The Buccaneer

by Donna Fletcher

  He warned, "Keep them open. Look at me. Feel me."

  In deeper he drove, steeling himself against the urge to rush into her. He wanted her to remember. He wanted to remember this night together.

  "Lucian," she cried, his size filling her to near bursting.

  "It's all right," he soothed. "Soon it will be —"

  "Over?" she finished anxiously.

  He shook his head and dropped down over her. "Just beginning."

  He took her completely then, tearing through her maidenhead, the small obstruction that had begun this whole charade.

  She cried out at the piercing pain and dug her fingers into Lucian's broad shoulders.

  "Easy, angel, easy," he comforted.

  His words relaxed her and his movement, though a discomfort at first, quickly turned to pleasure and forgotten was the moment's pain and knowledge of the importance of what she had forfeited to him.

  Lucian eased with grace and skill within her, his movement growing, gaining intensity, and gaining a rhythm that couldn't be denied.

  Catherine wrapped her arms around his back and held on, her soaring passion climbing to the stars.

  Lucian felt her tighten around him, hot and hard. Wild and wicked. Sensual and satisfying. His jolting thought took him over the edge into oblivion where Catherine soon joined him.

  She lay silent, her body exhausted, her mind unable to focus. Her only thought was to calm her racing heart and breathe.

  Lucian trembled from the aftermath, unwilling to move, feeling fulfilled and satisfied.

  Satisfied.

  The thought that Catherine satisfied him so thoroughly disturbed him. He had come to accept that such euphoria was out of his reach. Yet—

  "Lucian," Catherine said softly.

  He lifted his head.

  "Are you all right?"

  Laughter rumbled in his chest. "That is a question I should be addressing to you."

  "I'm fine," she said, her smile hesitant.

  Lucian eased his weight from her and wrapped her in his solid arms. "The truth, angel."

  She attempted to shrug her answer, but his firm hug made it difficult. "I feel odd."

  "How so?"

  "As if I—"

  "Don't turn shy on me now. Tell me," he urged, curious.

  "I feel that perhaps I enjoyed myself too much."

  "You can never enjoy lovemaking too much," he teased, and kissed her forehead.

  "But Bonnie said that ladies didn't enjoy lovemaking, that they found it bothersome, a chore they tolerated."

  Lucian eased Catherine away from him and raised a brow as he asked. "What did you discuss with Bonnie?"

  Catherine squirmed uneasily in his arms.

  "I'll have an answer, now," he insisted. He sat up, bracing himself against the pillows and lifting Catherine to sit across his lap.

  Stunned when her bare derriere met his naked leg, her mouth dropped open.

  "Think of yourself as nesting, madam. If you keep him warm, he'll grow to delight you," he teased outrageously.

  Catherine buried her red face against his chest.

  He wouldn't hear of her hiding. He yanked her away. "Forget about your perch for the moment and answer me."

  The idea of changing the subject appealed to Catherine. "I asked Bonnie to enlighten me about lovemaking. And she did a most wonderful job of it. She detailed everything."

  "Hence the tales you entertained me with?"

  "Each and every one."

  "Handsome Harry?" he asked, wanting an explanation.

  Catherine sighed. "I allowed Bonnie to talk me into seeing if what she had taught me would work. A quick trip around the tables," she had suggested. Everything seemed all right until I caught sight of Bones and Jolly's faces. I realized how foolish I had been and intended to speak with them."

  "Handsome Harry stopped you on the way over," he said, finishing her explanation.

  She nodded.

  "Anything else I should know about what Bonnie discussed with you or your tales of delight?"

  A deep blush rushed to stain Catherine's cheeks.

  "A blushing response," he taunted. "What is it you hide this time?" He caressed her arm, needing to touch her again.

  "It's nothing," she said, attempting to brush it off as inconsequential.

  "Not so," he protested. "A blush suggests that the matter is important or — embarrassing. Are you too embarrassed to speak to me about it, Catherine?"

  His fingers drifted to her lips and he traced and toyed with them, his finger slipping inside her lower lip for her to taste. "With what we've just shared and what we will share again how can there be anything that flusters you?"

  Catherine stirred in his lap, enjoying his teasing play with her lips. "My imagination."

  "Embarrasses you?" He stroked her neck slowly.

  She nodded with a sigh. "Remember my favorite earl?"

  "Explicitly," Lucian answered, recalling how he had detested the imaginary fellow.

  Her head dropped back, giving him room to continue to stoke her. His strokes extended farther down to her breasts. "You know him well," she teased for a change.

  Lucian stopped stroking. "I do?"

  She nodded again. "He's you."

  Lucian cast her an odd look.

  "I —" She paused, uncertain if she should tell him.

  He encouraged, his hand resuming his caressing strokes. "I'm curious, share this tale with me."

  She did before she lost her nerve and her voice. "I fantasized that you were the earl that I had such a devilishly good time with."

  "You thought of us making love on a dining table?"

  "Yes," she said, relieved he remembered that part and not the other.

  He thought a moment and she felt him shift her on his lap. And felt him rise beneath her. She looked at him wide-eyed.

  "I thought of how long the earl's tongue was and how he pleased you."

  Catherine shuddered against him. She raised her hand to his cheek and stroked his clean-shaven face softly. "You pleased me well, my earl."

  "I wish to please you again, m'lady."

  "And I you, m'lord."

  Their lips met and forgotten was all but the pleasures they sought from each other.

  o0o

  Hours later, wrapped in each other's arms, Lucian and Catherine slept, having loved time and time again. And having tried to make the night last forever.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Catherine woke alone in bed. She sat up and glanced around the cabin. She was its sole occupant. She collapsed back, pulling the covers up to her chin and shaking her head, her tangled mass of silver hair splaying over her pillow.

  Good Lord, what had she done? She peeked beneath the sheet at her nakedness, shutting her eyes when she recalled all the exquisitely titillating things Lucian had done to her and how she had responded with such abandonment.

  Warmth spread along her lower belly down between her legs until it turned into a tingle. Not an inch of her flesh had gone untouched by his hands, lips, or tongue. Repeatedly he had brought her pleasure and repeatedly she had brought him his.

  She smiled, thinking that although his body was large, it had been extremely accommodating. He fit her perfectly and he made her feel —

  Her body shivered from sensuous remembrances.

  Their only thoughts had been of each other and the passion they had hungrily shared. They had loved deeply and fulfilling. They had made memories and now the night was over.

  Whatever would she do now?

  Nothing.

  She warned herself. There was nothing she could do. The choice was up to Captain Lucifer.

  She still hadn't found the papers proving her father's innocence. She had searched long and hard through his cabin but found nothing. With the situation changed, she wondered if he would offer the documents to her. She had paid a high enough price for them.

  Tears stung her eyes. Who was she fooling? She knew why she surrendered to Lucian last night. Si
mply put — she loved him. It confused her. He wasn't always lovable. He was fearfully large and domineering and yet strangely enough those very traits offered comfort and protection.

  Lord, she loved the devil himself. Surely she had lost her mind. He lusted for her, but love? She wondered if his hate and need for revenge consumed so much of his emotions that he was incapable of loving.

  She shook her head. He might think that of himself, but it was far from the truth. Deep inside he possessed strong, passionate emotions he kept locked away, fearful of being deserted and hurt once again. He felt alone and betrayed and he lashed out, wanting others to suffer as he had suffered.

  He needed to heal, to let go, to allow himself to love freely without fear or guilt, to lay his past to rest. Catherine realized that the only way he could heal completely was for him to face his accused — Randolph Abelard.

  The cabin door opened and she instantly sank farther beneath the covers, her thoughts fleeing.

  "You hide from me, madam?" he asked sternly. His steps sounded heavy as he crossed the room. "Was my performance last night that unsatisfying?"

  She held the covers beneath her chin and stared wide-eyed waiting for him to come into view. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.

  His black breeches molded to muscular thighs she was all too familiar with and hugged a waist she had hugged repeatedly last night. His white linen shirt hung open exposing his broad chest she had lain against, and Lord how she had kissed those hard muscles. And his lips?

  She moaned.

  He laughed and yanked the cover from her hands, stripping it completely off her.

  She cried out and scrambled up, rushing down the bed to retrieve her protection.

  "Oh, no you don't." He laughed and grabbed her about the waist, twirling her around to anchor her against his chest.

  Her breath caught at the feel of his warmth against her cool flesh. "Lucian," she cried, her hands rushing to his chest to shove at him, fearful more of her own reaction than his.

  "You haven't answered me," he warned, his voice low, but far from menacing.

  "Answer?" She couldn't even recall the question. He held her too close, he felt too good, and his lips looked too inviting. He was too damn tempting.

  He repeated it for her, his mouth a mere inch from hers. "Was my performance last eve unsatisfying?"

  "No," she whispered, fearful of moving.

  "Good." He captured a kiss, fleeting yet sensuous. "Neither was yours. You —” He paused abruptly about to describe her performance as satisfying. The significance of the word disturbed him and he altered his response. "You pleased me."

  "Now what?" she asked courageously, her body willing to capitulate, but her mind prepared to defend.

  "Now we strip off our clothes and feed the passion that fires our souls." His mouth came down on hers again.

  Her mind faltered, listening to her body's cries for surrender, feeling his hand cup her breast and squeeze gently, knowing in seconds she would be completely lost to his masterful touch.

  Somewhere deep inside reason doused her flame and fought to surface. She shoved at his chest and ripped her mouth from his. "Lucian, we must talk."

  He released her, stripped off his shirt, tossing it to the floor, and sent her a nasty sensual smile as he advanced on her. "I don't want to talk."

  Catherine scrambled backward. "We must," she pleaded, her outstretched hand warding him off.

  He laughed at her puny defense and caught her small wrist in his large hand. "No."

  His response reverberated with finality, sending a shiver to ripple all the way down to the tips of her toes.

  She saw his intention in his eyes. They smoldered with desire. In seconds she would be beneath his powerful body and all would be lost.

  She searched for the words that would halt his actions, her thoughts tumbling for choices. Her answer surfaced and escaped her lips with the speed of a fired arrow, surprising herself. "Do you intend to seek your revenge?"

  He released her wrist.

  She hurried to draw the cover around her.

  He didn't stop her. He turned away, walking to stand by the row of windows and staring out at the endless sea.

  She debated repeating the question. If he found it too difficult to respond then perhaps she had her answer.

  "Catherine, come here," he summoned gently.

  She dropped the cover and stepped from the bed, retrieving his shirt from the floor and slipping into it as she crossed the room to him, the thought of denying his request never having entering her head.

  His hand stretched out at her approach and she reached for it, hooking her fingers with his.

  He drew her in front of him and tucked her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her waist. He spoke with concern and Catherine listened intently to his every word.

  "Last night when I discovered you were a virgin, my only thought was of you. Your fears, your concerns, your needs. And I would be remiss if I failed to mention my own desire. I wanted you. My need for you overwhelmed me, consumed me, entrapped me. There was nothing I wouldn't give to have you. And I gave it." He paused.

  She waited sensing he hadn't finished.

  "Look at the sea, Catherine. It's vast and endless, going on and on and on. Sometimes it feels as though it has no beginning and no end."

  He paused again and Catherine clearly understood that he gathered his thoughts as she often did. She studied the sea as he suggested and a bittersweet feeling washed over her.

  "Day after day I would watch the never-ending sea. I cursed it. I spit on it. I hated it. The dark waters became my nemesis. It surrounded me keeping me captive, never letting go, and constantly reminding me I was a prisoner.

  "Then miraculously the sea granted me what I most desired, my freedom. But those years of tormenting hell still lingered and I promised myself I would have my revenge."

  Catherine went rigid. He would tell her now. He would make his plans clear.

  His arms hugged her more closely and he spoke with a gentle strength. "Last night I gave that revenge no thought. No consideration. Only you and I existed."

  She took a breath to speak.

  He squeezed her. "Let me finish," he urged, and continued. "I have known many women and enjoyed their talents, but I have never experienced the all-consuming pleasure I did with you last night. I strongly suspect, angel, that you robbed me of my soul."

  She said not a word, but fought back the tears, for he had robbed her as well. Only he had robbed her of her heart.

  "We need time. Time to make sense of this situation. Time to learn more about each other. Time to share more intimate moments. Time to decide the future."

  And time for him to heal and forgive, she thought, slipping her hands over his arms.

  "Let me love you. Come to Heaven with me, angel, and let me show you paradise."

  He turned her in his arms, lifted her chin, and stole a kiss.

  She breathlessly and hopelessly surrendered. All thoughts vanished except —

  Time. She had only so much time to prove her father's innocence and heal Lucian's heart to love again.

  o0o

  Hours later Catherine lay in Lucian's arms yawning.

  "I tired you, madam?" he asked with concern.

  "You pleased me, sir." She laughed and rubbed her cheek against his chest. "Most wonderfully."

  His tone turned serious and his hand ceased caressing her backside. "Has my insatiable appetite left you tender?"

  Catherine thought of the slight soreness between her legs and recalled the delightfully wicked things he had done to her to cause it and smiled.

  "Madam, I'll have an answer." He attempted to sound stern, but Catherine heard his concern.

  "A minor discomfort," she said.

  He turned her on her back and loomed over her. His long hair fell over his shoulders to rest on her breasts. "I'm sorry, angel, I never meant to cause you any suffering. I just couldn't seem to get my fill of
you. The more I tasted, the more I thirsted."

  Catherine caressed his cheek. "My hunger was as greedy as yours."

  He smiled. "But I have more experience and should have considered that the loss of your virginity would leave you tender."

  She blushed at his reminder.

  He turned his lips into her palm and kissed it. "Thank you for giving me that precious gift. I shall cherish that memory forever."

  Words failed Catherine. His response had touched her heart deeply and just as deeply she feared the outcome of their precarious situation. But for now she would savor this time with him.

  She twisted her fingers in his hair and tugged, bringing his mouth down to hers. "Thank you for being my first. I would have wanted no other," she whispered against his lips before kissing him.

  Another yawn attacked her as their lips parted.

  "You," he said, pressing his finger to her lips to ensure silence. "Will rest while I see to the running of this ship."

  She pouted and spoke against his finger. "Must you?"

  "Yes," he insisted, and hurried off the bed. He retrieved his clothes from the floor where they had been hastily discarded.

  "Rest with me," she suggested, bracing herself on her elbow to watch him. She wanted him to stay with her, to hold her, to sleep safely tucked in his arms.

  He threw his shirt over his head, pulling it down to tuck in his breeches. "You will find no rest if I stay with you."

  Her pout turned petulant. "Perhaps I have no desire to rest."

  He laughed, tugging his boots on. "I didn't ask you if you wanted to rest. I said you will rest."

  "A command?"

  "Precisely," he said, standing tall and looking ever so like the dashingly handsome pirate that he was.

  Intent on arguing the point, she said, "And if I don't?"

  He sprang to the spot on the bed beside her, capturing her hands and forcing her onto her back. His face drew close to hers. "You will rest or I won't do this—"

  His words trailed off as his head lowered to her nipple and licked it ever so teasingly slowly.

  Delivering identical treatment to her other nipple he then moved lower until he rested in the valley of her legs. "And I won't do this—"

  His mouth found her sensitive flesh and harassed it near to bursting. He then moved back up along her quivering flesh, kissing her belly, her midriff, her breast, her neck, until he reached her lips once again. "And you do want me to do those wicked things to you, don't you, angel?"