Suddenly, he flung her down on the bed, and she could only stare up at him in wonder and awe.
"You're a damn liar if you say you didn't like that." He glared at her, as though daring her to attempt denial.
"You had no right," she choked the words out. "I've never been with a man—"
"And you didn't know it could feel so good?" He chuckled. "Think how much better it would be if I spread those golden thighs of yours and filled you with everything I possess."
He walked slowly to the porthole and looked out at the angry, foaming sea. Without turning around he asked, "Why are you marrying Virgil Oates? You don't love him. Besides, he's a fake. I know him well. He's not what he pretends to be."
"What do you mean?"
"He has no wealth, no influence. He bartered for your passage and your mother's with a portion of your cotton. He didn't have the money to pay for it. He's marrying you because he figures he can get your family's precious plantation, but why are you marrying him?"
"You—you lie," she sputtered. "Virgil is everything he represents himself to be. He'll continue to help my mother get Rose Hill cotton through the blockade. And he'll make it possible for my brother to come home."
She shook her head in disgust. "I don't know why I even bother trying to talk to you. I think I hate you more with each passing second."
Again he laughed, but the eyes he turned upon her matched the storm about to explode beyond. "He wants Rose Hill, you little fool. He also wants your beauty, and I can't fault him for that. But I do think you're very stupid to marry him for the sake of your mother, your brother, or your plantation. Nothing is worth a certain life of misery, and that's exactly what you're facing."
"It's no concern of yours." She began jerking on her dress.
"That's true." He nodded thoughtfully. "But you're a beautiful woman, Julie. It would be a waste for you to marry a liar and a fake like Virgil Oates. Especially when I know why you're doing it. You're a martyr."
"A martyr?" she echoed, stunned.
"Like I told you, you did a lot of talking when you were delirious. I know the whole story. While it's admirable that you're so loyal to your family, it's not right that you should sacrifice yourself for them, especially to a wretch like Oates."
His audacity was overwhelming. "You are mad! And you've done enough to insult me. Now will you take your leave, or haven't you finished tormenting me?"
"No, I haven't finished with you." He was beside her in two quick steps, and she cowered beneath him, helpless. "Damn you, woman, I want you, all of you."
Her hand cracked across his face, but it was like striking stone. Her lips parted to scream, but he covered them with his own.
Beneath the onslaught of his seeking mouth and hands, she felt the betrayal once more of her own body. Slowly her fingers began to dig into the rock-hard flesh of his back, pulling him even closer as he delighted and aroused her with his tongue and fingers.
He raised his head, and in the flashing glow of the storm venting its fury all about them, she could see him smiling down at her as he whispered, "Tell me you don't want this, you misty-eyed vixen. I challenge you to tell me you don't want me inside you...."
The tip of his swollen, throbbing member teasingly probed between her thighs, sending sweet, hot spasms of fire darting into her belly.
"Damn, you, Derek...." she sobbed, hating herself, hating him. "I can't. God help me, but I do want you...."
With one mighty thrust, he burst inside her, and the pain she felt was overshadowed by the glory of his possession.
As the loudest crack of thunder split the night, her own storm erupted, and he silenced her cries of wonder and joy with his lips, devouring her mouth hungrily.
His penetration was deep, rough, but she welcomed every thrust. Only when it was over and they lay side by side, panting with exhaustion, did she begin to cry against his broad, perspiration-slick shoulder. The realization of what she had done flooded over her, and she felt only revulsion for being so weak.
How easily she had given in to this man she was so sure she hated for his bold interference in her life. What must he think of her now? How he must be gloating. She shuddered and closed her eyes, unable to face him.
He began to stroke her hair, then moved gentle fingertips to caress her face. She felt like a child being soothed and calmed, and when her tears subsided, he whispered, "I know what you're thinking, Julie... how you're ashamed... but you have no reason to be. You're a woman answering a need. I knew, somehow, that this would happen. There was something between us, a spark like the lightning out there that splits the night. We were meant to be. I feel it, and so should you...."
"No. It wasn't meant to be. It never should have happened, and it won't happen again."
She turned her face to the wall, washed over with misery. "I'm going to marry another man! God, what kind of woman am I?..."
"A warm, hot-blooded woman, alive, passionate. That's nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to regret. It's wrong only when you deny it, when you lie to yourself about who and what you really are. Then you become a hypocrite."
He cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. "You've got to be honest with yourself, Julie. Admit you care for me and desire me."
"I don't. You're wrong...."
But her denial sounded weak even to her own ears.
Then she realized with a start that his hardness was pressing against her bare thigh. He was ready for her again, and she accepted him as he entered her. He rocked gently this time, slowly, teasingly, till she was clutching at his plunging buttocks with her fingertips, urging him on. Only then did he move harder, faster, taking her with almost a surge of violence, until they reached the pinnacle of pleasure in unison.
He held her for a long time afterward, and this time she did not cry. She wanted to savor the moment of tenderness, for she knew it could never happen again. It had been precious and wonderful, a time to be treasured, but it was now only a memory and nothing more. She could not let it be more, for it could only cause her pain.
Derek Arnhardt loved no woman. His harlot, his lover, was the sea—always and forever—but having him inside her, being as close as a man and woman can be, had made them a part of each other, if only for a little while. But now they were separate entities once again, which was the way it had to be.
The storm subsided as slowly as their passion, and finally all was calm once more. She dressed, and together, arm in arm, they went up on deck. The air tasted so sweet after the rain that Julie drank in big gulps of it, reveling at its clean sweetness.
The wind was cool and gentle, and blew her hair about her face. They paused at a railing in the shadows, and Derek put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. She could barely see him in the darkness, but she sensed he was not smiling.
"It doesn't have to end when we reach Bermuda, Julie." He spoke quietly, his voice firm and sure. "You don't have to go on to England and commit yourself to a life of loveless misery. You can be my woman. I'll find a place for you there, away from the turmoils of the war, and I'll see you as often as I can. We'll get to know each other, and when the war is over—"
"No!" She all but screamed the word, jerking from his grasp and turning quickly to clutch the railing with both hands. It couldn't work. It was not possible. She did not want to be his mistress. She wanted to go on to England and marry Virgil so they could return to Savannah. She couldn't walk out on her family, turn her back on them. And she and Derek did not love each other. What they felt was the desire between two animals, she reasoned, nothing more.
"I've never asked a woman to be mine before." He seemed to be struggling to control his anger once again. "If you refuse me after all you told me while you were in your feverish stupor, you're going to make me think what we shared means nothing to you and any man with the right touch could have you the way I did."
"That isn't fair," she responded tightly. "I wouldn't be like that. I know I wouldn't."
"You
didn't think it was possible with me. Now it makes me wonder just what kind of woman you are. You plan to marry a man you don't love, for the sake of your family and your precious plantation, yet you turn into a bundle of squirming, screaming flesh in my arms. Perhaps I judged you wrong. Maybe you just put on a good act, and you really are willing to couple with any man."
"Derek, I hate you when you talk like that." She faced him once more. "The plain, simple truth is that I don't love you. So just leave me alone. It seems we bring out the worst in each other. Forget what happened, and I'll try to do the same."
He laughed then, an ugly, cruel sound. "I'll leave you alone once I've left you safely in Bermuda. Till then, we are going to enjoy each other or I'll see to it that Virgil Oates is informed that his bride-to-be isn't the virtuous lady he believes."
"You would do that, too, wouldn't you?" She stared at him with loathing. "After your tenderness of a short while ago, you'd blackmail me into submission. I don't know you at all, Derek. I don't think you even know yourself. You're mean and vicious and unscrupulous."
"No," he said simply. "I meant the tender words I spoke. I do feel we were meant to be together. It angers me that you refuse to acknowledge that fact. You're denying your heart, your womanhood, and you turn your back on an emotion that could easily lead to the real and deep love I know you'd like to share with a man.
"And yes," he went on bluntly, "I would be vengeful enough to tell Oates about us, to keep you from destroying yourself."
"You don't know what you're talking about." She turned away from him once again. Oh, would he never stop tormenting her? Would he not just leave her be? "You made me respond to you. I didn't ask you to make me feel that way. Why can't you understand that?"
She turned to face him, blinking against the darkness as she realized she was speaking only to the night wind. For silently, like an animal stalking its prey, he had slipped away. She was left alone, there beside the railing, the ocean waters still churning angrily below, Derek's threats echoing in her soul. Without a doubt, she knew he'd meant everything he said, and that he would again call her to his bed to fill his needs.
She had no choice but to answer that call. Derek Arnhardt was not a man to bluff. A shudder passed through her body as she remembered his kisses, still sweet upon her lips... and his caresses, the feel of him lunging powerfully inside her body, filling her with his manhood.
God forgive her, but for the time left, she would secretly welcome his call.
Chapter 6
Each night Derek would slip silently into Julie's cabin.
There was no set time, so she never knew exactly when he would appear. It could be any hour between midnight and dawn. Sometimes she would fall asleep, only to awaken to his warm, tender kisses and hungrily seeking hands. And always, no matter how hard she tried to be cold and unyielding, he could arouse her body to a fever pitch. She would answer his hunger with her own, and the two would entwine passionately, hotly. He would thrust himself inside her again and again until he was sure that she, too, was satisfied and fulfilled.
One night he waited till just before dawn to steal into her bed, and after they had made love, he held her against his powerful chest and stroked her hair lovingly for a long time without speaking. Then he whispered, "Soon we'll be in Bermuda, Julie. Do you really want to continue on to England? Haven't I proved to you by now that you want me every bit as much as I want you?"
She stiffened. He felt her rejection and stopped caressing her, waiting tensely for her reply. "I am going on to England, Derek. It would be hypocritical for me to say I haven't enjoyed these hours in your arms. I have. Very much. I've tried to fight it—"
"How well I know." He chuckled softly, rolling from his side to his back and folding his arms behind his head. "I keep waiting for the night when you stop pretending, and I'll find you waiting for me naked and eager, the way you really want to be."
She thought how desirable he looked, lying there in the gray-rose light of dawn that filtered through the porthole, his muscles glistening with perspiration from their passionate lovemaking. Her fingers tingled with the desire to dance down that beautiful, massive chest, but she held back. "Derek, you are a wonderful lover, and shameless as I may be, I have enjoyed all we have meant to each other, but soon it's going to end. It has to. I can't be what you want me to be."
He raised an eyebrow, and she could tell by the flash in his eyes and the twitch in his jaw that he was getting angry. "Just what the hell do you think I want you to be?" he snapped.
"Your mistress," she said simply as she fumbled beneath the mussed blankets in search of the gown he had removed from her. She found it and pulled it over her head, shaking her hair loose about her shoulders and tying the bow of the gown beneath her chin. "I don't want to be any man's mistress, Derek."
He snorted contemptuously. "That's all you'll be as Virgil Oates's wife—his mistress. You won't have a marriage in the true sense of the word, and you know it."
"At least I'll be his wife. That will give me respectability, security, something I would never have with you."
He drew in his breath, then let it out in an annoyed rush. "Women! By any other name, they're all prostitutes, wanting something from a man, whether it's money or a husband. I'm not surprised to find that you're no different."
Momentarily she felt a ripple of anger move over her, but refused to let it take hold. Instead she kept her voice calm and even. "Someday you will fall in love, Derek, and then you'll want to give a woman what Virgil is giving me. Will you consider your wife a prostitute?"
He looked at her as though she had lost her mind. "I'll never marry, Julie. If I have a wife, it's the sea. I've known plenty of women, but I've never thought about marriage."
"But have you ever been in love?" she pressed on.
He looked thoughtful, then shook his head slowly. "No. I don't guess I have. But then, I have never stayed with the same woman for very long."
He lowered those thick, dusty lashes that she found so appealing and gave her a strange, thoughtful look that made her uncomfortable. Scrambling from the bed, she stood barefoot on the rough floor and murmured nervously that he'd best be on his way. "It will be completely light soon. You might be seen leaving. Others will be waking."
He continued to stare at her in that puzzled, searching way that made her feel so odd. Finally, almost reluctantly, he got up and began dressing. Julie walked over to the porthole and stared out at the rolling sea. A greenish mist clung to its surface, but she knew that would soon rise, giving way to the usual sparkling, azure waters. She loved the sea and found it strangely mysterious, as though a million secrets lay beneath its depths, forever hidden. She could stand for hours and dream of those secrets, wondering how many before her had done the same.
Suddenly something caught her eye—an object, far away, as best she could tell; but no, it was close by. The fog played tricks with her sense of distance. She could not make out what it was, but here, this far from land, the only thing it could be was a ship. "Derek," she whispered, a feeling of undefined terror making her heart beat faster. "Derek... I think there's a ship out there—"
"A ship?" he cried, forgetting to keep his voice low, forgetting that her mother slept just across the narrow hallway. He bolted to the porthole and roughly shoved her aside as he squinted to see through the thick mist that still clung to the ocean's surface. "Where? Show me. You must be seeing things."
"There...." She squeezed next to him to point. "Wait a moment, till the fog rises a bit. There. Can you see it now? Doesn't it look like a ship? What else could it be? Or perhaps it's land. Maybe it's Bermuda, and we're arriving sooner than you thought—"
He pushed by her to scramble into his trousers, forgetting about his shirt and boots as he hurried toward the door. "Hell, no, that's not land," he yelled. "That's a goddamn ship, and I don't know what kind of ship...."
He opened the door and slammed right into his first officer, who had been about to knock.
"Sir, we've been looking for you," Edsel Garris cried, feeling slightly embarrassed at finding him in Julie's quarters. "We've caught sight of a ship, and it's too far away to tell what flag she flies. I've ordered the men to their battle stations."
"Let's go...." Derek shouted, and the two ran down the hallway as Julie's mother opened her cabin door. Her sleepy eyes were instantly wide awake, shocked at the sight of the captain coming out of her daughter's room, his chest and feet bare.
"What on earth..." she gasped.
Julie ignored her mother and scurried after Derek, forgetting that she wore only her dressing gown. "Derek, what's wrong? What's happening? We've passed ships before."
He whirled about at the bottom of the steps, his eyes narrowed grimly. "Julie, go to your cabin and stay there. I told you: we don't know what kind of ship it is. We may be fired on. Federal steamers are in these waters, and if they demand to board, we'd have a hell of a lot of questions to answer. If they find out the Ariane is a blockade runner, then we're all in danger. Now do as I say. I'll let you know when it's safe."
He saw her mother for the first time. "You too. Get in your cabin and stay there. If you hear any firing, get down on the floor."
Then he disappeared up the steps. Julie turned and hurried back to her cabin, looking about for something to put on. She had no intention of being caught in her nightgown if the Yankees did board.
Her mother followed her. Instead of being frightened about the possibility that their ship might be attacked, she was overcome with rage because of the implication of Captain Arnhardt being in her daughter's cabin, especially the way the two had been dressed, and at such an early hour.
This Rebel Heart Page 7
