?” Reece asked right before he remembered her insistence on referring to his crew as if they were gentlemen.

  Aimee pointed again. “The one with the dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. I cannot see his face, but Mr. MacDarmid is the one whose high cheekbones make him look angry, even when he’s laughing.”

  Reece scrunched his nose for a moment at the description. He never really thought about it, but Mac did look annoyed most of the time. Reece had always assumed Mac was just easily irritated. “If you are talking about Ironlung Mac, then aye, that’s him on the rigging.”

  Aimee leaned her head on his arm. “Why him?”

  Reece shrugged. “He’s one of the able-bodied seamen. He’s thin and wiry but strong. Plus he can shout loud enough that everyone can hear him.”

  Aimee sighed. “But can he hear them? It’s just that I wonder if he speaks so loud all the time because he is partially deaf.”

  Reece blinked. Again, he never really thought about why Mac chose to shout everything he said, but Aimee’s theory could be right. Her knowledge about his men was both inspiring and disconcerting.

  “Enough about Mac. I thought you wanted to take the wheel.”

  Aimee jumped a step back and clutched her hands together near her chest. “Take the wheel? I don’t know anything about steering a ship!”

  The corners of his mouth raised a fraction with inner pleasure. He had not realized until now how disappointed he was that he had been robbed of the chance to open his world to her. Of all the duties he most wanted to show her, he could not be more pleased that it was steering.

  “Take the handles here and here, and keep your stance a little wide to enable you to keep your balance when fighting the rudder.”

  Aimee did as she was told, glad that Reece was behind her, his hands just above hers on the spokes.

  “This ship has only one wheel, but on larger ones, sometimes there are two, to help handle her in bad weather or when too much seawater gets into her hull.”

  Aimee nodded in understanding. She remembered Collins explaining how during a storm, if too much water got down into the hold, sailors would literally be pumping for their lives. “How do you know how fast we are going?”

  “A long time ago, men would watch how long it took to pass something in the water, and measure the distance. Now we use a similar concept, only it is far more accurate.” Reece paused and called out to one of the men. “Deadeye! Fetch the log line and give me the knots.”

  The hardened-looking man quickly turned to do as asked. “Why do you call Mr. Harkle Deadeye? I mean, he tends to wrinkle his brow a bit, but both his eyes work perfectly well from what I can see.”

  Reece flashed her a grin. “Mr. Harkle? I bet Deadeye enjoys that.” He chuckled upon seeing her annoyed expression. “Listen, seamen get nicknames. They like them because it means they’ve earned the right to have one. And Deadeye?” he asked rhetorically, feeling suddenly a little sheepish. “Well, we call him that because of the way he looks.”

  “He looks dead?”

  Reece shrugged. “No, he looks like a pirate.”

  It was Aimee’s turn to roll her eyes, but before she could say anything more, Deadeye had returned. Upon seeing the nod from his captain, he yelled out “Mark!” and tossed the line overboard. Attached to its end was a triangular-shaped piece of wood that caught or “dug in” the water, pulling the line from a hand-held reel.

  “See those knots in the line? Each one is forty-eight feet and three inches apart. That’s what tells us how many sea miles we are moving per hour. Now Deadeye is counting the seconds, but if we really want to be accurate, we would use the half-minute sand glass I have in my cabin.”

  “And knowing how far you’ve traveled tells you when and where to turn?”

  Reece winced. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t account for currents and winds and weather—all of which can push a ship off course.”

  “I’ve heard the men mention that we needed to go south and that you know the route’s sweet spot.”

  Pride compelled Reece to grin. All worthy sea captains knew the route from and to the Americas. They used the current that made a large circle going from England down south to Africa, cutting across the equator, and up along the American coastline. It took four or more weeks to get to the Americas, but to get back to England, it took perhaps three. One just followed the Gulf Stream up to New York and then as it cut across the Atlantic. But Reece’s knowledge and intuition on just when to turn westward off the African coast was what made the Sea Emerald so widely known for its exceptional speed. That the men knew the ship’s reputation for speed was not just because of its style and build, but their captain’s knowledge—that was like a salve to his injured pride.

  “You getting tired?”

  Aimee shook her head and held on. “This is better than any adventure I’ve ever embarked on. To think you get to do this all the time. I am going to look forward to the few times a year I can leave our home and sail with you again.”

  Reece waited for the panic to hit him as her words sank in, but it never did. He honestly never thought his and Aimee’s worlds could be merged together. He knew that a handful of captains successfully brought their wives on board from time to time, but none of them had come from Aimee’s upbringing. They also had always seemed more rugged and built for a ship’s harsh environment. Yet Aimee was proving herself to be every bit as resourceful as any wife he had ever met—more so in many cases.

  The most amazing thing was her genuine love for the sea. Everything about Aimee came alive when the salty spray came over the side and the wind whipped at her face and hair. It enabled her to understand his love for being a ship’s captain. As such, she would never separate him from not just his career but his passion. Nor did she intend to be with him on each and every t
rip.

  Marrying Aimee was a necessity. He had known that from the instant he realized she had been on board his ship for weeks. Her reputation had to be saved, and as the sister of his best friend, he would do his duty. But he had thought the initial benefits of their union would be fleeting. Between them in bed, all was bliss; however, he had assumed Aimee would not understand his responsibilities, which oftentimes forced him to leave that bed. But he had been wrong. And if he had been wrong about that, then maybe he had been wrong about their future.

  Chase had told him marriage was the best thing that ever happened to him. Reece knew his friend was being earnest, but Reece had also witnessed how Chase and Millie were always trying to change one another. Reece had assumed all couples were like that. His laughter filled the air. Aimee had no desire to change him and he truly could not think of a thing he wished to change about her.

  Suddenly, he could not wait until they arrived in Savannah. Friends and family would be disappointed, but when he and Aimee returned to London, it would be as husband and wife.

  Chapter 21

  October 30, 1816

  Millie came up to the bar and set three empty glasses down to be refilled. The night was slowing down, but most of the men who remained would stay until Clive closed up Six Belles for the night. Clive reached down to get the bottle of rum to refill the glasses. He stood back up and sighed. “I need to go in the back tae get more. Stay here.”

  Millie nodded, but when she saw Clive go over to Devlin and ask him to help her out, a shiver of vexation shot up her spine. “That’s right. Get a man to help the helpless woman watch the bar,” she said mockingly and loud enough for Clive and Devlin to hear. “As if women—especially weak little ones—are helpless when it comes to telling a man no.”