Nicole Jordan

by Wicked Fantasy

  The words vibrated between them, low and impassioned, and gave Deverill pause. She was deadly serious, he knew.

  Gritting his teeth in sheer frustration, he gripped Antonia’s hand and held it away from his chest, struggling against her sweet touch as he battled with himself. She cared passionately that justice be done for her father, even if it cost her personally. He admired her courage and her willingness to sacrifice, certainly. Yet he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she came to harm.

  On the other hand, she had a right to be involved in bringing down her father’s murderer. And he had little right to stop her.

  In truth, he would rather have Antonia collaborating with him than slipping behind his back where he had no control over her actions or her safety.

  Just then, without warning, she rose up on tiptoe and lifted her mouth to his, just brushing his lips with her own.

  The soft, startling caress was his undoing. With a harsh groan, Deverill hauled Antonia into his arms.

  His head slanting down, he kissed her savagely, dominating and devouring with angry thoroughness, his mouth insatiable and possessive. Her response was just as passionate, her arms reaching up to twine around his neck and cling. Yet her hungry whimper brought him partially to his senses.

  Holding her away, Deverill fought for control like a man drowning. He needed to stop wanting her, needed to stop craving her. . . .

  Muttering another violent curse, Deverill stepped back and pointed an accusing finger at her. “Stay here, damn you. I don’t want to set eyes on you for the rest of the day.”

  When he spun around and stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him, Antonia sank weakly into the chair and raised her fingers to her burning lips, her thoughts dazed.

  She had kissed Deverill but it had not been a conscious decision. It was simply inevitable. Because she had desperately wanted to provoke an emotion in him besides anger. Because she had wanted to prove to them both that he felt something for her besides protectiveness.

  He wanted to protect her, of course; that was who he was. He desired her physically, she knew. But she needed to know that he cared for her in a deeper way.

  He did feel something for her, she was certain of it. She had seen the burning brightness of his eyes, felt the hungry passion in his kiss. Deverill was not as impartial to her as he pretended.

  It brought her little satisfaction, though, for she knew he would never let himself go beyond caring. Not when his heart was still set on seeking redemption that he would never permit himself to attain.

  The schooner got under way shortly. Much to Antonia’s relief, Deverill had not tossed her off his ship, yet his anger had darkened her own mood significantly. She attempted to read, but mostly she spent the rest of the day staring out the porthole window at the Atlantic Ocean and fighting despondency.

  Fletcher brought her lunch and dinner, but she had little appetite. And when dusk fell, she didn’t bother lighting a lamp.

  When eventually the cabin door opened and shut, she thought it might be the old seaman again, but the unexpected sound of the key turning in the lock made Antonia go still.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she caught her breath to see Deverill’s tall, muscular form outlined in shadow.

  He said not a word. Except for the creaking of the ship and the dull surge of waves against the hull, the cabin was silent. Then she heard a faint rustling noise as Deverill stepped forward, and her heart leapt. In the slender rays of moonlight shimmering through the porthole, she could see him removing his clothing.

  He tossed his coat on the sea chest, and then shed his waistcoat and cravat. When he began unbuttoning his shirt, Antonia found her, albeit shaky, voice. “Deverill, what are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? I am undressing.” His tone was calm but held a sharp edge of irony.

  “But why?”

  “Because making love is more comfortable without clothes.”

  Antonia’s pulse quickened. “You said our affair was over.”

  “That was before you demanded to come with me.” Crossing to her chair, Deverill grasped Antonia’s shoulders with cool deliberation and drew her to her feet. “We have two days left, and I intend to make full use of them.”

  His gaze was unsettlingly intense in the silvery darkness as he guided her backwards until she came up against the bulkhead. He was still furious at her, she realized—and no doubt with himself for surrendering to her. She became a prisoner of that smoldering glance as she stared up at Deverill.

  He braced his arms beside her head, his mouth hovering threateningly close to hers. “Unless you mean to deny me?” he murmured harshly, making it a question.

  Antonia felt her heart begin to race. She understood what he was saying: This would be their last time together. In two days the voyage would end and their affair would be over, but for now—for the remainder of the voyage—they could enjoy each other.

  It would be wiser to say no, Antonia knew, but she really had no choice. She desperately wanted Deverill, needed him. She would give him up when she reached London, but for now, for this moment, he was hers.

  “I won’t deny you,” she whispered in return.

  His expression never changed; he merely reached up to grasp her arms and turn her around. He made short work of removing her gown, slipping it down over her shoulders and hips to pool on the floor. Her corset swiftly followed before he tossed both garments across the cabin and turned Antonia back to face him.

  His gaze raked her, lingering on the thin cambric of her shift where her nipples had budded tightly. Then with one hand, he pulled her wrists up and anchored them to the bulkhead over her head. When his other hand reached up to cover her breast possessively, Antonia felt her heart slam wildly against her rib cage.

  “Deverill . . .”

  “No talking.”

  He lowered his mouth in a domineering kiss, his body pressed against hers, all sinewed muscle and intensity, his bare chest hot against her barely clad one. Her own skin burned where she was crushed to his hardness, her lips blazed from his heat. His plunging tongue made her whimper as her senses swam with raw sensation.

  In one corner of her dazed mind, Antonia became aware that Deverill had worked his hand beneath the hem of her shift. When he slipped his fingers between her thighs and found her cleft already slick with moisture, Antonia flinched with pleasure and inhaled in a gasp.

  “Don’t move,” Deverill ordered.

  She bit her lower lip but remained still.

  Releasing her, he dropped to one knee and pulled off her half boots and stockings, leaving her wearing only her cambric shift. His eyes never straying from her body, he leisurely stood while pushing the garment up to her shoulders, baring her breasts so that she was mostly naked.

  Antonia sucked in another sharp breath, feeling her taut nipples thrusting out, wanting him, aching for him. Then with deliberate slowness, Deverill brushed the proud taunting crests, pinching lightly between his fingers. Pleasure flared inside her—and the devil clearly knew it.

  He sent her a hot, ruthless smile in the darkness before kneeling at her feet again. Holding her gaze, he let his hands close on her thighs and part them slightly.

  Nearly moaning at the feel of those sensuous hands sliding along her skin, Antonia lodged a breathless protest. “If you mean to punish me for defying you . . . this is the wrong way to go about it. This is not punishment to me.”

  “Hush, this is my fantasy . . . having you at my mercy.”

  His hands made free with her body, stroking up her thighs, over the curve of her hips, along her abdomen, her rib cage, her breasts . . . before returning to her woman’s mound.

  With maddeningly slow fingers he caressed her slick entrance and found the seat of her desire. “What a lovely pearl you have here . . . so plump and ripe and wet.”

  Her hips jerked as he fingered her, straining against his arousing touch.

  “Stand still,” he commanded.

>   She whimpered but obeyed.

  Smiling darkly, Deverill leaned forward and put his mouth on her, nibbling for a moment, then pulling the dewy bud between his lips and sucking softly.

  Antonia gave a low, sultry cry. “Oh, God . . .” she rasped in a ragged voice.

  Deverill didn’t relent. His lips moved against her silky sex, while his hands moved over her hips, hot on her naked skin. Then his tongue slipped inside her, his exploration ruthlessly thorough, nearly making her scream.

  Squeezing her eyes shut against the delicious torment, Antonia stood splayed against the wall, her head thrown back, her frustration mounting because there was nothing she could do but remain still beneath his sensual assault.

  Except that Deverill wanted to hear her pleasure. “That’s right, moan for me, sweeting. . . . Let me hear how good it feels to you. I want you panting and mindless with need.”

  She was already panting and mindless, Antonia thought wildly. Her breath was hoarse and ragged in her throat as she helplessly began to writhe.

  His hands clamped down on her hips, anchoring her as he kissed her intimate center again, his mouth hard against her. Suddenly she flowered for him, her hips thrashing wildly beneath his caress.

  Yet he wasn’t finished with her. Deverill aroused her once more with his stroking tongue, making her climax yet again, sending tremor after rapturous tremor ripping through her.

  When finally he released her, Antonia sagged against the wall, her weak limbs barely managing to keep her upright.

  His mouth was wet and curled in satisfaction as he rose to his feet. He had unfastened his breeches, his huge, swollen arousal springing free, Antonia saw before he braced a hand above her shoulder and leaned toward her, pressing that long, thick shaft against her naked belly.

  Her thighs instinctively clenched together with longing, the feverish yearning only heightened since she was still pulsating with pleasure from her recent powerful explosions.

  “You want me to fill you, don’t you?” he taunted hoarsely.

  “Yes . . .”

  “Then let me see how hot you are. . . . Let me hear you plead to take all of me inside you.”

  “Yes, Deverill . . . please, yes . . .”

  Her breathless entreaty turned to a keening moan when he obliged. Positioning his engorged phallus at her entrance, he slowly, slowly slid into her, plunging into her yielding flesh until she was impaled, stretched taut, holding her upper body against the wall with the weight of his.

  Antonia shuddered, her inner muscles squeezing his throbbing length. It thrilled her when Deverill buried himself fully inside her like this. Wrapping her legs around his strong thighs, she curled her arms around his neck and clung as his hips began to pump in a rhythmic cadence, her own flesh shivering under the grinding thrusts of his loins.

  In response, he grasped her bare buttocks, lifting her higher so he could go even deeper, penetrating her to the hilt, over and over and over again. He kept his gaze locked with hers as he moved, a savage possessiveness burning in his eyes, his body radiating such heat, such fierce desire, that she thought she would kindle into flame. In only moments she was writhing against him again, sliding her legs up and down against the fabric of his breeches with frantic need.

  His hands kept her moving in that urgent, demanding rhythm. His eyes were fierce, his face hard and intent, his neck corded as he drove into her. Yet she reveled in his fierceness, reveled in her ravishment.

  When her release came, she shattered in fiery waves, her moaning scream of ecstasy mingled with Deverill’s low, harsh shout. The keening sounds softly died as the violent tremors faded.

  For a long while, they remained immobile, gasping for breath, their bodies fused, his face buried in her hair. Antonia continued to cling to him, savoring the hot, sleek rapture of their joining. She felt fully sated, impossibly weak.

  Deverill was also, but he found himself cursing the raw, reckless hunger that had driven him. He never should have come here, never should have touched her, but he had lost the battle with himself. He’d given in to his savage need for her—

  Suddenly he went still. He hadn’t pulled out of Antonia before climax as he should have, either, or allowed her time to use any sponges. He’d felt her coming apart beautifully in his arms and had let himself shatter with her, needing to claim her in the most primal way possible.

  Deverill exhaled a harsh breath, acknowledging the futility of his struggle. Henceforth, he would give up trying to fight himself and the powerful desire between them.

  Holding Antonia against him, he carried her to the bunk and withdrew from her body as he lowered her to the blankets. Then he removed her shift and lit a lantern so he could better see her. The sight took his breath away—her bare body white and wanton and shimmering in the golden lamplight.

  She watched him as well, her eyes languorous as he stepped back to shed the rest of his clothing. When he settled a hip on the bunk beside her, Antonia raised her arms to embrace him and pull him down to join her.

  Deverill, however, shook his head. “I would relish making love to you until neither of us can walk, but we have a critical matter to discuss.”

  She would have liked to pull a blanket up to screen herself from his intense regard, but Deverill was sitting on the edge of the covers. “Very well, what is it?”

  “I want your solemn promise that you will do as I say when we reach London. I can’t have you running off to challenge Heward behind my back.”

  “I won’t, Deverill, I promise. But I would like to know what you are planning. You said you wanted to provoke him into confessing by setting a trap for him. What exactly did you mean by that? How do you intend to trap him?”

  He hesitated a long moment. “By using myself as bait.”

  Antonia sat up in sudden alarm. “What? You cannot! You could be killed.”

  Deverill’s mouth curled. “Thank you for your faith in me, love.”

  “I have no doubt you are fearless, but you know Heward will likely use any means necessary to get you out of his way.”

  “I am counting on it,” Deverill said darkly.

  “I wish there were some other course,” she murmured. “I could never live with myself if you came to harm.”

  “There is no other course, Antonia. If I want Heward to figuratively hang himself, I have to give him the proper incentive. He’ll find the chance for revenge against me irresistible.”

  “I suppose so.” She took a steadying breath and reached out to lightly touch his bare chest. “I meant what I said, Deverill. I want to help you if I can.”

  He shook his head. “You would only be in the way. I can handle Heward alone.”

  “Perhaps, but surely there is some way I could be of use to you.” When Deverill frowned, Antonia put forth another argument. “Sir Gawain said there are a number of women who serve as Guardians because they are better suited for certain tasks.”

  “Yes, but they have trained for years for their roles.”

  “But luring Heward may be a role I can play. I am still betrothed to him. Heward will be eager to see me, if only to discover what I intend to do about our betrothal. You can use me to bait your trap for him.”

  “It would be too dangerous.”

  Antonia brushed a savage scar that marred the perfection of his body. “Deverill, you cannot protect me forever. I can’t be shielded from all harm, wrapped in cotton wool until I suffocate. I have a mind and will of my own. Please . . .” She looked up at him, gazing deeply into his eyes. “I need to help you. Please let me.”

  A muscle ticked in Deverill’s jaw as his logical mind warred with his deepest instincts. It was true that Antonia could be of considerable help in setting a trap for Heward, significantly increasing their odds for success, if he could only bring himself to relinquish his irrational fear for her.

  He was a Guardian, yet he couldn’t recall ever feeling this savage an urge to hold and protect anyone. He was filled with a desperate need to keep Antonia safe—
an emotional vulnerability that had little to do with his past demons, he was beginning to realize. But if he was careful enough, he could manage to protect her. . . .

  Dragging in a slow breath, Deverill reached up to cradle her face in both hands as he gazed down into her eyes. “If I let you participate, I want your solemn vow that you will do exactly as I tell you, without question or protest.”

  “I will. I promise. I swear it absolutely.”

  “Without question.”

  “Yes, without question.”

  He set his teeth, praying he wasn’t making a terrible mistake. “Very well, then. I will revise my plans to include you.”

  Her smile was so bright, so beautiful, it made his chest burn. And when Antonia flung her arms around his neck and buried her face against his throat, it only compounded the feeling.

  “Thank you, Deverill. You won’t regret it, I swear it.”

  Helplessly, he curled one arm around her while the other stroked her hair, his hand unsteady. It was absurd, how she affected him. Desire made him shudder, while the surge of tenderness and longing that coursed through him nearly disabled him.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Deverill cursed silently. This woman turned him inside out, tied him into square knots. He couldn’t deny it. Antonia had managed to become an obsession. One he didn’t want.

  One he didn’t want to live without.

  That kind of need dismayed him. And then she drew away and sank back against the pillows, raising her arms in an invitation to join her. Her skin gleamed like pale gold in the lamplight as she lay waiting for him, her ripe, graceful body bare and beckoning.

  Deverill felt his manhood throb, begging for her touch as he stretched out beside her on the bunk. He was already hard and near to bursting, his blatant hunger obvious, even before Antonia tilted her face up for his kiss.