The Sea Sprite

by Ruth Langan

  She meant to stop him. God knew she’d meant to. But the minute his lips covered hers she was lost. Needs so long denied took over her will. The need to have his hands on her until she quivered and trembled. The need to have his mouth moving over hers, until they devoured each other. The need to forget all the rules she’d set for herself. And for him.

  Her heart was pounding. A wild primal beat that had the pulse throbbing in her temples.

  This wasn’t like before. It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. This was raw, primitive. A hunger that gnawed. A need that ached and clawed to be free. It rocked her simple, comfortable world and sent it spinning out of control like a ship caught in the grip of a hurricane.

  “Unless you tell me right now to stop—” his voice was a low whisper of need that only added to the feelings of danger and excitement “—it’ll be too late, Darcy.”

  When she didn’t respond he drew her head back and stared down into her eyes. “Do you understand what I intend?”

  She met his gaze without blinking. “Aye. It’s what I want, as well.”

  For the space of several seconds he continued to stare at her. Then, keeping his eyes open, he covered her mouth in a kiss so hot, so hungry, she could do nothing but hang on as the world seemed to dip and tilt before it slipped away.

  Without a word he scooped her into his arms and carried her down two flights of stairs. At his room he kicked in the door and then slammed it shut before setting her on her feet. Before she could recover her breath his mouth was on hers, sending her pulse rate climbing even higher.

  “You need to know.” He kept his eyes steady on hers as he pressed her back against the closed door. “I can’t make you any promises. I could wake tomorrow to remember a past that could cause us both pain.”

  “I don’t care—”

  “You have to care.” He cut off her protest. “I want you to be forewarned, Darcy. There could be things in my past that would come between us.”

  “I know you, Gryf. You’re too fine to have done anything wrong. You haven’t killed anyone. Or stolen from anyone. You’re not a man with a wicked past.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Those aren’t the only unknowns. Think about this. There could be a wife and family out there, waiting for my return. Would my love for you be more important than doing the right thing by them?”

  She sucked in a breath at the razor that sliced her heart.

  Hearing the sound, seeing the pain in her eyes, he straightened and took a step back. “It’s as I feared. You haven’t thought this through.” He sighed. “This isn’t right. For either of us.” He reached around her to pull open the door.

  Her hand closed over his, stopping him. She stared at their two hands. “You’re right, Gryf. I haven’t allowed myself to think about another woman having a prior claim to your heart. It’s too…painful.” She looked up at him, and saw the same need in his eyes that burned in hers. “But what if you never regain your memory? Should we be doomed to a life apart, even though we love each other?”

  “Do you know what you’re saying?” He tipped up her chin and stared deeply into her eyes. “Are you willing to risk dishonor with a man who can offer you no future?”

  “No future?” She smiled then, and lay a hand on his cheek. “I was the one with no future. I’d lost all hope of ever loving again. And then you came into my life and all the pain, all the suffering of my loss no longer mattered to me. You’re all that matters to me, Gryf. Just the way you are. With a borrowed name and a forgotten past. All I ask is that you love me. If not forever, at least for now.”

  He closed his eyes a moment, wondering if she had any idea what she had just offered. Hope, to a man who’d had none. A lifeline to a man who’d been drowning.

  He dragged her close and pressed his face in her hair, breathing her in. “Heaven help us, Darcy.” The words were torn from his lips. “For I haven’t the will to deny your gift to me.”

  And then his hands were on her, rough with impatience. And his mouth, that incredibly soft mouth, was savaging hers as needs tumbled over each other in a quest to be satisfied.

  He ran hot wet kisses over her face, down her throat, until, on a moan, she arched her neck, giving him easier access. When he encountered the bodice of her gown he nearly growled in frustration. With a desperate need to feel her flesh, he brought his hands to the neckline and tore it aside. As the remnants fluttered to the floor, he caught the ribbons of her chemise, freeing her breasts.

  Her body was so delicate. All soft curves, with flesh as pale as moonlight on water. For a moment all he could do was stare as desire slammed into him. And then he touched her. The merest touch had her trembling. When he cupped her breasts in his hands and followed with his lips, he felt the shudder that rippled through her.

  As he pleasured himself and her, he felt the air thicken, and his breath back up in his lungs. How long he had wanted to touch her like this. To feel her, pressed to him, warm flesh to warm flesh. To fill himself with the taste of her.

  Fearing that her legs would fail her, Darcy clutched his waist to keep from falling. As she did, she tugged aside his tunic, needing to touch him as he was touching her.

  All that hard, corded muscle seemed to tighten even as she moved her hands over him. The flat planes of his stomach. The hair-roughened chest. Even the ridges of scars along his torso were arousing. The thought of what he’d endured, and the strength he’d needed to do so, made her heart swell with love for him.

  The feel of her hands on his flesh was the sweetest torture. The thought of taking her now, hard and fast, had the blood pounding in his temples.

  Instead, he took a moment to toss aside the rest of his clothes, where they joined hers in a heap at their feet. Then he caught her hands and dragged her down until they were kneeling.

  “Darcy.” He framed her face with his hands, and brought his mouth to hers. “You’re so beautiful, you take my breath away.”

  She sighed and moved in his arms, loving the way emotion deepened the timbre of his voice, a voice that sent tiny splinters along her spine. But as his kisses continued, she could feel her breath coming harder, faster, and her blood heating until it flowed like liquid fire through her veins.

  The bed was just steps away. But it was too far. He couldn’t bear even a moment without his mouth on hers.

  Still kissing her he lay her down, using their clothes as a cushion against the hard floor. Then he drew her into the circle of his arms. The need was fierce now, driving him beyond reason.

  With lips and fingertips he moved over her, taking her on a dizzying ride. Her hands clutched him as he took her up, up, until she reached a sudden, unexpected crest. He watched her eyes stare blindly as she was swept over. And then, before she could recover, he took her again until her head fell back, and she moaned with pleasure.

  He could feel her, hot and wet, and knew that she was ready. But still he held back, wanting more. Wanting all.

  There was so much he wanted to tell her. To give her. For so long he’d watched this strong, independent woman climb the rigging of her ship with all the agility of a dancer. Now he wanted to take her that high. And even higher if possible. He had a desperate need to posses. To make her his. Only his. To watch her lose all control, and know that he was the reason.

  And so he continued to kiss, to caress, to soothe, until she clutched at his waist, her eyes wide and focused only on him.

  But when she touched him the way he was touching her, and kissed him back with such wild abandon, he found himself caught in his own trap.

  Need struggled inside him, desperate to be free. There were no whispered sighs, no gentle pleasures, only an urgency that could no longer be held in check.

  He knew he was rough when he covered her body with his and savaged her mouth until they were both dragging air into their lungs. He dug his fingers into her hair and watched her eyes as he entered her.

  He heard her gasp and covered her mouth with his, swallowing the sound. For the spa
ce of a heartbeat he went completely still, ashamed of the fact that he could be hurting her. She was, after all, a maiden. But it was Darcy who sighed with the pure pleasure of it, and began to move, drawing him in deeper, stealing his will to be gentle.

  There was no denying the need that climbed and built, sensation after sensation, until it had become a monster, struggling to be free.

  Her body arched. Her fingers clung, her nails scraped his flesh, as she felt herself moving with him, climbing with him.

  He felt himself straining and marveled at her strength as she kept pace with him. His hands sought hers, their fingers joined. Their eyes opened, steady on each other as they reached the very peak.

  They were suddenly hurled into the frenzy of a hurricane. Whirling. Twisting. Hurtling. And then, as they reached the eye of the storm, they exploded, shattered and drifted back to earth.

  He lay perfectly still, his body pressing into hers, his mouth buried against her throat, willing his heartbeat to settle. If he were to die this very moment, he’d die happy.

  He wondered idly if he’d ever felt like this before. Was it possible to experience something this incredible and have it wiped completely from his mind?

  Not likely, he thought with a sigh. If he could, he’d stay like this, just this, for the rest of the night. Even the thought of lifting his head seemed too much effort. Still, he had to try.

  “Am I too heavy?”

  “Aye.” The word was little more than a whisper. “But I don’t mind.”

  “Here…” He rolled to one side and drew her into the curve of his arm. It occurred to him that she fit as though made for him. “Better?”

  “Aye.” She fitted herself against him, and he could feel the flutter of her lashes against his cheek. “Much better.”

  “I’m sorry I was so rough.”

  “Mmm. Were you?”

  He chuckled. “I guess I wasn’t as rough as I’d feared.”

  “Not that I noticed. But then, I was…preoccupied. Next time, I’ll try to pay more attention.”

  “Next time?” He shot her a look. “What makes you think we’ll do this again?”

  “Because we both enjoyed it too much to walk away now.”

  “You seem quite sure of yourself, Captain Lambert.”

  “I’m certain about what I felt. As for you…” As she started to roll aside he drew her back and kissed her, lingering over her mouth until she felt the heat begin to rise again, and with it, the desire.

  “Oh, I enjoyed myself as well, Captain. So much, I think we ought to try it again right now.”

  “Can you? I mean, can we?”

  He found himself laughing at the look of astonishment on her face. “We can. All it takes is this….” He brought his lips to her throat, then lower, where his tongue made lazy circles around her breast.

  Seeing the way her eyes darkened, he began, with lips and tongue and fingertips, to slowly drive them both mad.

  It took but a touch to turn their simmering passions into another blazing inferno.

  With sighs and moans and sobs they slipped once more into the dark world of forbidden pleasures. A world made just for lovers.

  “I’m going to have to give my compliments to Mistress Coffey.” Gryf bit into cold mutton and closed his eyes at the pleasure.

  “Aye. She rules the kitchens with an iron hand and sees that Cook prepares all of Grandpapa’s favorite foods.” Darcy took the morsel he offered, and swallowed it down with ale from the tankard they shared.

  Outside their window, the midnight sky was awash with glittering stars. Moonlight spilled across the bed in a golden arc.

  While Gryf had added a log to the fire, Darcy had padded downstairs and returned with food. Now she sat beside him in the bed, her cloak tossed carelessly aside, unmindful of her nakedness.

  “I couldn’t eat a thing at supper after you left,” he admitted.

  “Why?”

  “Because I realized how foolish I’d been to shave off my beard.”

  She touched a hand to his chin. “It wasn’t foolish. You look…handsome. Why did you decide to shave?”

  “Someone suggested I might look more…appealing to you.”

  “Who suggested such a thing?”

  Seeing the fire in her eyes he shrugged. “I can’t recall.”

  She saw the hint of a smile on his lips, and her own blossomed. “That’s a fine excuse, Gryf. You can use it whenever you don’t want to admit to something.”

  “Aye. That’s what I’ve been learning. At first I was so damnably furious at the fates that had stolen my memory. But now I’ve decided it may be quite convenient at times.”

  They shared a laugh and he leaned back against the nest of pillows in the big bed. “I love looking at you, Darcy. The way you look in moonlight. In sunlight. In no light at all.”

  “And I like looking at you. With or without a beard.”

  “That’s comforting. How about without clothes?”

  “That’s even better.”

  They both laughed. But after a moment he sobered. “I was trying to hide the fact that I was serious. Don’t my scars offend you?”

  “Offend me?” She touched a hand to the scar on his chin. “Nothing about you offends me, Gryf. But it hurts me to think about the pain you’ve suffered.”

  “It no longer matters. Just think. If I hadn’t wandered to the village of Timmeron, and you hadn’t been in need of sailors aboard the Undaunted, we’d have never met.”

  When she said nothing he took the tankard from her hands and drew her down into his arms. Against her temple he murmured, “And I’d have never experienced such happiness.”

  “I’m happy, too. Oh, Gryf. So happy.” She lifted her face to him and waited for his kiss.

  When his mouth covered hers, she wrapped her arms around his neck and felt once again the quick sexual tug deep inside.

  Would he always have the power to arouse her like this? With a single touch, a single kiss? And what would happen if his memory should return, and he was forced to leave?

  She nudged the thought aside and allowed herself to sink slowly into that deep well of desire. For now she would take all the love, all the happiness, he offered and store it up in her poor, battered heart. And if on the morrow she had to face fresh heartache, she prayed she would have the strength, the courage, to deal with whatever the fates had in store.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Has anybody seen Darcy?” Miss Mellon’s voice, outside Gryf’s closed door, had the two lovers stirring.

  “Isn’t she in her room, Winnie?” Geoffrey Lambert sounded sleepy and grumpy now that his rest had been disturbed.

  “Nay. She’s already up and about. And her bed made, as well. Where could the lass go this early in the morning?”

  Hearing the voices outside the door Darcy sat up, shoving golden curls out of her eyes, and tugging frantically on Gryf’s shoulder. “Wake up. Oh, Gryf, what are we to do?”

  “We?” He grinned at her. “I didn’t hear my name mentioned. I think you’re the one they’re discussing.”

  She picked up a pillow and slammed it against his head. “You’ve got to help me. How am I to slip out of here and back to my own room without being caught?”

  “Caught?” His smile grew. “You sound like a naughty child.” He squinted up at her. “Have you been naughty, Captain Lambert?”

  “How can you laugh at a time like this?”

  “Because, my love—” he dragged her down and pressed kisses all over her face until she was giggling “—I feel far too good this morrow to frown. And apparently you do, as well.”

  “Aye. I do.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  A mistake, she realized, when his laughter faded and his eyes took on that dark, wolfish look she’d learned to recognize. All through the night they’d love, dozed, then loved again. Each time they’d learned a bit more about each other, until now they were as comfortable as old lovers.

  But the l
azy comfort soon gave way to a blazing wave of need as his hands moved over her, and he drew out the kiss until they were both gasping.

  “Gryf.” She pushed against his chest. “I really must…”

  “Aye. You must.” He pressed her into the bed linens and began running nibbling kisses down the length of her body.

  “Gryf. You can’t—We can’t—” Her hands gripped his head. And then, before she could utter another protest, she made a sound that might have been a cry or a sob.

  She felt a flash of dizzying lights exploding inside her head as he slowly drove her mad. And as her whole world tilted, she found herself spinning once more out of control.

  Mistress Coffey’s voice was sharp with disapproval as Darcy and Gryf entered the dining room. “We’ve been waiting to break our fast. Where have the two of you been?”

  “I…wanted to look in on Whit.” Darcy took her place at the table and avoided her sisters’ eyes.

  “That takes only a moment or two. You’ve had your family waiting for nearly an hour.”

  “Gryf wanted to take Fearless outside.”

  “That would account for another minute or two.”

  As the housekeeper circled the table pouring tea, Bethany winked at Ambrosia and decided to come to her sister’s rescue. “You ought to be grateful, Mistress Coffey. You know how you worry about the pup making a mess.”

  “Aye.” The old woman frowned. “The lad’s room is beginning to smell like a barnyard.”

  “It can’t be helped,” Geoffrey Lambert interjected. “There’s no way we can separate that lad from his dog. I’m thinking it’s Fearless that has the lad healing so quickly.”

  Darcy sat back, relieved that the focus had shifted to Whit and Fearless. Now, perhaps, the others would forget about her and Gryf for a while.

  While the conversation swirled around her, she glanced at Gryf. Sensing her, he turned and gave her a knowing smile.

  Across the table Newton ate in silence and watched the two of them with a sinking heart. There was no denying that look of intimacy. It was as he’d feared. They’d crossed the line. He sighed. It was bound to happen, he supposed. Now all he could do was hope the lass didn’t have to endure another heartbreak. He had no doubt she would survive, no matter how much pain was inflicted. He wasn’t at all certain about himself. Each time she suffered, he took another knife to the heart.