by Kresley Cole
This had to be wrong! She thrashed to get away.
He pressed her down into the bed, hard, then lifted his head to catch her gaze. "You won't deny me this. You'll never deny me this." Wrapping his arms around her thighs, he dragged her closer to his mouth, clenching her down onto his shoulders. He held her imprisoned as he ran his tongue up and down her, in her, then higher...taking that sensitive bud in his mouth, wholly, sucking. She would fly apart...
"No, Derek, no. Not like this...." She melted, flowing, wet beneath his lips. Never taking his mouth from her, he reached up and rolled her nipple in his fingers, plucking at one, pinching the other.
Without warning, the madness crashed over her, that hot rapture that made her buck her hips to his mouth, to get closer to his firm lips, to his clever tongue rubbing inside her. He was ruthless in wringing every ounce of pleasure from her. Wave after wave, first one, then incredibly another, her spasms coming with every lash of his tongue.
Dazed. She lay limp, and at last opened her eyes. His breathing was harried, and the look he gave her told her he'd enjoyed that as much as she.
He granted her no time to recover, to understand all that had just happened, before he placed her on his rod and rocked into her in one swift motion. She moaned in bliss. She wouldn't have thought she could feel it again so soon, but he knew what she wanted, what she needed.
"Derek. Yes!" The tightening in her body began once more, the pressure within her gathering frantically to explode. With his next raging thrust, it took her. He stifled her cries with his lips on hers.
Before she'd stopped squeezing around him, he reached forward and yanked her bonds free. Then, easing out of her, he turned her over, pulling at her hips until she was on hands and knees, forcing her legs wider. What was he doing? Why would he--
He spread her private flesh with his fingers, baring her to him. No! This wasn't right. She'd never felt more exposed. But dark urges gripped her. She wanted to be vulnerable, to put herself in his control.
Then he kissed her inside. She was lost.... She quivered, moaning, arching her back and moving her knees farther apart. He placed his hand under her, between her breasts, and ran it down her body until he cupped where his mouth had been, delving a thumb into her. He was wicked. He'd made her that way as well--too far gone to save. Just as she felt herself completely let go, he slammed that heavy rod into her.
"So tight. Wet," he growled. His big hands grasped her waist, forcing her along his length. Her back arched when he kneaded her backside.
"Yes, Nicole...push back. Come to me."
His words made her moan. He tugged on her hair, forcing her up against his chest, still plunging into her from below. Now his hands roamed over the front of her body, thumbing her nipples, making her gasp. "Derek, please. Please..." she begged, but didn't know for what.
Her breasts shook with each wild thrust, and he cupped them, covering them completely, pulling on them to bring her closer. To bring her ear to his lips, where he rasped, "You're mine. Mine!"
His hand glided down to press two blunt fingertips to her small bud of flesh. He moved it up and down, firmly, up and down...faster, while taking her from behind with fierce, powerful strokes.
"Derek! Now...I'm going to--" She clamped around him, rippling on and on as the climax took her, collapsing forward, muffling her agonized cries into the pillow. He pounded into her unmercifully, making the pleasure border on pain as she continued to convulse around him. With a brutal groan, he wrenched her hips against him one last time as his seed shot into her, filling her with heat.
Through an unspoken truce, they never mentioned her leaving or the event that led up to it. She believed Derek had made things even in his mind when she came back to him.
In that first night, he made love to her endlessly. In fact, they didn't venture from his cabin for four days, as his body tutored hers in all the different ways they could pleasure each other.
Eventually he had to leave the ship to arrange his cargo for the voyage back, but when he returned, he looked at her as if he hadn't seen her in days. While he was gone, she worked with the new paint supplies he'd thoughtfully brought her, mainly altering the erratic flow of the scene she'd created on the cabin walls.
Even so, she grew restless at being confined, especially during his absences. Just when she was about to say something, he informed her, "We're going out tonight."
She paused, her face showing her indecision. "I don't think that would be a good idea," she said, remembering the men gaping at her unconventional attire when she'd left before.
"Why not? I can sense you're restless."
She knew she looked openly surprised. She hadn't thought he'd noticed. Then she frowned. "Any clothes I'd wear off the ship were aboard the Bella Nicola."
He smiled down at her. "Let me take care of that," he said. With an assessing eye, he looked her over, then placed his hands around her waist. His voice had a husky quality when he said, "I'll be back by eight."
That afternoon, two boxes were delivered to the ship. She opened the first in wild excitement, then froze. Inside were three of the most beautiful dresses she'd ever seen. He'd picked deep colors and clean styles; she would have chosen them for herself. She held up a rich blue watered silk and hung it out for tonight. Simply looking at it, she could see that it would fit.
In the second box, she found a circle of soap in her favorite scent, matching slippers and small cloth boots for all three dresses, and even all the foundation accessories necessary for wearing them. While she bathed, she thought of her gifts and marveled that Sutherland--Derek, she corrected herself--that Derek had remembered she liked the fragrance of almond oil.
After her bath, she combed her hair until dry and twisted it up in an elaborate knot, allowing a few loose curls to frame her face. Before dressing, she stepped in front of the mirror, and her eyes widened at the reflection. She looked fuller. More busty even. She noted happily that the flare of her backside, the only part of her figure she'd never despaired over, was more pronounced.
She enjoyed an awareness of parts of her body she'd once thought hopeless. Now, as she spun in front of the glass, she liked flaunting her new figure. She wanted to show off those features that Suther--that Derek lavished praise on each night. After she dressed, she gazed one last time at her reflection and recognized that she carried herself much as the old headmistress had tried for months to instill in her.
When he arrived to escort her, his first reaction was to suck in a shallow breath. She panicked. Years of feeling scrawny and ungainly made her lose some of her new confidence. Although Derek made her feel beautiful, she remembered a time when she'd hated her looks.
He was silent until at last he bent down to her ear and murmured in a low, rumbling tone, "You are stunning, Nicole." Tears pricked her eyes, and she smiled to mask her reaction.
He answered with a devilish one of his own. "Even more so when you smile, love."
His open praise unsettled her, and she looked away. Some of the crew jumped back to work with smiles on their faces. Embarrassed, she changed the subject. "I know of a place we can eat, if you like." Then, feeling the soft night air rolling off the high tide, she suggested in a more casual tone that they walk.
He grinned and bowed. "Lead the way, sweet. I forget I'm not showing you a new town."
She smiled as they descended the gangway together and started walking, but after several steps, she realized he'd lagged behind. He stood there watching her.
"What? Is something wrong?" she squealed, checking her skirts.
His lips tugged up in a grin. "I've never seen you walk at length on land."
She frowned, and then her mouth made a little O at his sultry expression. In a deep voice, he said, "I like the way you walk, Nicole."
That night, she enjoyed herself far too much. Derek was attentive and demonstrated a dry wit she appreciated. Deflecting his overtures and steeling herself against him seemed more and more a lost battle. The sooner they parted, the better.
> Another worry preyed on her mind. For several days, no other ship from the race had docked. After what had happened to the Bella Nicola and the Southern Cross, she had no cause to doubt other ships had been damaged as well. But Derek could find nothing on Tallywood.
She thought that Derek sensed her uneasiness and was going out of his way to make her happy. This night he'd taken her to a play, a play she didn't remember the first line of because he'd sat holding her hand, tracing her inner palm, slowly stroking each finger. He hadn't bothered to hide his hunger.
She believed he wanted them to spend every evening in bed as they had been. She certainly wouldn't mind, but seeing how proprietary he became with her around other men was also thrilling. In his mind, she belonged to him.
One time tonight, it'd gotten so bad she'd thought Derek was going to haul her back to the ship.
Later, on their way back, she chastised him, "You didn't have to glare at that old man!"
He lifted his eyebrows and laughed. "He wasn't much older than I am. And even though he gathered you were with me, he continued to ogle your ripe, young breasts."
She blushed, not used to him speaking so frankly to her outside the haven of his bed. "I thought he was harmless."
"That's because you don't know what men like that are thinking, whereas I do. Honestly, if you had any idea, you would have run..." His voice trailed off. "Nicole, what is it? You've turned white as a sheet."
Her body went cold as her breath tripped in and out. She forced herself to continue walking because behind her, not more than ten feet away, came a voice from her nightmares.
"You're gonna get us lashed for this, you just wait 'n' see," Pretty whined. When Clive replied, "Bugger you, Pretty, Cap'n can't keep us locked aboard ship for our whole stay," the blood left her face.
"Love, what's wrong?"
She'd slowed too much. The two would be abreast of them. Without thinking, she turned her back to the street and grabbed Derek by the collar to bring his lips to hers.
"Now, this I like," he murmured.
"Hush! Just keep me turned this way," she whispered against his lips.
"I take it you've seen someone you'd rather not?" he asked in an amused tone.
When she'd given them enough time to pass, she broke from him. "Those two up ahead, the wide one and the weasely one. They--they are the two men who attacked me back in London."
It was as if she could see aggression fire through his body.
"I don't know what they're doing here," she said in a shaking voice, "but maybe we should trail them and find out how they got to Syd--"
"Stay here!" he ordered, and charged toward the two men.
She hitched up her skirts to follow and got there just in time to hear Clive's nose crunch as Derek pounded him to the ground. When Pretty scurried to escape, he lunged after him, yanking the wiry man around into his other awaiting fist.
"Th-they said something about a captain," she stammered from behind him.
He looked from the barely conscious Clive slumped on the ground to the visibly quaking Pretty.
"Now, which one of you wants to tell me who your captain is?"
The search of Tallywood's ship took less than an hour. The watchman had arrived just as Derek learned the English earl was their captain. Upon hearing Nicole's story about her father suspecting Tallywood of being behind the damage to several ships, the Australian authorities called for a search of the Desirade. Word swiftly spread around the small sailing community, and crowds flanked the docks. Derek coerced his way onto the ship, and since he obviously wasn't letting Nicole out of his sight, she marched aboard as well.
"This is an injustice!" Tallywood cried, the pale, flaccid skin of his face and jowls shaking in outrage as the Australian authorities restrained him. "I'll have your positions for this, you heathens," he spat at the men who held him. "I'm a bloody earl! You're nothing but some convict's spawn."
The two officers were a brawny, rough-looking pair, and each time he whined they jostled him enthusiastically.
After picking Tallywood's safe, an officer uncovered detailed lists and intricate plans for several ships in the race.
When she spied the lists, Nicole rushed forward, dragging Derek along. "Are we in there?" she cried to the marshal. "Did he sabotage our ships?"
"The Southern Cross?"
Derek nodded.
"He had your water tainted before it was even loaded on the ship." He turned to her. "The Bella Nicola?" At her anxious nod, he said with obvious regret, "Yes, miss. They loosened your rudder and compromised a support in your hold."
She could feel her lower lip trembling. She didn't want to appear weak in front of these men, but she had to know why. Turning to Derek, she glanced at Tallywood in question, but Derek looked as though he'd stop her. Before he could say a word, she crossed the deck to where the two men held their prisoner.
"Why'd you do it?"
He ignored her, and she thought he wouldn't answer. The second she pulled her eyes from him, the coward spoke. "You all laughed at me," he began in an eerie voice so low that she had to strain to hear him.
"Common sailors and dockside whores openly mocking me. But I won," he spewed in an increasingly violent tone. "I won the greatest race of the century...." He continued ranting.
Nicole wanted to interrupt, to answer his words. But she didn't think one could argue with a man like this, a man so full of his own importance that he couldn't fathom the rest of the world wouldn't want to bring him down from his lofty position.
One of the two big officers holding Tallywood said, "You can give him something to remember you by, miss, if you like."
"Stop this, this bloody instant," Tallywood shrieked in response. He turned to Nicole. "You're nothing but a commoner. Do you know what will happen if you strike a peer?"
The other officer leaned down to her and said with a wink, "Don't hurt your hand, little bit."
It was useless to try to find some wise, reconciling words to convey that he'd won the race but lost everything else. Instead, she hiked up her skirts and planted her boot squarely between his legs.
With great ceremony, the Great Circle Race award had been bestowed on Derek by the mayor of Sydney. Afterward, he and Nicole walked to his ship as though isolated from the revelry around them. His hand reached down to clasp hers.
"You, uh, you..." he began in a gruff voice, "could have taken the race." Although he looked away when admitting that, she simply nodded.
"Your ship was unstoppable." He looked down at her now. "And you and the Irisher worked her like clay in your hands. It should have been you and your crew feted in Sydney today."
"We can never know that for sure," she assured him, but she had a good idea he was right.
"I never realized how hard this must be for you."
She wanted to deny it, but he said, "If it helps at all, I want you to know that I...care about you. So much that the win feels hollow." He opened his mouth to say more, but fell silent and walked on.
When they entered his cabin, he strode over to her and wrapped her in his arms, pressing his hand to the back of her head, keeping her next to his heart. She couldn't stop herself from clasping him back.
He whispered into her hair, "I'm sorry."
She cried against his chest, her tears wetting his shirt and her little hitching noises against his chest embarrassing her, until he made a vow to her with such intensity she believed it.
"No one will ever hurt you again."
Chapter 22
D erek concluded that they couldn't continue the indefinite nature of their relationship. He needed to cement something between them, and broached the subject one night while they lay in bed relaxed and sated together.
"I want you," he began confidently, "to be my mistress." She started to speak, but he held up his hand. "Before you answer, let me tell you how I'd plan to--"
"No." She extricated herself from his cumbersome limbs and jumped up to get dressed. Derek watched her in grim sile
nce as she pulled on her last boot and briskly brushed her hands. "I don't believe I want to be your mistress, Captain."
He didn't know if he was more infuriated at her refusal or her flippant tone. She treated it as though he'd made an immature, half-cocked suggestion, when in fact he'd thought about little else since he'd realized she had nothing to do with the poisoning.
He'd never known a woman who made him so angry he wanted to put his fist through a wall! He didn't bother to hide his annoyance. "Of course not, you would want more--a title, perhaps? I'll warn you, if you angle for a marriage proposal, you're wasting your time. I won't give you more than an offer of carte blanche."
"Whoa, my lord," she said, dripping contempt on his title. "I don't want more--I want less. I have no desire to make any commitment to you whatsoever!"
He stared at her with thinly veiled surprise--damn it, she meant that. Her heated refusal of any tie that might bind her to him rattled him to the core.
"From what I understand about upper-class men and their mistresses, in compensation for...intimacy, a man keeps his mistress in a house he provides and gives her jewels and silks." She stood looking down at him, her eyes sparking. "Well, am I close?"
He agreed, impatient to hear what she would say next. One could never be sure with Nicole.
"Why on earth would I want to be kept in a house on land, stuck in the same place day after day for your convenience, all for some jewelry and finery I'd never wear?"
He'd only offered what had always worked in the past. Women liked to have things bought for them, to be cosseted. He'd had no reason to doubt that every female wanted fine things--expensive things--not only for her enjoyment but also for security.
Did Nicole even realize how abject her life would be once they returned to England? "In light of all that's happened in the last few months, who do you think will take care of you if I don't? Even if your father's been released, you'll have to get back to England to find him. How will you manage that?" He jumped out of bed and yanked on his clothes, his own temper threatening to boil over. "Your ship is on the bottom of the South Atlantic, and I stranded your crew at the Cape. You don't have a guinea to your name."
Her face took on a scornful, even haughty look. "I have means to survive. I'm not brought so low that I have to--oh, how did you put it that night in London?--bag an earl, either by marriage or by becoming your mistress," she snapped. "When you leave me here in Sydney, I'll be just fine."
