Like two children, they ran through the streets, dodging people, scurrying through alleyways and shortcuts that would take them to where he was leading. The buccaneer was obviously familiar with the city, just as he was familiar with the language and even the native dialects. Either he was a seaman who visited Rio often, or he himself was a native of the city. When he spoke English, there was an accent in his voice, making it slightly exotic and pleasant to her ears.
Royall was breathless by the time he stopped, pulling her into a doorway and into his arms. She could feel his breath upon her cheek as he looked down at her.
“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s almost midnight, time for unmasking.”
Before she could protest, he held her captive with one hand and with the other removed her mask. “I knew you were beautiful, and you are.” Slowly, deliberately, his mouth closed over hers, his hands cupping her face, fingers tracing gentle patterns where their lips met.
Setting her away from him, he removed his own mask with a brush of his hand. He laughed, showing perfect, gleaming white teeth. His face was square, his features chiseled, his laughing mouth sensual. There was a slightly exotic tilt to the corners of his dark, heavily lashed eyes which were margined by thick, unruly brows. “And what had you expected, lovely, a devil behind the mask?”
Royall laughed, throwing her head back, revealing the slim, long column of her neck. “A devil is a devil, mask or no. And you, sir, kiss like the devil himself.”
“And where did you come by this knowledge?” he challenged. “Or would that be revealing professional secrets?”
She felt her face flame, feeling as though it could light the darkness like a candle. He had practically accused her of being a streetwalker—a prostitute! Lowering her head in shame, she thought, what else should he think? Proper ladies did not attend celebrations like Mardi Gras alone and unescorted. Nor did they accept the company of a stranger and spend the entire day with him, drinking and eating and allowing his eyes to devour her. And proper ladies didn’t thrill to that excitement they found in those stranger’s eyes.
As soon as he had spoken the words, Sebastian could have cursed himself. He wasn’t ordinarily the kind of man who reminded a woman, even if she was of dubious character, that her morals were less than acceptable. He wanted to apologize, say he was sorry, take back the words. She was insulted, as well she should be, and it showed by the way she lowered her head, hiding her face. This golden lioness was a sensitive woman, and he was a dolt.
Royall was at a loss for words. She should hate him, protest that she was indeed a respectable woman who was only seeking a small adventure, a lark, an afternoon of gaiety. But she found she couldn’t hate him unreasonably, not after seeing his almost instant remorse. Besides, what did it matter who he thought she really was? This was someone who didn’t even know her name, would never know it. Someone she would never see again in her lifetime. And it was exactly what she wanted. To deny it would be to lie to herself. To be truthful, she had even contemplated drugging Mrs. Quince to obtain these few hours of anonymity and freedom. Even before leaving the ship she had secretly hoped she would meet someone exactly like the buccaneer, someone who would find her attractive and whose eyes would tell her that he wanted to make love to her.
His arms reached out for her, bringing her close to him. No words were spoken; none were necessary. Gently, she felt his lips in her hair, on her cheek, in silent apology. Whoever this buccaneer was, he was no clod, no rakehell, riding roughshod over a woman’s feelings. In fact, his behavior all day had been exemplary and above reproach. A gentleman. Something she had never expected from a rough seaman.
Tenderly, his fingers lifted her chin, raising her lips to his own. His arms tightened about her, pressing her closer to his chest, crushing her breasts against him. His body was hard and muscular. Royall’s arms encircled his back. Without reason or logic, she felt safe and secure in his embrace, and she faced her tumultuous emotions with directness and truth. She wanted this man. Wanted him to make her the woman she knew she could be—the woman her husband had never known existed.
Looking into his eyes without a trace of coquettishness, she was aware that she could drown in that incredibly dark gaze and emerge again as the woman she wanted and needed to become.
Seeing her moist lips part and offer themselves to him, he lowered his mouth to hers, touching her lips, tasting their sweetness, drawing from them a kiss gentle, yet passionate. He robbed her of her senses, and searing flames licked her body, the pulsating beat of her heart thundered in her ears.
When he released her, his jet eyes searched hers for an instant, and time became eternal for Royall. From somewhere deep within her a desire to stay forever in his arms, to feel the touch of his mouth upon hers, began to build to crescendo, threatening to erupt like fireworks. Thick, dark lashes closed over her sparkling golden eyes, and she heard her own breath come in ragged little gasps as she boldly brought her mouth once more to his, offering herself, kissing him deeply, searchingly, searing this moment upon her memory.
She kissed him as she had never kissed another man—a kiss that made her knees weak and her head dizzy. She knew, in that endless moment, that this man, this buccaneer, belonged to her in a way no other man could ever belong to her, for however brief this time together would be. She had found him: a man who could make her senses reel, her passions explode, who could promise the fulfillment she had only dreamed could be hers.
The buccaneer’s gentle fingers caressed her cheek softly and seemed to know what she was feeling. “There are needs of the soul that go beyond the hungers of the body, little cat.” His voice was deep, husky, little more than a whisper. “Will you come with me and be mine, if only for the night? Only you, my cat, can make it a night for all eternity.”
His answer was in her kiss, in the sweet pressure of her body. His hand cupped her throat, feeling the abandoned rhythm of her pulse, sending a scorching streak of fire through her, and she knew that this night was decreed by the fates that had sent him to her. He took her hand in his and led her from the doorway out into the streets that were quieter now. Only scattered little bands of people were still singing and dancing; the sounds they made seemed to come from so far away. Her senses were filled with him, and while they walked they were silent, each feeling the presence of the other and the effect this nearness had on their rioting emotions.
She had no idea where he was taking her, didn’t care. She knew that tonight she would go to the ends of the earth with this man whose lips worshipped her own and whose hands were gentle, so gentle.
As he measured his steps with hers, he found himself studying her profile and appreciating the finely molded nose that was only slightly upturned, and in perfect balance with her high, intelligent brow. Her golden wealth of hair was piled atop her head, giving her added height, but he saw that she was a petite woman, just barely grazing his shoulder, and he knew that beneath her voluminous skirts he would find that she was perfectly proportioned, full and womanly, neither too plump nor too thin. Her proud breasts strained against the bodice of her gown and promised to be round and high, fitting nicely into the palm of a man’s hand. He found he was eager to take the pins from her hair, to see it flowing down her back, to run his hands through the strands of luminous gold. But it was to her mouth that his eyes always returned, full, ripe, mobile. A mouth that clung in a kiss, a mouth made for kissing; the touch of it upon his was soft and cool, and he knew he could lose himself in that tempting confection.
Royall walked beside him, knowing he was looking at her, appraising her, liking what he saw. And she bloomed beneath his gaze, held herself proudly and erect. With this man there would be no pretending, no false modesty; she knew he would not allow it.
Unlike MacDavis with his still Puritan morals, this man would expect her to yield to her passions, demand that she delight in the pleasure he gave her. She knew that this night would not end with her wanting and needing something that had no name, somet
hing that could leave her crying with frustration and loneliness.
The buccaneer’s pace slowed, and he led her into a dimly lit hostelry that she guessed was patronized by travelers. Beyond the anteroom she could hear the muffled sounds of drinking and eating and the melodious strumming of a guitar. Before the innkeeper could greet them and survey them with a curious eye, the buccaneer turned and replaced the mask that he had removed from her face an eternity ago in the darkened doorway. She fumbled with the side wires, attaching it firmly to her hair, grateful for the return to anonymity.
The next few moments passed like a blur. She was vaguely aware of the innkeeper’s curious glances and of the buccaneer’s quiet authority that tolerated no questions. In every way he was protective of her, his very demeanor forbidding any casual, offhanded remarks the innkeeper might have been prompted to make.
Securing the key to a room above, the buccaneer led her up the stairs, keeping a steady hand on her elbow, shielding her from the prying glances of anyone passing through the anteroom.
Behind the closed door of their rented room, he took her in his arms, hungry for the touch of her, the feel of her. Hidden from curious eyes, his lips claimed hers and worlds collided.
His mouth became a part of her own, and she heard her heart beat in wild and rapid rhythms. They strained toward each other, imprisoned by the designs of yearning, caught in an embrace that ascended the obstacles of the flesh and strove to join breath and blood, body and spirit.
Forcing a restraint, he led her over to the bed, sitting her down and removing her shoes. Quick and capable fingers reached beneath her gown, pulling at her garters, slipping the silky stocking down her smooth legs and off her feet. She allowed him to unbutton the back of her gown, helped him remove it from her shoulders, and stepped out of it, glad to be free of its confines and thrilled to expose more of her flesh to his touch. Petticoats and chemise followed, along with restricting stays and undergarments. And each item of clothing he took from her he replaced with a kiss, a long, teasing kiss, on parts of her body that had never known a man’s hands, much less his lips.
Gently, in the darkened room, he lay her back against the pillows, leaning over her, nuzzling her neck, inhaling the heady fragrance that was hers alone. Blazing a hot trail from her throat, his lips covered her unguarded breast, and she shivered with exquisite anticipation. She became unaware of her surroundings, oblivious to time or place; she only knew that her body was reacting to this man, pleasure radiating outward from some hidden depths within herself. She allowed herself to be transported by it, incapable of stopping the forward thrust of her desires, spinning out of time and space into the soft consuming vapors of her sensuality.
Her emotions careened and clashed, grew confused and wild, her perceptions thrumming and beating wherever he touched her. And when he moved away from her, leaving her, she felt alone, bereft and grieving. When he returned, she was whole again, wanting and needing, wanting to be needed. He had stripped his clothes; the feverish heat of his skin seemed to singe her fingers as she traced inquisitive patterns over his arms and back and down over his sleek muscular haunches.
She had never touched a man this way, not even during her marriage to MacDavis, who had always worn a nightshirt. But somehow she knew she could have touched a thousand men this way and none would feel the same to her as this man. None would have the unexpectedly smooth skin that tantalized her fingers and tempted her to seek the hard, rolling muscles that lay beneath. No other man could possess this soft furring on his broad chest that tickled her nose and brushed her lips, nor the long, hard length of thigh that her wandering hands had found and explored.
Suddenly, the room was too dark, jealously keeping the sight of him from her eyes. She wanted to see him, to know him, behold the places her fingers yearned to find and her lips hungered to kiss. “The lamp,” she whispered, hardly daring to make a sound, afraid to break the spell. “Light the lamp.” She hardly recognized her voice; she sounded husky, throaty, sensuous, even to her own ears. “I want to see you,” she whispered brazenly. “I want to know you, like this ... naked. All of you.” It was a plea, a demand, exciting him with its fervor, arousing his desires for her to a fever pitch.
Soft, golden light flooded the room, and he stood there before her, just out of her reach. Her gaze covered him, sizzling and searing, lingering at the swell of his manhood and grazing over his flat, hard stomach. Dark patterns of hair molded his form into planes and valleys, covering his chest and narrowing to a thin, elongated arrow that seemed to point below. Thighs thick with muscle supported him. His haunches tapered and broadened again for the width of his chest. But it was to his nether regions that her gaze traveled again and again before stretching out her arms, beckoning him to her.
He was filled with an exhilarating power that came from the knowledge that she wanted him, unabashedly and unashamed—the power that only a woman can give to a man when she reveals her desires for him, welcoming him into her embrace, giving as well as taking, trusting him to take her to the realms of the highest star, where passion is food for the gods and satisfaction is its own reward.
When he had lit the lamp, he looked down at her, seeing her, and was held in the spell of her gaze, watching her eyes travel the length of his body. Her lips parted, full and ripe, revealing the pink tip of her tongue as she moistened them. She was leaning back against the pillows, one knee bent, hiding her most secret place from his sight. Breasts proud, their coral tips erect, invited his hands and his lips and tapered to a slim, graceful torso where a fine feathering of downy hair caught the light, gilding her body with a soft, shimmering glow. She was beautiful, this lioness with the hungry eyes, beautiful and desirable, setting his pulses pounding, unleashing a driving need in him to satiate himself in her charms, to quell this hunger she created in him and to salve an appetite for her that was ravenous and voracious.
He stepped into her embrace, felt her arms surround his hips, was aware that she rested her cheek sweetly against the flat of his stomach, rubbing it against his soft, curling hairs. His hands found the pins in her hair, impatiently pulling them, removing them, eager to see its golden wealth tumble around her shoulders and curl around her breasts. Silky spun gold, scented and clean, rippled through his fingers, tumbling and cascading, following his hands, down the smooth length of her back and onto the pillows. She lifted her head, looking up at him, her golden eyes heavy with passion. He had been right in calling her a lion, a wild cat of the jungle. Dark lashes created shadows on her high cheekbones; upward winging brows delineated her features. The slim, lithe body, tinged with gilt, tempted his hands, invited his lips.
Her teasing touches fleetingly grazed his buttocks and the backs of his thighs, slipping between them and rising higher and higher. She watched him as she touched him, aware of the masculine hardness of him, feeling it pulsate with anticipation of her touch. And when her hand closed over him, a deep rumbling sounded in his chest, coming from his lips in a barely audible groan.
He lay down beside her, reaching for her, covering her breasts with his hands, seeking them with his lips. But her appetite for him had not been satisfied, and she lifted herself onto her elbow, leaning over him, her hair falling askew over her shoulder, creating a curtain between them.
Hesitantly, she touched him again, running the tips of her fingers down his chest, hearing his small gasp of pleasure. The flat of her palm grazed his belly, and her lips blazed a trail following her hand’s downward sweep.
The swell of her hips and the rounded fullness of her bottom filled him with a throbbing urgency. Nothing short of having her, of losing himself in her, would satisfy. He was afraid the touch of her lips would drive him over the edge, past the point of no return. Impatiently, he drew her upwards, pushing her back against the pillows, trapping her with his weight. He wanted to plunder her, to drive himself into her, to slake his thirst, knowing that his needs could be met only in her.
Her mouth was swollen, passion-bruised and tasting
of himself. Her arms wound around him, holding him close as she pressed her nakedness against him. His hands made an intimate search of her shoulders, skimming the long, silky length of her back, following the curve of her spine and over her bottom.
A warm, golden warmth spread through her veins, heating her erratic pulses. Her hair became entangled around her neck, and he lightly brushed it aside before resuming the moist exploration with his lips. His mouth lingered in the place where her arm joined her body before tracing a patternless path over her full, heaving breasts. She clung to the hard, sinewy muscles of his arms, holding onto him for support, afraid she would fall into a yawning abyss where flames were fed by passion.
His hands spanned her waist, tightened their grip and lifted her above him. His mouth tortured her with teasing flicks of his tongue, making her shudder with unreleased passions. She curled her fingers into his night-dark hair, pushing him backward, away, pleading that he end the torment, only to follow his greedy mouth with her body, pushing her flesh against it, relieved when it encircled the whole peak.
A throbbing ache spread through her, demanding to be satisfied, uncontrollably settling in her haunches, making her seek relief by the involuntary roll of her hips against the length of his thigh. He held her there, forcing her bottom forward, driving her pelvis against him.
Captive Innocence Page 4
