Until then, he had his own private pursuit that haunted him day and night, leaving him restless and frustrated most of the time. Vivian. He always missed her somehow, and he knew Turk was right. She must know he pursued her, and thus always cleverly managed to evade him. Why? Why would she not face him? He would not rest until he got an answer, even if it took him the rest of his life.
Yet lately, he had found himself distracted from his purpose by a most unlikely obstacle—Angela. It amazed him that he could spend even a fraction of his time dwelling upon the vagaries of a female, especially one that seemed to epitomize all the deceitful women he had ever known. The suspicion that she was, as Turk insisted, very different from Vivian, Elaine, and especially Susan gave him long moments of pause. He would have liked to believe it. Life, however, had taught him that rarely was anything as it seemed, particularly regarding people.
Despite Turk’s belief that without blind faith a man and a woman could not have a significant relationship, he had seen nothing to recommend such a course. His relationships with women had degenerated into quick physical ones, and he told himself that he did not miss the warm intimacy that came with trust. The crushing blow of being betrayed was not worth even a decade of happy gullibility.
Which conclusion left him baffled as to why he was so angry that Angela had left Bloody Bob’s Tavern as she had. He should just shrug and forget it. There were enough other women to occupy his time if not his mind. Why did he find it so difficult to dismiss Angela?
He still had no answer to that question when he quietly pushed open the unlocked door to her cabin and stepped inside. He found her asleep on her bunk, moonlight spilling over her face and glittering from the silvery tracks of dried tears. That brought him up short, defusing some of his anger. She’d been crying. Over him? Or was it over Philippe?
If he had any decency, he thought, he would leave quietly and she would never know he’d been there. But as Turk had noted dourly, his sense of decency had vanished as of late. It probably had to do with his sense of frustration being so prevalent. And most of that frustration was because of Angela.
Slowly, he sat on the edge of the bunk, lowering his weight atop the folded quilt on the end. Angela did not stir, except to sigh softly in her sleep. Her hair had come undone from its braid and framed her face in soft tangles. One hand was propped against her cheek, fingers curling lightly toward her palm. He resisted the inexplicable urge to slide his hand through hers, opting instead to touch her hair. It was fine and silky and, when he leaned close, smelled as fragrant as the air after a summer rain.
What was it about her that engendered this tender response? He’d been angry when he arrived at the ship, after having to commandeer a skiff to get there, as furious with her as with himself. He shouldn’t have given a damn if she’d gone, yet he did and that was even more maddening.
And now he was here, and instead of rudely awakening her and demanding to know why the hell she’d fled Bloody Bob’s like a scalded dog, he was contemplating kissing her. Her lips were half-parted, her lashes making long shadows on her cheeks, her breasts rising and falling in a regular rhythm. Unable to resist, he bent and touched his mouth lightly to the curved slope of her cheek.
Angela stirred, and her lashes fluttered but did not lift. He kissed her again, this time on the mouth, insinuating his tongue between her lips until she opened for him. He explored gently, lightly, kissing her until she began to move restlessly beneath his weight. He could still taste the wine she’d had earlier, a fruity bouquet clinging to her mouth and tongue.
Moving lower, he kissed her chin, the curve of her throat, the creamy expanse of skin just above the lace fichu covering her breasts. When he deftly unfastened the pin that held the lace and tossed it carelessly to the floor, he glanced up to see her watching him, eyes glistening in the pale moonlight. He paused, the back of his hand resting in the warm valley between her breasts.
“What are you doing?” she whispered. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and she stared at him with fathomless eyes.
There didn’t seem to be an answer to her simple question; not one he wanted to voice anyway. He took a deep breath and shook his head, then bent to kiss her again. She did not turn away, but there was no response, and he drew back to look down at her.
“I’m sorry you were upset,” he said after a moment, half-surprised to find that he meant it. “That should never have happened.”
“Is she—is she a very good friend of yours?”
“If you’re asking whether I’ve ever been intimate with her, the answer is no. We’ve shared a few bottles of rum together in the past, and that’s all. Kate’s not exactly the kind of woman who interests me.”
“She doesn’t seem to think so.”
He drew in a long breath. “Don’t hold me responsible for what she thinks. I doubt she’s ever had a sensible thought in her head anyway. She is not exactly an intellectual.”
“I’m not sure it’s her mind that interests you.”
“Dammit,” he snarled, losing patience, “will you forget about Kate? She’s not worth a second of your time. I think you’re just using her as an excuse.”
She stared up at him in angry disbelief. “An excuse for what? Not liking you? I don’t need an excuse for that.”
“Liar,” he said softly. “You’re using excuses like bricks to build a wall between us. I recognize your tactics, but they won’t work anymore.”
Sitting up with a jerk, she tugged at the bodice of her gown where it barely covered the swell of her breasts, snapping, “What did you do with my modesty bit?”
He held up the scrap of triangular lace. “You don’t need it tonight.” She grabbed at it, and he held it easily out of reach. “We don’t need to degenerate into wrestling like children over a toy. If we try, surely we can communicate like two adults who want the same thing.”
“I hardly think that applies here. What is it you think I want?”
Kit tossed aside the scrap of lace and leaned forward, his weight pushing her back against the bunk, one hand propped on each side of her body. They stared at one another, lungs competing for the same air to breathe, tension crackling around them like summer lightning.
“I know what you want,” he muttered, “because I’ve seen it often enough in your eyes. Do you think I’ve forgotten that afternoon I surprised you at your bath? I haven’t. And I can remember how you held me and how I made you feel, the way you cried out . . .” His voice roughened when she caught her breath in a little gasp and tried to squirm away. “Oh, no you don’t. Damn, I haven’t been able to get that afternoon out of my mind. It’s all I think about, when I should be thinking about other things.”
She made an inarticulate noise low in her throat and rose to her elbows, green eyes wide in the press of moonlight that seemed to fill the cabin with a silvery glow. “Tell me Kit—why do you think about me?”
In answer, Kit lifted one hand and caught hold of her hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back as he bent to kiss her. This was no gentle kiss, but a harsh possession, a branding. This time she did not try to push him away, but moaned again, lifting her arms to curl them around his neck.
“You know why I want you,” he muttered harshly against the skin just beneath her ear. “You’ve known it from the first day, you little sea witch. Why must a woman insist upon hearing what she already knows?”
“Reassurance—”
He stopped her with his mouth, a scalding kiss that made them both breathe heavily when he pulled back. This was insanity. He should know better, but there was no stopping now, not when it seemed as if he had waited forever for this moment.
It took much too long to unfasten her gown and divest her of the garment. Beneath that, she wore petticoats and a chemise, as well as stockings. He tamped down a wave of savage impatience.
“Take this off,” he muttered, plucking at the lacy straps of her chemise. “Unless you don’t mind if I rip it.”
Angela was shiver
ing, whether with chill or reaction he wasn’t certain, and he reached out to help her trembling fingers. “That’s right, love,” he murmured when she faltered, “like this.” He kissed the smooth flesh bared by the removal of one strap, then moved a bit lower, his lips lingering on the swelling round of her breast. She gave a soft sigh that penetrated to his marrow, and he saw that his own hands were slightly shaking as well when he helped her with the other strap.
Slowly lowering the bodice of her chemise, he fought an overwhelming wave of desire. She was beautiful. His memory wasn’t faulty after all.
Unfortunately—or was that fortunately?—she was everything he’d remembered, pink and cream and seductive shadows that made him ache with all the fervor of a man long denied. God, he had to go slow and not ruin the moment. She wanted him; that was evident. And he wanted her to yield to him eagerly.
“Kiss me,” he whispered, and groaned with pleasure when she lifted her face to his and teased his mouth with the tip of her tongue.
“Like that?” she murmured archly, and he grabbed her around the waist to hold her, his hands sliding over soft skin in a long glide.
Bared from the waist up, golden hair tumbling loosely over her shoulders, Angela was the epitome of innocent beauty. He shifted his hands to her shoulders, thumbs riding the crest of her collarbone as he held her lightly. “Like that,” he agreed in a voice that sounded much too hoarse to be his.
The sweet fragrance of her perfume filled his senses when he nuzzled the side of her neck, holding tight to what was left of his restraint, trying not to go too fast for her. Her head fell back and she clung to him, palms resting on his shoulders, fingers bunching the linen of a shirt that had grown suddenly restrictive. He wanted to feel nothing between them, no barrier between his body and hers.
Releasing her, he shrugged out of his shirt. There was the grating sound of ripping fabric, then cool air washed over him as he stood beside the bunk and began to unbutton his trousers. Angela discreetly turned her face away, not moving until he lay down beside her. Then she turned, lashes lowered shyly as she timidly touched his bare chest with her fingertips.
Biting back a groan and the impulse to take her in swift, fierce possession, Kit forced himself to lie still while she explored the ridges of his body with a timorous touch that was discreetly arousing. Wherever she touched, he burned, and his hands closed into fists at his side when her fingers skimmed over his stomach. His flesh contracted involuntarily, and when she moved lower, he grabbed her hand in his.
“Not yet,” he said in a soft groan.
“I . . . I have never done this before,” she blurted out, and he bit back a smile.
“I know. If I go too fast or hurt you, tell me and I’ll stop.” His body burned, and he reached to take her into his arms, rolling atop her in a lithe motion that startled her. “Shhh,” he murmured against her ear when she gave an involuntary protest, “I only mean to lie here with you right now.”
Sliding his knee between her thighs, he began to stroke her cheek with light motions, then let his fingers drift to her lips to outline them with feathery touches of his fingertips. She sighed softly, eyes closing when his hand drifted from her mouth to the curve of her throat, then lower.
His attention focused on the swell of her breast, his mouth going dry at the tempting beauty. Perfect. Round and creamy and pink and miraculous . . . he had to shift his attention quickly before he moved too fast for her, he decided reluctantly.
He sat back, letting his fingers drift over her soft body. She shivered and he caught her gaze on him, wide and green and slightly dazzled. He had to swallow hard before he could say, “You’re beautiful, angel. Much more beautiful than I deserve.”
A spark lit her eyes, and her mouth trembled in a smile. “I could probably agree with that, but then I would sound quite vain, I think.”
He laughed softly. “Right ho, angel. I’m not certain what I do deserve, but this cannot be among my just deserts.”
Whatever she might have replied was smothered by a gasp when he bent to trace a circle around her nipple with his tongue. Angela arched upward, fingers sliding over his back and down his arms. Kit licked a path from one breast to the other, then moved downward, his lungs trying to match the quickening tempo of the blood pounding through his veins. His knee shifted, spreading her thighs wider apart as he wedged his body between her legs, and he heard her soft moan of surprise.
Ignoring her cry, he focused on the rich tapestry of her body, hands exploring her with delighted sensuality. From the flat mound of her belly to the apex of her thighs, then her knees, he kissed and touched with hands and tongue and appreciation. Angela was quivering, her breath coming in soft little pants, her body writhing beneath his when he finally paused. His blood was raging, and he wondered how much longer he could wait.
“Angela,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “Christ. You’re enough to drive a man insane . . .”
His sentence trailed into a groan as he slid his hands up the curve of her thighs, and Angela inhaled a steadying breath. Dear God, was this what it was like? This aching yearning that only seemed to grow more intense? His weight and the force of his legs against her bare thighs, solid and heated and somehow vaguely intimidating, served only to increase her excitement. Kit was staring down at her, his hands moving between her thighs to focus there on the place that seemed to throb with the pulse of desire.
Despite a longing to close her eyes, to somehow separate herself from what he was doing and the fiery tumult he was creating with his touch, she found herself gazing up at him. His breath was coming fast and hard, the curved muscles of his chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm. Her throat ached with the need to tell him how beautiful he was, a fallen angel with the ability to steal souls . . .
“Kit,” she said instead, her voice breaking on the single syllable. She opened her mouth to try again, but could not remember what she had wanted to say. Words were unimportant at that moment. All that mattered were the sweet sensations he was sparking inside her. She pressed upward, her hands slipping over the flex of his arms, her fingers digging into hard muscle.
“Here,” he muttered, and took her hand in his to slide it over the ridges of his flat belly and lower. Her face flamed, but curiosity was greater than embarrassment when he put her hand on him. For a long moment she did nothing, but lay with her fingers curled around him, holding him while he buried his face in her hair. Then, timidly at first, she began to explore, her hand moving lightly over him in gentle explorations.
“Enough,” he said at last, his hand closing over hers to hold her still. His voice was rough and guttural. “Enough for now.”
Angela didn’t move, but waited, and when he relaxed his grip on her hand, she removed it regretfully. It had been very interesting to see how she could provoke such an instantaneous and startling reaction in his body. It was even more interesting to note that he seemed much more affected by it than she did. She tilted back her head and studied the muscular contours of his body in appreciation.
“Are you certain you want me to stop?”
“Don’t give me difficult choices.” Kit pushed himself onto one elbow, his eyes glittering hot and blue. “I may not choose correctly.”
“Is there a right and wrong way to do this?” She ran one finger down the middle of his chest, admiring the ridges and smooth flex of muscle.
“Sometimes,” Kit answered her, “but we won’t worry about that now. Now, we should concentrate on getting to know one another better.”
“I should think that what we’ve been doing has pretty well acquainted us,” she murmured, and he laughed softly.
“Oh, angel, we’ve only just begun.”
Rising suddenly to his knees, he knelt between her legs and slid his hands beneath her hips. His palms molded her buttocks, lifting her from the soft quilt spread over the bunk.
When he moved forward, Angela felt him press against the heated warmth that was left open to him. He was hot and hard, stroking
over her with a leisurely, luxurious motion that took away her breath and made her clutch at the quilt with both hands. He slid easily over the moisture there, sending splinters of pleasure radiating through her. Again and again he moved against her, his hardness caressing her until she thought she would explode from the sheer pleasure of it.
Then he shifted, giving a quick, firm thrust that made her suck in her breath at the pressure. Her body opened for him, accepting his invasion with a blend of pain and pleasure.
“God,” he muttered hoarsely, looking up at her as if for reassurance.
Angela put her arms around him wordlessly, and he gave a soft groan and pressed deeper. She felt her body stretch until she was certain it would be painful in the next moment . . . or the next. But there was only a breathless kind of anticipation, a yearning for an ease to the aching pulse that throbbed endlessly.
“Kit,” she whispered against the curve of his shoulder, “please . . . please . . .”
He seemed to understand what she wanted when she wasn’t certain herself, and moved deeper, giving a final thrust that made her cry out. Shuddering, she held to him more tightly, moaning softly in his ear.
Kit kissed her cheek, then her throat and mouth, then lay his forehead against hers and went still. He held her for a long moment, not moving, letting her body become accustomed to his.
Hot tears stung her eyes, but they were tears of release. She had never felt so completely whole as she did now, as if she had finally discovered the reason behind everything. This moment gave her life meaning, she thought hazily, to find this one man and give all to him. Her life, her love, her body. And it had taken her so long to realize it, when she should have recognized her destiny from the very first moment she had seen him. So much had come between them, but no more. Now, together they would face whatever life had to offer, despite all the odds, despite everything. Her arms tightened around him.
Capture The Wind Page 21
