“It is very basic, is it not?”
“This is a Russian trading ship bound for Yerba Buena.” He walked over to the bunks and fingered the fur cover on the bed. “And a successful one, by the looks of it.”
He shed his hat and topcoat. His waistcoat and cravat came next, followed by his boots. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to say goodnight. Except for a few quick naps I’ve been up nearly forty-eight hours and if I don’t get some sleep I’m going to expire from exhaustion.”
He turned to her and untied the ribbons of her bonnet, tossing it on a small chair. “When the trunk arrives, have them put it in front of the cupboard. Wake me if there’s a problem, but there won’t be. Santoro won’t find us here.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then climbed the ladder to the top bunk. “Get some sleep. Who knows what the seas will be like tomorrow.”
Sorina nodded and watched him as he stretched out on the upper bunk, admiring the muscular thighs outlined by his trousers. He was instantly asleep. He had incredible stamina. She was the only one who had any real sleep during the past two days. As far as she knew, a catnap as Tía Consuelo called it, was all he’d had and that was on the day of their departure from San Luis Rey, when he’d closed his eyes, his back against a tree after their tiny meal.
Disappointment flooded her senses. What had she expected? That he’d strip off her clothes and ravish her, unable to control his lust once they were alone? An uncomfortable heat in sensitive places reminded her she was the one who craved what he’d started on the boat. She longed to feel his lips on her mouth and her skin, his tongue doing things she’d only dreamt about. He was her protector, her ally, and while she knew he wanted her—badly—he seemed to live by a self-imposed rigid code.
A soft knock announced the arrival of the trunk. The burly sailor put it down, tipped his hat and left. Wide awake and curious, Sorina took off her cloak and knelt in front of the chest. It was made of wood with leather straps. Releasing the bindings, she lifted the lid. Inside was her bundle and beneath it were women’s clothes in all colors. She lifted out a dress of mauve silk and ran her hands over the sensuous fabric. It was nearly transparent with a lace overskirt of the same color, a low bodice and long, fitted sleeves. She put it back and drew out a green dress made of fine lawn. There were two others, a little less revealing, but in bright hues. A nightdress resided at the bottom. Where did he get these? A strong exotic scent made her wonder who had worn them last. She wrinkled her nose and closed the lid.
Grainger still slept, his hair tousled, his shirt off. His face was peaceful, his breathing even. Sorina longed to run her fingers over the strong jaw, where stubble darkened, and down his chest, over the dark hairs that marched to his belly and disappeared into his trousers.
Madre de Dios, how she loved this man.
Loved?
The realization caught her off guard. She loved the way he teased her when she was angry and caressed her neck when she was tense. She loved his quick thinking and astute planning. Most of all she loved how he had cared for her—not like an exotic flower that would wilt if transplanted elsewhere—but like a sturdy cactus flower that accepted care, but could survive on its own.
He was the one who’d made her feel special all those years ago in her aunt’s dark garden. And while his features had blurred over time, it was his voice that whispered imagined endearments on dark nights when she fantasized about love.
But she was still unsure of his feelings for her. He talked a lot about honor. But did he love her? He had risked much to help her escape and on the journey he had seen to her needs. But love was an elusive emotion, not often evident in her world where marriages were arranged to strengthen ties between powerful families or to add to property. She had no experience with it, except for her parents, who always seemed to be touching and could never stand to be apart for too long.
It was inevitable that she and Grainger would go their separate ways, once she was delivered safely to her uncle. She had a ranch to run and a school to build. He had a career that might need mending after helping her escape Santoro. They would probably never see each other again. For now, it would have to be enough that Grainger desired her. And if the chance presented itself, she would give her body freely.
She loved him. There would never be another.
She kicked off her sandals and removed the dress. Massaging her breasts, released from the tight bodice, she put on the filmy nightdress and finally drew back the fur cover on the hard bunk. Stripping off her pantaloons, she lay in the dark and dreamed of the man in the bunk above. He was too close. His proximity ignited a slow burn. She craved the heat of his body next to hers, over hers, in hers.
As if he read her thoughts, the ropes holding the bedclothes in the bunk above, moved and creaked as Grainger turned over. If she wanted to, she could reach up and touch the indentation caused by his body.
She didn’t.
It comforted her to know he was there.
Chapter 26
The room was in darkness, but a whimper broke its silence. Not moving, Grainger let his eyes adjust to the light, barely making out objects and distance. The cabin door was firmly closed. The trunk was in front of a narrow door, probably a clothes locker or cupboard. A pile of clothing lay on its lid. And the boat rocked gently.
“No.” The word was carried on a gasp, the sound coming from below his bunk. Sorina, in the throes of a dream, or more likely, a nightmare.
He shifted so he could peer over the edge.
Too many shadows to see clearly.
A fisted hand dropped over the side of the bunk below, opening and closing. Another whimper, followed by a sob.
He swung down and dropped to the floor. There wasn’t enough room for him to sit on the bed, so he kneeled on the floor beside it.
“Sorina, wake up.” He spoke quietly while stroking her cheek. Smoothing tangled strands of hair away from her mouth, she seemed to calm.
“Grainger?” Her eyes were still closed, but her hand covered his.
“I’m here.”
“Was I dreaming?” Her voice was as soft as the fur blanket on her body.
“Yes.”
“I woke you.” She sighed and moved his hand to her lips, kissing his palm.
The touch was featherlight, but it stirred him.
“Are you all right now?”
“Mmm . . . because you’re here.” Her eyelids opened halfway and she dropped his hand, reaching out to touch his face. “Scratchy.” Moving closer she brought her hand to the back of his head and moved his face toward her lips.
It was madness, but lust shot through him like a lightning strike as she leaned into him and pressed her lips to his. She opened her mouth, seeking his tongue and he drank deeply. She was warm and honey-soft. A memory flashed, his eyes opening to an unfamiliar sound . . . Sorina closing the lid of the trunk, disrobing in the tiny cabin, almost within reach. He’d kept still so she would not be startled, but watching her remove the dress with the tight bodice, and then massaging her bare breasts almost in front of his face, made him hard. Then she’d put on the filmy night rail in the trunk with the rest of the garments he’d purchased at a brothel, and slipped off the pantalettes. Her mound was dark against the white silk before she blew out the candle.
If he hadn’t been half dead and if he’d not given himself a stern talk about duty and respect and decency, he would have jumped down and ravished her. But she had climbed into her bunk and he’d turned against the bulkhead, willing himself to sleep.
Now, with her mouth firmly attached to his, gently sucking his tongue, he was lost.
You cannot do this. She’s a young woman in your protection. If you make love to her, she will never be able to have a respectable marriage.
He wrenched his mouth from hers and looked away. Breathing hard, he tried to heed the inner
voice that reminded him of Sorina’s vulnerability and forced himself to keep proper barriers in place.
“Señor Lance?” The soft voice reached out to him, as her fingers inched their way down his chest.
“We can’t do this, Sorina. You must be intact for the man you will one day marry. And if we begin, there will be no turning back.” Was he actually speaking those words? His cock said otherwise. It was so hard, it might burst.
“Look at me, please, señor.”
He shouldn’t but he did. She was tousled and warm from sleep, her cleavage deep as she lay on her side, the thin nightdress barely covering her.
“Do you find me ugly? Do you not want me? You did once.” Her full bottom lip jutted in a pout. He wanted to suck it like he might a ripe plum.
“I find you beautiful and irresistible. But you are also a virgin.”
“I do not want to be a virgin. In less than a week I shall be one and twenty. I will never marry now. I want no man ordering me about.” Her voice softened. “I ache, señor Lance, in places I should not. You are the only one who can teach me things I long to experience . . . soothe me. Please.” Her eyes pleaded with him.
His chest tightened and he closed his eyes. He would regret this, but he was going to do it. It was only sex and she said she didn’t want a man in her life.
If you believe that, you’re ready for Bedlam.
He ignored his conscience and stripped off his pants. He’d been too tired to take off more than boots, coats, and shirt last night.
Lifting the soft fur away from her body, he stretched next to her on the narrow bunk. Her wide eyes drank in every detail of his body, lingering a bit longer on his jutting cock.
She reached for him, her hand staying an inch above his tip. “May I touch?”
“God, yes.” He lay on his side facing her as she touched the head of his shaft with her fingertip, then closed her fingers around him, squeezing gently. He groaned and nuzzled her neck.
“Am I hurting you, señor?”
“No.”
“But you made a sound like you are in pain.”
“That was a pleasure sound, my love.”
She ran her finger along his shaft, then stroked him gently with both hands, as if weighing and measuring him in her mind, until he could stand no more and pulled her hand free. If he let her squeeze him, the lesson would end quickly.
“My turn.”
He pushed her onto her back and straddled her, careful to put his weight on his knees. The top of the bunk above was barely high enough to accommodate his height. He studied her . . . the anticipation in her eyes, the quick breaths she took, her palms moving back and forth on the bedclothes. Even on her back, she was plump in all the right places, the sheer silk outlining her breasts, and the dark mound at the juncture of her thighs.
He reached down and untied the top of the gown, sliding the sensuous fabric off her shoulders down to her waist. He raised the edge of the fur cover over and let it drift across her exposed nipples, drawing them into ruched peaks. She gasped and tried to rise beneath him. As her chest thrust upward, he leaned down and circled each areola with his tongue, nipping and teasing her until she clutched convulsively at the bedclothes beneath her fingers.
“Tell me what you want, Sorina.”
“You know.” She arched and bit her lip.
“Tell me.”
“Your lips.”
“Where?”
“On me.”
“Here?” He raised her hand and kissed her wrist. “Or here?” He leaned down and planted little kisses on her neck and shoulder. “Or here?” He trailed kisses down her arm to the inside of her elbow.
She reached down with both hands and lifted her breasts.
“Always ready to accommodate a lady.” He closed over a dark peak and sucked hard, hearing her whimper in response. Turning his attention to the other breast, he suckled her until she writhed beneath him, holding his head to her chest. He moved up and took her lips in a searing kiss, exploring the soft nectar of her mouth, while he pressed full length into her body. She wrapped her arms around his waist, reaching low to knead his buttocks. He thought he’d die of the pleasure, his breath catching as she kneaded his flesh while his cock nestled in the folds of the silky nightdress, bunched below her waist.
Take this slower or you’ll embarrass yourself.
Gritting his teeth, he raised her hands over her head, pinning them there, as he kissed her forehead, her eyes, and her lips. Holding her hands in place with one of his own, he cupped and kneaded a breast while he kissed the place where her pulse beat in her throat.
She arched again, moving her pelvis in little circles, as if reaching for something she couldn’t define.
“Tell me what you’re feeling?”
“Hot,” she said between panting breaths. “Wet.”
He raised up on his knees and reached down to pull the rest of the gown free. It was caught under her body. Taking the fabric in both hands, he ripped it apart and revealed her stomach and perfectly shaped legs.
He let his hand drift from her stomach to her mound, parting her cleft with his fingers. She was slick and hot and she moved under his hand, inviting his touch, his mouth.
“Yes.” She gasped as his finger stroked her and found the nub that drew cries from her. He wanted to replace his fingers with his tongue, but wasn’t sure she was ready for that. Moving to the side, he stretched out alongside her once again, placing one arm under her head, while the other continued stroking her. Moaning and twisting, she arched against his hand, squeezing and thrusting until he inserted one finger, then two, stretching her as she neared her climax.
“Please.” Her cries made him sweat. He bent his head and kissed her breast as he thrust his fingers deeper. Christ, he shouldn’t have started this, but it was too late. Much too late.
He rolled back over her. Raising her knees, he kissed the undersides of each, placing little kisses along her leg to her thighs. Giving in to the passion that consumed him, he lowered his mouth to her cleft and slipped his tongue inside.
“Lance, what are you doing?” she squealed.
“Making you feel.” He blew gently over her mound. “You do feel this, don’t you?”
She whimpered in response as he reached under her and lifted her to meet his lips. He bent down and stroked her sensitive nub with his tongue. Her hips moved convulsively under his mouth, and he tongued her until she writhed and clenched in the throes of a climax. Without thought to consequences, he entered her . . . slowly, carefully, giving her time to close around him as he inched forward.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. I feel . . . I feel . . . full.”
Sweating now, he held himself in check as he inched further, letting her take him until he pressed against her barrier. “This is going to hurt, but it won’t the next time.”
“As long as there will be a next time,” she gasped. “Go ahead.”
Christ. Why did he say that?
He gave a final thrust, pushing through. She cried out, but held tight to his body. He didn’t move, wanting to let her pain subside.
“Is that all, señor?” Her voice was subdued, meek, quiet.
“No, my love. There’s more.”
He moved inside her, slowly, waiting for her to feel the rhythm. He knew the moment she relaxed and moved with him, clenching with his thrusts, relaxing as he withdrew. She was slick and damp and felt so good. And then she moaned and raised her legs, tightening them against his back.
“Sorina, don’t do that.” His teeth clenched as he strained against her.
In response, she raised her pelvis to meet his thrusts, faster now, kneading his back and reaching behind to hold his buttocks as he thrust forward. Her breasts pushed into his chest and she held tight a
s his lower body drove into her with agonizing stimulation, feeling every fiber of her inner passage. He gasped as he neared his climax, his body slipping in and out of her as if their bodies were made for this . . . for each other. When she tightened and convulsed beneath him, he swore and tried to pull out, but her legs were too tight. She cried out in release, sending him over the edge.
“Oh God, oh God.” He rode the waves of her orgasm, his seed filling her as her body went limp beneath him. He shuddered and lay still, his body still trembling from the wonder of their consummation. But cold reality finally struck him between the eyes. In mindless passion, he’d lost control. He’d done the unthinkable for an officer and a gentleman in the United States Navy, a man hell-bent on restoring his family’s honor.
He’d just ravished a virgin.
He was worse than his father.
And he knew with certainty that his life was about to change.
Chapter 27
Sorina opened her eyes and let her body float on a soft bed of satisfaction. Her muscles were languid and every bone in her body was made of quivering flan. Afraid to move, she let her eyes adjust to the morning light. The events of the night—or was it early morning?—wrapped her in warm memories.
Grainger’s muscled body against her own, his lips making her squirm in delight, his cock nestled between her legs—the experience had been erotic and unexpected. Her friend Isabella had told her the marriage act was pleasing with the right person. But she had not described the wanton ecstasy that came with each kiss, each thrust. And the craving that came after. The craving for more.
She sighed and turned her head, expecting to see the object of her thoughts next to her.
The bunk was empty.
Where was he?
As if thinking about him could make him appear, a soft knock came from outside the door before it opened. A fully clothed Grainger entered with a bucket of water.
Shadow of the Fox Page 18
