Taken by You

by Connie Mason

  His mouth slid downward, searing a path of fire over her breasts and stomach. He paused on his sensual journey to explore the sweet indentation of her waist the rise of her hips, licking and kissing the satiny insides of her thighs. His fingers sifted through the dark triangle of hair at the juncture of her legs, coming close but deliberately avoiding that place where she ached for his touch. She felt herself swelling with need as his tongue moved desperately near, then abruptly withdrew. She smelled the acrid scent of her own desire and felt the gathering wetness between her legs.

  Shocked by the journey his lips were taking, Luca cried out in protest. “Morgan! What are you doing? You can’t… you don’t mean to… oh, Dios, it’s sinful.”

  He tugged her legs apart and touched her gently with his fingertips. She was slick and wet and hot. Her hands clawed gently at his shoulders. He entered her with his finger; she tightened around him, her heat scorching him. He lowered his head, parting her with his tongue. He found what he was looking for as his lips closed around the sensitive, dewy pearl nestled between her legs. Luca screamed and nearly bucked him off of her.

  “Morgan! Dios!”

  “Relax, little nun,” he crooned against her flesh. “Nothing is sinful between husband and wife.”

  His tongue touched her again, that sensitive place between her thighs, and she nearly shattered. He tasted her boldly, his tongue and mouth working its magic upon her flesh as his fingers continued to torment her.

  “I can’t stand it!”

  He lifted his head. “I know. Don’t hold back. You’re hot and wet and ready. Submit to me now.”

  Then he was tormenting her again, his hands, his mouth, his tongue, all working in unison to drive her insane. He showed no mercy, demanding her response, her body, her very soul. Luca could feel it building inside her; a great pressure demanding release. Intense pleasure radiated through her, and suddenly she was there, soaring to a shattering climax. A strangled cry slipped past her lips as her body jerked and vibrated in tempo to Morgan’s thrusting tongue. A kind of splendor few people were privileged to experience rippled through her, and she seemed to the a little.

  Morgan was brittle with urgent need. His hunger was profound, he was desperate to thrust himself into the woman writhing in ecstasy beneath him, to stroke himself to completion He slid upward along her slick body, panting as if he’d just run a great distance as he positioned his thick manhood at the moist opening of her body. The heady scent of her desire teased him, lured him, held him spellbound.

  “Luca, look at me.”

  Luca came to her senses slowly, still drugged from the powerful response Morgan had wrung from her. She heard him calling to her as if from a great distance and opened her eyes.

  “I’m coming into you now and I want you to know who is making love to you. Concentrate, Luca. I want you to come with me.”

  He grasped her hips, lifting her off the bed and sliding the hard knob of his sex into her. He flexed his hips and pushed forward, filling her with his incredible strength.

  “Move with me,” he urged hoarsely as his shaft drove in and out of her tight sheath. The accelerated tempo of his thrusting and withdrawing sent renewed fire spilling through her veins, and she rotated her hips to match his rhythm.

  “Good, so good,” Morgan groaned, forgetting everything but the way his body was reacting to the woman beneath him. For a brief moment in time it no longer mattered that Luca was Spanish, that she may or may not have slept with Diego del Fugo, that she hated him enough to wish for his death.

  Luca was rushing toward another explosive climax. No, not rushing, hurtling. Hurtling so fast she couldn’t catch her breath. She gazed up at Morgan, noting that he was as caught up in passion as she, and at that moment she couldn’t have loved him more.

  “Morgan, I feel… Dios, I feel!”

  Her words sent Morgan plunging over the edge. He shattered explosively, violently, stiffening and crying out her name as he spilled his seed into her. Luca held him tightly, soaring with him to paradise … and beyond.

  When Luca came to her senses, she found that Morgan’s comforting weight had shifted and he now lay beside her. She felt the heat of his gaze and turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable; his eyes glittered like shiny silver coins.

  “I almost believe …” His sentence fell off, fearing to bare too much of his soul.

  “What do you believe, Morgan?”

  He hesitated a moment then said, “That you really do feel something for me. No one could make love like that and not mean it.”

  Hope soared in Luca’s breast. But Morgan’s next words sent them plummeting. “You’re a damn good actress, Luca. You know exactly what to do and say to make me want you. I intended to punish you but ended up making love to you. I’m aware that you have many reasons to hate me, but I had hoped… you truly beguiled me on Andros. Now I see you clearly for what you are.”

  “What am I, Morgan?”

  “A Spanish sorceress who had no knowledge of your own sexuality until I showed you. Once I relieved you of your virginity you couldn’t get enough You…”

  Red dots of rage exploded in Luca’s brain. She had heard enough of Morgan’s insults. Drawing back her hand, she slapped him viciously. Morgan’s head snapped sideways with the force of her blow. When she would have slapped him again, he reared up and pinned her hands to the bed above her head. He glared down at her, his face a mask of fury.

  “Don’t ever do that again!”

  “You know I was an innocent until I met you,” Luca charged. “You taught me to enjoy sinful things that I would never have learned in a convent. I know you still believe I bedded Diego, but you’re wrong, dead wrong.”

  She flung herself from bed and crossed to the desk, pulling out drawer after drawer until she found what she was looking for. She turned back to Morgan, her face flaming from the injustice of his insults. Morgan watched her carefully, ready to react forcibly should the need arise. He relaxed when he saw what she held in her hands. It was a Bible. It had belonged to his mother, and he had made a habit of taking it with him wherever he went. It occurred to him that Luca had occupied the cabin long enough to become acquainted with every object within it.

  Gloriously naked and rosy from Morgan’s loving, Luca walked back to the bunk and fell to her knees. She held the Bible beneath his nose, placing her right hand on it. “Heed me well, Morgan Scott. I swear on the good book that everything I told you in Havana was a lie.”

  Morgan sent her an amused look, took the Bible from her hands, and tossed it aside. Then he picked her up and settled her atop him. “You’ve lied to me so many times in the past I don’t know what to believe. You addle my brains and tempt me to perdition. Regrettably I don’t have it in me to punish you, for I always end up making love to you, and your punishment becomes my pleasure.”

  He stroked her buttocks, lifted her slightly, and thrust up into her.

  “it’s frustrating to know that I could want a Spanish sorceress who beguiles and seduces me.” He shoved all the way inside her, pushing her down onto him at the same time. “Bloody Hell!”

  She pulsed around him hot and wet, and Morgan knew that the only way he could keep a clear head and not succumb to the wiles of the Spanish witch he had married against his will was to remain unemotionally involved. He thrust upward again, wringing a moan from her throat. Aye, that’s what he’d do, pretend indifference. But later, not now. Oh, God, not now.

  He lifted his head and took her breast into his mouth, his moan of pleasure eclipsing hers. He sucked vigorously, moving his loins into the cradle of her thighs. Don’t fool yourself into falling under her spell, his brain repeated while his body reacted violently to the woman straining above him. Don’t let yourself become dependent upon the pleasure you derive from her body. Any woman would do, he told himself. He thrust into her again, swifter, harder, wildly, his mouth urgent against her nipples. He felt himself approaching climax and moaned against her breast. Then he shoved all
the way inside and lost the will to think.

  Luca felt the initial spurt of his seed and surrendered to the magic of Morgan’s loving. She came in a rush, throwing her head back and crying out. Morgan damped his jaw and raced after her. When it was over he carefully set her aside and rolled away. So much for his resolve, he thought ruefully.

  “Did you mean what you said, Morgan?” Luca asked hesitantly when she saw he wasn’t going to initiate conversation.

  “What did I say? Men say many things they don’t mean while caught up in their pleasure.”

  “You said you’d rather love me than punish me. You said my punishment became your pleasure.”

  “So I did.”

  “it’s my pleasure, too.”

  Morgan turned abruptly to confront her. “Then we shouldn’t let it happen again, should we?”

  “Why not? I’m your wife.”

  “Aye, my Spanish wife.”

  “Will you abandon me? It would take little effort to declare our marriage invalid, since it was forced upon us.”

  “We spoke our vows before a priest. it’s legal, little nun. Don’t get any ideas that it’s not.”

  Luca sent him a puzzled look. It sounded as if he was glad they were married. “Can’t we live like a normal married couple? We could be happy on Andros.”

  “There is nothing normal about our relationship. You’re my enemy.” That rather disturbing statement gave him a moment’s pause. One did not enjoy making love to one’s enemy, did one? He pushed that confusing thought aside and continued. “Do you have any idea how my friends in England will react to you? The queen will be furious with me for marrying without her permission. I’ve always enjoyed the queen’s good graces and don’t intend to lose them now.”

  Luca heard nothing beyond England. “If you’re thinking about taking me to England, I won’t go! I’d prefer to live on Andros.”

  “Andros is out of the question at this time.”

  He rolled out of bed, gathering his scattered clothes from the floor, where he had thrown them in his haste to make love to his wife. He dressed quickly, securing his sword firmly in place.

  “I think it would be best if we avoided one another in the future. I’ll provide adequate support, but we won’t be sharing a bed. I’ve hated the Spanish far too long to change for your sake.” What he didn’t say was that he feared what she did to his sanity.

  Luca sent him a startled look. “Not share a bed? You’re a lusty man, Morgan Scott”

  He shrugged. “There are women aplenty.”

  “And men aplenty,” Luca reasoned calmly.

  Morgan whirled around, nearly choking on his rage. “If you take a lover I will kill him! And maybe you.”

  Luca’s chin rose defiantly. “If you take another woman into your bed I will kill her! And maybe you.”

  Morgan’s lips twitched in amusement. “I believe you would, my fiery Spanish nun. Indeed, I believe you would.”

  His laughter lingered long after he was gone.

  Chapter 12

  Morgan’s restraint deserted him within a few short days. Just thinking about Luca sleeping in his bed filled him with fierce longing. The ship was his prison and his Hell. There was no escaping her magical allure. It beckoned him, tempted him, lured him, and he lacked the strength to resist her magnetism. He fought a magnificent battle, and lost.

  Luca heard the cabin door open and sensed Morgan before she saw him. Bloody Hell, Luca, you’ve bewitched me!” He stormed into the room like a maddened bull, his nostrils flaring at the scent of a female. He removed his sword, and by the time he reached the bunk he was naked.

  The mattress groaned beneath his weight, and his boots hit the deck as he flung them off. When he slid into bed beside her, the scalding heat of her body seared the length of him as he pulled her into his arms.

  “I did no such thing,” Luca whispered, shivering in response to his purely male domination. Dios, Morgan had but to touch her and she burst into flame.

  “I tried my damnedest to resist you, but this ship isn’t big enough to escape my desire for you. I have no will where you are concerned. You’re a sickness I have to purge from my body. Before we reach England I intend to have my fill of you.”

  Luca smiled inwardly. If she didn’t love the arrogant pirate she would have found the strength to resist. But if Morgan had no will where she was concerned, she could almost pity him, for she felt the same. She opened her arms and welcomed him eagerly, hungrily. They were husband and wife; she would make him love her.

  After their passionate encounter, Luca was allowed the freedom to roam the deck. The crew knew she was off-limits and, between Morgan and Mr. Crawford, she was rarely out of someone’s sight. The weather had grown colder now that they were in northern waters; it was December, and the blustery winds blew sleet and rain against the windows. The men were bundled up to the eyebrows, and there were days Luca had to remain in the cabin to keep warm. It was difficult to believe that a few days ago she had been in the tropics, enjoying sunshine and warm breezes.

  The weather was dismal and rainy a few weeks later when they sailed past Plymouth and entered the English Channel. Luca stood in a sheltered spot on the deck, staring in dismay at the large contingent of ships gathered in Plymouth harbor. She was about to search for Morgan to question him on the activity, when he appeared at her side.

  “What do you suppose all those ships are doing in the harbor?” Luca asked curiously.

  Morgan debated telling her the truth and decided it could do no harm. “I suspect the queen is gathering a force to meet the armada your king is sending to strike against England.”

  Luca looked at him guardedly. “If King Philip is sending an armada it is to rescue the Catholic Queen Mary.”

  “’Tis too late, and well they know it. Queen Mary was executed at Fotheringhay in February of this year.”

  Luca paled. “Executed? How barbaric. What manner of woman is your queen?”

  “A cautious woman wise in the ways of the world,” Morgan replied.

  What he didn’t say was that she was also vain and possessive. She wanted her courtiers around her at all times and demanded their full attention, love, and devotion. Few if any of the gallant men orbiting around her bright star brought their wives to court unless ordered to do so. She even demanded that her courtiers join her summer progress when she traveled from estate to estate, visiting her domain. And woe be to those who married without her consent. Elizabeth’s reaction to his own misalliance was bound to earn him a harsh reprimand, Morgan thought dimly.

  “If Queen Mary is dead, I doubt King Philip is considering a move against England.”

  Morgan sent her a quelling look. “You know little about politics, Luca. I’m anxious to reach London and find out what is transpiring. Being at sea for weeks and months at a time has its disadvantages.”

  “I thought you said we were docking at Portsmouth.” During one of his more talkative moods Morgan had revealed that they would debark at Portsmouth and travel by coach to his home in West Sussex.

  “We are. Mr. Crawford is to remain with the ship and sail it with the queen’s portion of our plunder to London. He had the foresight to load it aboard the Avenger before he left Andros. After I escort you to my country estate I must hasten to London and present myself to the queen. I admit I’m anxious to learn what is taking place between Spain and England and place my ship at England’s disposal.”

  “You’re going to leave me in West Sussex?” Luca swallowed a lump of panic. “I… I don’t know anyone mere. What will I do?”

  “You’ll do what other wives do in your situation. Stay home and see to the servants and estate. And raise our children, should there be any,” he added, thinking how miserably he’d failed at keeping himself from her bed. She could be carrying his child right now. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine a Spanish mother for his children.

  With Luca in West Sussex and him in London, it woul
d be a hell of a lot easier to Forget he had a wife, let alone a Spanish one. There were any number of hot-blooded court ladies who would jump at the chance to ease his loneliness.

  Before Luca could form a suitable reply, Morgan was called away, leaving her to stew in silence. Did Morgan intend to leave her to languish in boredom on his country estate while he danced attendance upon his queen? And what about those months he’d spend at sea plundering Spanish ships for England’s glory? What would become of her in a hostile country with no friends to sustain her?

  The ship docked with little fanfare. Before Morgan and Luca went ashore, Morgan sent Crawford out to hire a coach to carry them to Haslemere in West Sussex, which Luca learned wasn’t too great a distance from Portsmouth. When he reappeared at her side he was fashionably attired in trunk hose, knee-length satin breeches, and brocade doublet. He cut a handsome figure, she thought, admiring the curved length of his long legs. But she much preferred him in the trousers, flowing white shirt, and high boots he wore aboard the Avenger.

  Unfortunately her own attire left much to be desired. And there was nothing she could do to improve her shorn hair. Though it had grown somewhat, it was still indecently short, hugging her face and head in a riotous mass of ebony curls.

  Shivering beneath the voluminous folds of one of Morgan’s capes, Luca huddled in the seat beside her husband as their hired coach rattled along the rutted road. Noting her discomfort Morgan pulled her into his arms, all too aware that once they reached his estate any intimacy between them must necessarily end. Luca was becoming too important for his well-being; he needed to put his forced marriage into perspective. Once he was at court among his own kind he expected Luca’s hold on him to diminish.

  “What do you think of the English winter?” Morgan asked in an effort to turn his dangerous thoughts from the warm body nestling against the curve of his own.

  “I do not like it” Luca said truthfully. She gazed through the window at the passing scenery. The grass was sere and brown and the trees had lost their lush foliage. A misty rain obscured her view of the land, and a bone-chilling dampness had settled over her like a dismal gray curtain. It was very depressing. She sighed wistfully. “Spain’s gentle climate is much more hospitable. And Andros is a virtual paradise compared to this.”