Payton eyed him, thinking—not for the first time—that it was likely there was more barbaric pirate in him than courtly peer. She was about to make her feelings on the matter known when the lips that moments before had ravaged her mouth suddenly settled over a pink nipple, bare to his touch this time, teasing it into ready hardness. The sharp words that had been on Payton’s lips turned to a moan of pleasure as Drake’s mouth, hot on her tender skin, forged a path down her flat belly, until his tongue was laving the curls at the jointure of her thighs.
She gave up after that, all the fight gone from her trembling limbs. It was as if he possessed a magic touch that rendered her compliant to his whims. She didn’t care if they got married or not, so long as he kept sending such delicious sensations through her body, eliciting these soft murmurs of pleasure from her. In some distant part of her mind, she might have thought it a little strange to be making love in broad daylight in her older brother’s bedroom. But it didn’t seem to matter where they were when Drake wanted her, and made her want him, too.
Drake felt her surrender and took full advantage of it. Perhaps it wasn’t fair, to seduce her in this way, after the fright she’d had, and the injuries she’d sustained …
But he wasn’t about to take any more chances, or feel any guilt over it, either. Not while he had her exactly where he’d been wanting her since … well, since that evening back in Daring Park, when he’d rescued her from being tossed over Raleigh’s shoulder. She was his, and he was going to prove it to her once and for all, and he didn’t much care what she had to say about it.
Drake, delighting in her soft cries of pleasure and the uncontrollable writhing his tongue wrought from her slim body, didn’t raise his face from between her legs until he was certain she was ready for him. Only then did he rise to his knees, and reach for the buttons of his breeches.
He looked down at her in time to see her half-lidded eyes widen as she took in the immensity of his erection. Her lips parted moistly as if she was summoning breath to protest—undoubtedly that someone might walk in on them—but Drake was too close to the edge to waste time arguing. Kneeling between her tanned thighs, he took hold of her buttocks in shaking hands, and then thrust himself into that velvet furrow, plunging into her tight warmth. He watched her face carefully as he entered her, saw her astonished expression as he pushed deeper … and then deeper into her. He heard her cry out in wordless objection as he drew back, and then gasp as he entered her again, harder this time, though he was trying—Lord, he was trying—to go gently with her. Not that it seemed to matter to her. The buttons of his waistcoat were pressing into her bare flesh, the soft frills of his cravat brushing her face, but she didn’t seem to care. Nor did she seem to mind that he was keeping such a firm grip on her hips that she couldn’t move them. He tried to be conscious of her injured feet, but how could he, when he was also conscious of what she craved?
And then he couldn’t be conscious of anything. Once again, that animal lust that surfaced every time she was near, that uncontrollable craving that only she could satiate took over, and he was like a wild thing in his need to embed himself within her. He began thrusting more and more quickly, with an urgency Payton understood as she thrashed, helpless in her own desire, beneath him. When release came, it crashed over both of them simultaneously, rocking Drake forward again and again, until he drove Payton deep into the mattress with the force of his thrusts. But she was hardly aware of the battering her body received, so caught up was she in her own passion. Crying out hoarsely as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over her, Payton only dimly heard Drake’s triumphant roar as he collapsed against her. Her last conscious thought, before she was swept away, was a distant concern that her brothers might have heard them, and would come running, thinking Drake was murdering her.
It was only when the two of them finally lay still, their hearts pounding against one another’s, their breathing ragged, that Drake raised his head from Payton’s damp hair and asked, “Now will you marry me?”
Payton sighed. “I suppose so. If I must.”
“I rather think it advisable, considering the fact that you’re carrying my child.”
“I’m what?”
Drake’s voice was casual, though the effect his words had on her was anything but. “Think about it, Payton. We were on that island for two months, and in all that time you never—”
“Wait.” Payton counted the weeks swiftly on her fingers. The last time she’d menstruated had been on board the Rebecca. She’d been at her wits’ end, trying to steal enough sponges from the kitchen to—
“Oh, bloody hell!” No wonder she’d felt so weepy lately. And that jolt she’d felt, leaping down from her balcony. Good Lord! She wasn’t getting old. She was pregnant! Payton Dixon, who knew everything there was to know about the family arts, had failed to put a single one of them into practice!
“Well, you needn’t look like that about it,” Drake said, in slightly offended tones.
She blinked up at him. “Like what?” she asked.
“Like the bottom of your world had dropped out.”
“But Drake, I’m not going to be any good at motherhood,” Payton cried. “I’ll make no better a mother than I’ll make a wife. I’m too bossy by half—”
“Nothing wrong with being bossy,” Drake said, with a smile that tore at her heartstrings. “It can be quite a good trait. It’s a vital trait, actually,” he said, “in a sea captain.”
“Right,” Payton said, no small amount of bitterness in her voice. “Only I’m not a sea captain, remember?”
He gazed down at her tenderly. “Payton, haven’t you wondered what it was I was doing on your balcony at three o’clock in the morning?”
She decided that she liked him better without a beard. It was easier to trace the curve of his lips with her finger, as she did just then. A baby. She was going to have Drake’s baby. “Yes,” she said, not having really heard him.
He reached out and captured her hand in his. “I wanted to let you know,” he said, with sudden seriousness, “that a ship of particular interest to you had just sailed into the bay.”
That got her attention, as he’d known it would. Anything to do with boats tended to get her attention. “A ship? What ship?”
“Can’t you guess which one?” Seeing her shake her head, he sighed, and rolling off her, climbed to his feet. “I suppose I’ll have to show you, then.”
“Show me?” Payton looked a little alarmed as she watched him fasten up his trousers. “But my feet—”
“Don’t worry about your feet.” He bent down and, wrapping her up in the sheets they’d crumpled beneath them in their recent ardor, slipped one arm beneath her knees, and the other behind her back. Then he lifted her easily from the bed, and carried her the few feet across the room to the French doors to the terrace. Unlatching them, he threw them open, then brought her out into the bright morning sunlight. The view was spectacular. They were high enough that they could look out across all of Nassau, and toward the azure bay. But Payton, he noticed, hadn’t taken her eyes off him.
“Look,” he urged her.
She squinted in the bright hot sunlight. “Look at what?”
“That ship there, in the middle of the bay. Does it look familiar to you?”
He watched her face carefully as she looked. She had excellent eyesight—always had. A moment later, her jaw dropped, and she turned her astonished gaze up toward his face.
“But that’s—that’s impossible. She sank. I saw her—”
“You didn’t,” he said, smiling down at her. “You watched them blow a hole through her hull. But she’s a good ship. It would take a lot more than a hole in the hull to sink her. When I heard Ross had sent her down to Key West for repairs, I had them bring her back. I thought she might make rather a good wedding present.”
Payton’s eyes widened. “For me? You’re giving her to me?”
“On one condition.”
Her gaze narrowed. “What?” she a
sked suspiciously.
“That you don’t take her out without your first officer.” He grinned. “Namely me.”
Payton, after staring at him for a moment, burst into laughter. She couldn’t help it. It seemed to come bubbling out of her. She couldn’t remember ever having felt quite so happy. She reached up and placed a hand on either side of his head, then dragged his face down toward hers so she could plant a joyful kiss upon his mouth. Her happiness must have been contagious, because Drake returned the kiss with abandon. In fact, they were still kissing when Ross came stomping out onto the terrace a few minutes later.
“We heard all the shoutin’. Haven’t you two made up yet?” He stared at them. “Oh. I see that you have.”
“Oh, Ross!” Payton cried, her arms still around Drake’s neck. “What do you think? Drake—I mean, Connor—has given me the Constant! We’re going to spend our honeymoon on her.”
Ross glowered at them. “You have to get married before you can have a honeymoon,” he informed them testily. “Besides, haven’t you two already had your honeymoon? I’d say it’s bloody well over by now.”
Drake looked down at his bride. “Not quite yet,” he said with a smile.
PATRICIA CABOT is a pen name of MEG CABOT, the #1 New York Times bestselling author of books for both adults and tweens/teens, including the Princess Diaries series. She was raised in Bloomington, Indiana, and has also lived in Grenoble, France; Carmel, California; and New York City. She graduated with a bachelor’s degree in fine arts from Indiana University. She currently lives in Key West, Florida with her husband and various cats.
MegCabot.com
Facebook: MegCabot •Twitter: @MegCabot
AN IMPROPER PROPOSAL
Copyright © 1999 by Patricia Cabot.
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