Sweet Seduction hmtl

by Patricia Pellicane

  Lest the wind and moving ship throw her to the deck, Tristan held her protectively close. He strained to hear her words over the wind. "Do you like it that much?"

  "I love it."

  Tristan sighed, silently agreeing with her. It was a good life but at times a lonely one. He pushed aside the memory of his recent dissatisfaction, confident he'd suffer no more now that he'd realized its cause. "Still it can't take the place of a lover," his lips curved into a teasing smile.

  "Can it not?" Meg's eyes flashed with excitement as she glanced his way.

  "Would you forego family for the thrill of the sea, Gypsy?"

  "You mean a husband?"

  Tristan nodded.

  "There's little chance of that. I'm too old to marry, even had I the mind to do so." -

  Tristan grinned at the saucy sprite. She didn't look a day over twenty. Why would she imagine herself beyond the age of marriage. "Are you? How old is that?"

  "Old enough to see what my friends endure. Old enough to want no part of marriage."

  Tristan's brow creased into a frown, his gaze puzzled. "I've never known a woman who would willingly forfeit her chance at marital bliss," he said, clearly puzzled.

  "Well, you do now."

  "Do you hate the thought?"

  Meg shrugged. "Not hate exactly." She shot him a knowing look. "I'm just wise to the ways of men."

  "Are you?" Tristan laughed, delighting in every change of her emotion. "And what ways are those?"

  "To trap a woman and then rob her of her own mind. To make her his possession. To offer her nothing but his bad humor, his domination, his interference in her life."

  Tristan's eyes widened at her fervent response. No doubt it was her wild upbringing that caused her to think so outrageously about so normal a way of life. Most women practiced the art of enticement from the crib, having no greater goal in mind during their lifetime than marriage. It was the way things were supposed to be.

  "Besides, I have other problems to overcome before I could think about such things."

  "Problems, meaning me?"

  "Problems, meaning most definitely you, Captain."

  "And how do you plan on overcoming?"

  Meg forgot herself again and returned his teasing, delicious smile. She turned quickly away, unhappy with the tingling sensation that that smile could bring to her stomach. "It is wise, don't you think, to keep your enemies guessing?"

  "Am I your enemy, Gypsy?" he asked while moving his face closer. His lips brushed a feather-light kiss over her cool, damp cheek, and Meg again raised her gaze to his, surprised at the action.

  She felt her heart skip a beat and then pound with all the strength of the surrounding ocean. She couldn't let this happen, this seduction of the senses that threatened to break down her guard brought on by dark, sparkling skies, rushing wind, and this man's irresistible presence. She released his arm and backed away. "Yes."

  Tristan's smile was deceptively gentle, for he trembled with a longing, the strength of which he'd never known, to crush this woman to him, to feel again her softness, to taste again that delicious mouth, to breathe again her rich, special scent. "Do you think to escape me? Is that your plan?"

  "I will escape you," Meg said, her back to him now.

  Tristan slid his arms around an impossibly tiny waist and brought her to lean against him. His mouth lowered to her ear. "And if I can't let you go?"

  "You will." She nodded at her statement, emphasizing its truth. "You must."

  Tristan lowered his head again. His lips took her lobe between them. Gently his teeth grazed the soft, pliable flesh. "Perhaps one day, but not yet."

  "When?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "Yes, it matters. It matters more than anything."

  "Six months. Give me six months, and if you still want to leave, I won't stop you." Tristan wondered at his easily stated promise. Had he spoken the truth? Or could it be that six months, six years, sixty wouldn't be enough? Would he ache with this need even after he'd finally realized assuagement in her body? Tristan smiled as a sudden deep sense of panic disappeared. Once he had this woman, he'd be free of her spell, free of the longing, the ache that had granted no peace since the first moment he'd seen her.

  Meg shook her head. "You've built this all out of proportion, Captain. Had I acquiesced to your needs from the first, you would have already forgotten me."

  Tristan chuckled at her logic, knowing the truth of that statement. "Do you think so?"

  "All of us want what we can't have, Captain."

  Tristan wisely kept to himself the fact that he could have had her anytime he chose. Had he been another, they might have spent the entire day in bed. But he hadn't touched her. Even though he ached to do so, he hadn't. Had he been less considerate of her feelings, he would already know the delights of this woman's body. He knew she was distressed at being taken by force. He'd hoped to control the lust that forever pounded in his guts, to give her time to adjust. "Come with me then. Let's see if your theory proves true."

  "I've been meaning to talk to you about that," she said as she stepped out of his arms.

  "About what?" Tristan asked as he leaned an elbow on the railing, turning his body to face her.

  Meg held her hair out of her eyes as she glanced his way. "About what you have in mind."

  Tristan grinned. "And what have I in mind?"

  Meg was stalling for time. She had to come up with a plan. Desperately she searched her mind, knowing it would take three weeks, baring any problems to reach home. Three weeks of sharing this man's quarters. Three weeks of the closest living arrangements anyone could imagine. How was she to prevent the inevitable? She couldn't deny the feelings he brought about at his touch. And when he kissed her, Lord! When he kissed her she forgot all but the need for more of his mouth on hers ... his kisses could only lead to disaster. "I think," she said, forcing the quiver from her voice, the heat of his gaze upon her, "if you gave me some time, if we could grow to know one another, I might not be adamant in refusing you."

  "Are you adamant?"

  Meg nodded as she appeared to search the black rolling sea. Tristan wondered if she prayed for rescue.

  "Why should that matter to me?" Tristan cursed himself for every kind of fool, knowing that to have considered her feelings had gained him nothing except additional suffering. What the hell had he expected? Did he think a gentleness on his part would so easily breakdown her wall of resistance? That she would almost immediately turn to him? That she would know a measure of the desperate obsession he felt? He shook his head at the thought, knowing she never would.

  Meg looked his way again. Her eyes were huge and as black as the night. "Wouldn't it? Wouldn't you rather a woman who is willing?"

  Tristan sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. He had no doubt that once he had her in his arms, he could convince her easily enough. But if it made her feel better, perhaps he would go along with her plan for a time. A very short time. "How long?"

  Meg shrugged again. She wanted to say twenty years. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she held them back. If she appeared flippant, he'd simply put aside her request and do as he pleased. He might anyway. "A week. Perhaps two."

  "And then? Will you come to me of your own accord?"

  "I'll come to you, but only because I have no choice." Meg figured if she could hold him off for two weeks, she was sure to come up with another excuse by then. If her luck held, she just might end this trip none the worse than she'd begun.

  Tristan cursed. He knew he was going to accede to her request. Damn it to hell! He wondered why he should care about her feelings. What difference did it make if she were willing. He wanted this woman. Had wanted her since the first day he'd laid eyes on her. She'd be willing enough once he had her securely beneath him. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name. What then did he expect to gain by waiting?

  Despite his silent objections, Tristan unhappily agreed. "A week. No more"

  "B
ut-"

  "No more," he insisted. "After a week, you'll belong to me."

  "I won't."

  "You will," he nodded in all confidence.

  "I'll belong to a man only when I give myself to him. Not before."

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  "It means that you can take my body, but I'll always belong to me." It was definitely the wrong thing to say to a man who ached to possess every element of her entire being.

  "You talk like a damn fool. Who the hell taught you all this nonsense?"

  "It's not nonsense," Meg defended hotly. Only she could give. It mattered not what another took.

  "Fine." His hand clamped to her arm like a vice. "Since you won't belong to me anyway, I see no reason to wait."

  Tristan was moving through the dark, heading for the hatch and companionway that would bring them to his cabin, careless of the fact that she stumbled behind. She almost fell down the stairs. "You said you'd wait," she gasped breathlessly as she struggled to keep her footing.

  Tristan knew when he was being played for a fool. A week, ten weeks wouldn't see her in his arms willingly. Nothing would be gained by waiting. "I've waited long enough."

  "You only met me two weeks ago. Is that so long?"

  "It's been years." It had felt like years in any case.' And Tristan wasn't about to wait a minute more.

  He pushed her into the room and slammed the door behind him. Meg's black eyes were huge in a face gone white with fear. Tristan fought against the tiny, defenseless picture she made. Knowing he could easily best her brought about no surge of victory. But he needed no victory in this case. What he needed was to lose himself in the warmth of her body.

  "Take off your clothes."

  Her mouth narrowed into a thin line of hate. "Go to hell."

  Her hair was wild about her face and shoulders. Her eyes were shining with rage. Her cheeks had soft color from the wind. She was a woman unlike any other and the most beautiful he'd ever seen.

  During the day his cabin had been cleared of all weapons. He was careful about bottles as well. Tonight wouldn't be a repeat of last night. "I said take off your clothes, Gypsy."

  "And if I refuse?" Meg's body was so stiff, she wondered if she would break at the slightest touch.

  "Then I'll take them off for you. And I might not be as gentle."

  Meg felt a shiver of terror race through her body; still her gaze never wavered. She'd show this man no fear. It mattered not at all that he'd hurt her. It mattered only that she would never willingly give in to his demands.

  "I'm not afraid of your threats."

  "You should be." He was hovering over her now; mere inches separated their bodies. His fingers reached for and threaded through her luxurious mane of hair, and he sighed with delight as he watched a black silky tendril curl around his hand.

  She pushed him away, but he was like a rock, and her shove only propelled her backwards. A pulse drummed thickly in Meg's throat, almost closing off her ability to speak. She knew a sense of finality. He would take her now. Gentle or rough, it hardly mattered. After tonight, nothing would ever be the same again.

  He reached for her again. Meg's hand struck, hitting sharply against his cheek. The blow did nothing to dissuade him from his intent. He simply grabbed at her, holding both her hands behind her back with one of his.

  His fingers grew terribly gentle, barely touching her skin as they slid to her neck, her jaw. Meg silently cursed that gentleness. For it was that which defeated her. A thumb brushed over her lips, and his eyes darkened with need. "You have the most intoxicating mouth. When I kiss you, God," he almost groaned the word, his voice growing heavier, thicker. "When I kiss you, it's like being lost in the darkness somewhere between heaven and hell. And I wonder if I'll ever find my way back."

  "Don't," she whispered brokenly as his mouth descended, almost touching hers. "I don't want this."

  Tristan smiled as he listened to her softly spoken plea. He didn't believe her for a minute. He knew the passion that trembled within her, and ached to see it finally released. "Remember, Gypsy? Remember that night at your camp?" The warm clean scent of his breath brushing against her skin almost brought a moan from her lips. "When I touched you? When I lowered your blouse? Remember what it felt like with my mouth on you?"

  The deep timbre of his voice was more intoxicating a kiss could ever be. Meg gave a low moan as head fell back, unconsciously offering him easier access. Her eyes half-closed as she trembled violently in anticipation. She'd lied to both of them. She might say no, but she wanted his kiss, ached for the feel of his mouth on hers. She trembled in her waiting. Meg felt herself weakening and knew she'd later curse the fact that this man could so easily hold her in his power. But right now she didn't care. All she could think, all she could feel was his mouth brushing feathery strokes of delight upon her heated flesh.

  The air in the room throbbed. It thickened and caused her breath to strain. Why didn't he kiss her? Her lips trembled as she forced back a plea for him to do just that. What was this man about? If it was his intent to take her body, why did he first bring on this great suffering of want?

  Black eyes held to brown. Neither seemed willing or able to break the hold. His free hand was at her shoulders, her back. His nimble fingers were unbuttoning her dress. Slowly he pushed the fabric from her shoulders and then inch by incredibly slow inch, lowered both shift and dress to expose her breasts. A deep aching pain clutched at his innards, for the sight before him had no equal in beauty. A faint blue vein marked smooth golden skin. His breathing was ragged as his gaze followed the tiny vein to the gloriously darkened tip. Straining for control, he felt his fingers tremble as they reached for her tempting softness.

  His palm cupped her heaviness, and his thumb ran over the rose-colored tips. "Beautiful," he breathed against her mouth. "So beautiful," he said just before his mouth took hers.

  Her lips were soft beneath his, pliant and sweet. His mouth lingered on hers for long minutes before he sought entrance to the heaven that lay beyond. He tugged at her flesh, easily forcing it to part while his mind raced on, aching to do as much to her body.

  Meg's strength had left her as wax leaves a candle. She knew she'd hate him and herself as well for allowing this, but she had no willpower against his touch, his kiss.

  He released her hands, but Meg was beyond noticing. She never realized her dress had fallen to the floor to puddle in a circle of wrinkled, gold silk. Her shift, which was pushed down, trapped her arms to her sides.

  Tristan's hands moved to her waist, and he grunted a sound of disapproval at finding her tightly corseted. "You don't need this," he said as he disposed of the tight bow and loosened the constricting article.

  Meg breathed a gasp through tightly clenched teeth as the corset came away from her body. She'd worn it for twenty-four hours, slept in it, endured its constriction and the inability to breathe, and now as the blood rushed back, she knew burning pain.

  Tristan pushed her shift lower. It fell from her arms and lay useless at her waist, held there by her petticoats. A low curse tumbled from his lips as he felt and then looked at the angry red marks the corset had left on her body, marks that were growing into dark bruises. "What the hell is the matter with you? You've marked yourself by wearing this thing."

  Meg rubbed at her soreness and breathed a great sigh of relief at having at last been freed of the hated garment. "I can't fit into my dress without it."

  Their short exchange ended the erotic moment, and the cloud of desire that had held her in its clutches disappeared. She felt suddenly naked and exposed. Her hands reached for her shift, her obvious intent to cover herself. She never made it. Tristan's hands were there, guiding her back to him and the spell he could so easily weave.

  His hands cupped her waist, his fingers almost meeting, and he felt the deep grooves and swelling bruises. "Don't let me see you wearing that again."

  It was his order that did it. She could almost feel her spine stiffen. Laughing in
ridicule, she said, "Don't tell me what to do." She shoved his hands away and glared at him. Ordinarily, Meg would have been the first to agree with the absurdity of wearing a corset. Hadn't she complained of that hated garment at length? Still, she felt the need to defend. Besides, as far as she could see, this man had no rights whatsoever. Especially when it came to telling her what she was allowed to wear. "I'll wear what I please."

  Tristan grinned at her heated response. God, this one was a spitfire. The problem was her show of temper made her, if possible, more desirable in his eyes. "I won't see your body marred, Gypsy. You'll do as I say."

  Somewhere in the back of her mind Meg realized with some amazement that she was actually standing before this man, arguing her cause, clad only in petticoats, lacy drawers, and stockings, and yet felt no shame, no embarrassment. In truth, the more he looked at her, the more she wanted him to. His admiration was beyond a doubt. And her pleasure that he should find her so equally undeniable. Her back arched, slightly, proudly, and her skin 'tingled as she watched his eyes grow dark with fire.

  Tristan groaned at the seductive movement, his eyes on hers as he realized her unconscious sanctioning of this moment. One hand reached hungrily, roughly for her hair again, and he pulled her face to his. His free arm gathered her against him. He felt her tremble and wondered at the passion that raged between them. He'd never known it could be so great. He'd never imagined anything like this before.

  His opened mouth took hers in a consuming kiss that screamed of hunger. His tongue, thick and hot, dipped deep into the sweet luxury of her and then dipped again. He felt the soft moan that escaped her throat and then growled at her eager acceptance as his tongue penetrated even deeper. Famished for the taste of her, it rediscovered her texture, her feel even as it fought a sensual dual with hers.