My Fair Lover

by Nicole Jordan

  Her only satisfaction was that she seemed to have caught him by surprise with her own state of undress. His bold eyes skimmed over her before he threw himself down on the blanket beside her.

  Yet he made no move to take her in his arms, or even to kiss her. Instead, he poured some wine for himself and with a casual disregard of his nudity, propped himself on one elbow to drink it.

  Still, he was watching her with a warm intensity that was unsettling and flattering. Kate was exquisitely aware of Deverill by her side.

  “Aren’t you the least chilled?” she finally asked to break the silence.

  “No. The evening is fairly warm.”

  Perhaps it was. Certainly her body was, as she contemplated her next step.

  Taking a breath, she slowly pulled down the straps of her shift, then the bodice.

  Deverill’s eyes seemed to flare as the peaks of her breasts were revealed, but he instantly stopped her. “That’s far enough, sweetheart.”

  Kate paused but sent him a disapproving look. “I don’t understand why you still refuse to make love to me. You yourself taught me that we can enjoy pleasure without actual coupling.”

  “You know why. It is my best leverage.”

  “I doubt that is your only reason.”

  “Oh?”

  “I think you are afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “That you could never live up to the lover of my dreams. You are afraid to even try.”

  That amused, tender look was back in his eyes. “I am not afraid.”

  She arched a challenging brow at him. “Then prove it.”

  After a moment he murmured two words that made her pulse race. “Come closer.”

  Setting her glass in the sand, she obeyed, inching her way nearer until he could touch her.

  Holding her gaze, he lifted a finger and stroked lightly, masterfully, down the column of her throat, then lower, to her right nipple. Even that barest contact sent a jolt of awareness shivering along her skin, a feminine reaction that heightened all of her senses.

  But again, he was only teasing her, for he soon dropped his hand.

  Kate let out an exasperated sigh. “You delight in vexing me, don’t you?”

  “Quite.”

  The laughter in his voice made her want to laugh and grind her teeth in return, but she managed to calm herself in favor of plotting her revenge. Raising an eyebrow, she contemplated him. “If I really set my mind to it, I doubt you could resist me.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  Deliberately, she reached out to brush his flat belly just above his loins. The instant she touched his skin, his stomach muscles clenched.

  He stared at her with that knowing look, comprehension gleaming in his eyes. “You’re a handful, aren’t you?” he accused, his voice deep and amused.

  “I intend to be.”

  At his chuckle, Kate took heart. She was no femme fatale who could bring a man to his knees—at least not yet. But she was eager to learn. Admittedly the prospect of having Deverill on his knees, pleading for release, was a delicious thought.

  “Do your worst, then,” he invited.

  She took his glass from him and set it aside but kept her gaze focused solely on him. “Lie back,” she ordered.

  “No, you will have to make me.”

  Easing closer, she knelt directly beside him. Then leaning forward, she pressed her hands against his shoulders. Surprisingly, her effort was met with only token resistance. Deverill rolled onto both elbows and lounged back against the blanket, letting her look her fill.

  Kate spent another moment admiring his physique. She had never been so keenly aware of his body, so hard and strong, of the virility in his broad shoulders.

  With her palms, she urged him to lie fully on his back. He offered greater resistance this time, but she pushed harder, until she was pinning him down. The coiled strength beneath her palms was unmistakable. He could shake her off with barely a flex of his muscles, she knew. But for now he indulged the pretense that she was in complete control. Lightly she ran her hands over the expanse of his chest, feeling smooth, hot flesh over corded muscles, dusted with silken hair.

  Then her gaze drifted lower, to his taut belly, the powerful sprawl of his thighs, the swollen, jutting erection that reached almost to his navel. Her breathing turned shallow.

  “If I knew what to do, the contest would be more fair,” she murmured. “You need to tutor me….Teach me how to pleasure you.”

  “I suppose I could do that much.”

  Reaching up, he cupped her breasts, using his thumbs to prod her nipples. Excitement swept over her, but she tamped it down.

  “No. You need to show me how to pleasure you. This is not showing me.”

  Anticipation glimmered in his eyes. “Perhaps you should begin by stroking me with your hands.”

  “Yes.”

  She shifted her palms lower. His expression never changed, but when her exploring hands travelled to his belly, she felt a tension quiver inside him.

  Bolder now, she moved her hand even lower to touch his swelling manhood. It jerked involuntarily, making her breath catch. Kate bit her lip. She could imagine having that engorged length inside her….Fresh excitement spread through her body at the thought and made her breasts ache.

  Deliberately she trailed her hand lower, letting her fingers curl around him. When his breath drew harshly between his teeth, she looked up, caught by the hypnotizing heat of his eyes.

  His hot vitality seemed to thrum through her.

  “Show me,” Kate repeated in a husky murmur.

  His hand wrapped around hers, guiding her. Keeping a light grasp of her fingers, he coaxed her to fondle him, letting her cup the heavy sacs beneath his arousal, tracing the blunt, velvety head, until finally he curled her hand around his full length. Demonstrating how to give him pleasure, he began moving her hand slowly up and down, stroking.

  “Harder, princess….You won’t hurt me.”

  “Like this?”

  “Yes, exactly like that….”

  His hips arched in response. A shameful thrill raced through Kate, kindling her senses. She was inflamed by the feel of him, by the lazy passion glowing in his eyes. And yet…

  “Isn’t there more?” she asked with curiosity.

  “A great deal more. You are welcome to use your imagination.”

  She could only follow her instincts. Bending down to him, she breathed in the scent of warm sand and salt and his own essence, the clean, masculine fragrance of his skin.

  Holding her breath, she tasted him with her tongue.

  “I am all admiration for your inventiveness,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  “But I have barely begun,” she warned with a smile.

  She pressed her lips along his shaft, tasting the marble-smooth skin. He jerked when she kissed him there, and when she ran her tongue upward, a shudder ran through him, igniting a sense of power in Kate. It was a heady feeling, knowing she could evoke such a response from Deverill. It was thrilling, exhilarating, to think she could torment him with her caresses the way he did her. He was blatantly aroused now, the rigid rod thrusting high.

  Her tongue began stroking rhythmically, his head fell back. And when she began to suckle him, he inhaled as if fighting for control.

  Encouraged, she explored him with her mouth and tongue, tasting the slick, velvet contours, making love to the most intimate part of him.

  Finally, though, he grasped her shoulders to lift her mouth away. “That is far enough,” Deverill rasped. “Just hold my cock in your hand.”

  When she complied, he went back to guiding her strokes. As he increased the pace, she glanced up at him. His face was taut, the skin flushed. His jaw locked as their fingers kneaded harder, sweeping up and down in short, rough motions.

  His breath was harsh and uneven by now, his fingers clenching around hers. But the moment before he exploded, he released her hand and cupped his own around the head of his s
haft.

  Kate held still, watching the last throes of his climax. It was incredibly erotic for her, giving him such pleasure. His eyes were shut, but when he opened them again, they were so dark they were almost black.

  Now was the moment to press him, she knew. She held his gaze intently.

  “Deverill, please…won’t you make love to me?” she pleaded in a low voice. “You are right. I need to become more adventurous. I want to truly live, not merely exist. We are alone here, without chaperones or family to interfere or watch over me. And we should make the most of this opportunity.”

  Kate paused, her nerves stretched taut while she waited for him to respond.

  It was quite some time before Deverill gave a sigh that was part surrender, part celebration. “Finally you acknowledge what I have been telling you all along. I would relish making love to you, sweetheart, but you deserve a more romantic setting than a gritty beach. Let us return to the cottage first.”

  “Yes,” she said, her heart swelling.

  She pulled up the bodice of her shift while he donned his breeches.

  As they gathered up their belongings, he delayed long enough to drop a soft kiss on her lips. Another surge of breathless excitement and anticipation hit Kate.

  She cherished the intimacy of their joined hands as they followed the sandy path. When he helped her over a grassy dune, she gazed up at him, admiring how moonlight played over the planes of his face.

  Deverill looked down at just that moment and captured her gaze. Attraction sizzled between them, igniting the rise of heat inside her, along with a renewed sense of hope: He seemed confident that he would win this battle of wills, but she had a plan, too. He could teach her about passion, but she would teach him to love. She knew in her heart that lovemaking could be intimate and wonderful, not merely a physical expression of desire. To her mind, the very essence of romance was learning to love.

  She badly wanted to help him overcome his resistance to loving, to draw him out of his self-imposed prison. Accordingly, she needed to stir in Deverill the soul-deep longing that she was beginning to feel. And she had to let it occur naturally rather than force him to have feelings for her.

  He kept her close until they reached the kitchen. There, he lit a lamp before leading her to the bedchamber.

  They parted in order to undress, but Kate was burningly aware of him a short distance away as she drew off her shift.

  Feigning nonchalance, she went to her valise and drew out the pouch of sponges. “Are you familiar with these? I have never used them before. You will have to show me what to do.”

  “Gladly.”

  When she turned and found him watching her, the promise in his smile made her heart pound. Suddenly the memory of heat and desire and naked need hit her with breathtaking force.

  Kate felt her knees go weak as Deverill crossed to her. His bare arm encircling her waist, he pulled her close, his thighs brushing hers, his chest pressing against her breasts. He reached up and slid his fingers behind her nape, then bent his head.

  The pure power of his kiss bolted through her body. He was a marvelous kisser, sure and possessive and incredibly sensual. A telltale shiver racked her.

  As if he knew the cause, he lifted his head, and his gaze locked with hers, smoldering and intent.

  “You want me. That is why you’re flushed and hot.”

  He was right. She felt hot enough to make her thighs quiver.

  His hands moved to cover her breasts, his palms cradling their weight, his thumbs pressing against her nipples. His smile was intimate, and so were his eyes.

  At the ache of her breasts inside his gentle grip, Kate felt heat shimmer through her. “Deverill…tell me what I should do.”

  “Leave it to me, love. My masculine pride is at stake.”

  Bending again, he kissed the hollow of her throat, then let his lips trail lightly over her skin as he murmured in a husky voice, “I mean to satisfy you, to pleasure you, to make your body sing….”

  He was issuing his own challenge, Kate knew. Just thinking about what was in store made her breathing go wild.

  Stopping his caressing mouth from exploring her body further, she pulled his face back to hers and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Enough talk,” she replied, urgently raising her lips for his kiss. “If you expect to prove your skills as my dream lover, I demand action.”

  They woke the next morning, tangled in each other’s arms. Sleepily Kate gazed back at Deverill, luxuriating in a rich sense of repletion and satisfaction. She’d spent the night learning him, savoring the strength of him, the sheer maleness of him. He hadn’t just made love to her; he had claimed her.

  And now, when he slowly eased over her and took her mouth, it wasn’t a mere kiss, it was a possession.

  That sensual encounter was the beginning of a magical time for Kate in the week that followed. She felt as if they were living in another world inhabited by only the two of them—feverish, romantic, enchanted—with both finding the spell impossible to break.

  During long walks and late nights, they came to know each other better, their spirited sparring interspersed with laughter and quiet moments, and of course, pleasure. Boundless pleasure.

  If she was bent on seducing him, he was doing the same to her. Indeed, the entire sennight became a tantalizing battle for supremacy between them, with Deverill daring her to become more adventurous, often alternating between provoking her and calling her bewitching and captivating.

  She was the one who was captivated, though. His dark gaze left her feeling seduced and desirable. She who never got lost in a man’s eyes regularly felt breathless and dizzy at his nearness.

  And yet, regrettably to Kate’s mind, most days they were required to engage with the real world.

  That night they dined at Louvel’s house. For a pirate, Jean Louvel seemed quite civilized and gentlemanly and welcoming as a host. Despite his proper table manners, however, his treatment of Gabrielle left something to be desired. Although he seemed genuinely fond of her, his behavior toward her bordered on arrogant and demanding, as if he considered her his property, Kate thought.

  She observed their interactions carefully, and when the women retired to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port, she was able to question the beauty at some length.

  Clearly Gabrielle was far more enamored of Louvel than he was of her. She truly loved him, but while he unquestionably bore a passion for her, his affection didn’t indicate the prospect of marriage or family. Gabrielle wanted children—legitimate children. A place at his side as his wife, not just a mistress to warm his bed. But by her admission, her plan to seduce Louvel into proposing had borne little fruit thus far, nor did she expect it to.

  “Have you spoken to him about marriage?” Kate asked her. “Does he know how you feel about him?”

  “I have been too afraid to press him for fear he would cast me out. If that occurs, I would have no livelihood and no place to live. As the spurned lover, I would likely be compelled to move away, to leave my home, my friends.”

  “But even as his chère femme, you should have certain rights,” Kate argued. “What if you were to give him an ultimatum? Demand marriage as payment for continuing with him? Sometimes men only need a little push in the right direction to come to their senses.”

  “If he refuses, then where would I be? I would have nowhere to go. And I have no leverage to sway him.”

  Kate considered Gabrielle thoughtfully, wondering whether to encourage her to risk being left with nothing. It was often the way of the world, where men held all the power and women were but chattel or, at a minimum, impotent supplicants. But if it was only a matter of money…

  “Let me think on it, and I will try to devise a plan. Meanwhile, I am grateful for all the help you have given us since we arrived in St. Georges.”

  They went on to discuss how the search for the shipwreck was proceeding. And the next morning reminded Kate of the benefits of cultivating Louvel’
s good graces. With his permission she went with Gabrielle to the harbor to watch as a half-dozen vessels sailed away. The searchers began upstream of St. Georges and worked their way along the estuary toward the Atlantic, but there had been no sightings thus far. Over and over, their nets and hooks came up empty, with very little to show for their dredging efforts.

  Midweek found Kate pondering more on her progress with Deverill. She thought he might be responding to her unspoken encouragement to be more open with his feelings. Undoubtedly an undercurrent of deeper emotion ran beneath the playful tone of their sexual encounters.

  He never again spoke about the war, nor did she ask, but each time she saw the stark scar on his back beneath his shoulder blade, she felt a powerful urge to touch that old wound, along with an intense anger at whoever had hurt him. And she knew that having to fight his former friends and colleagues had scarred him more deeply than his flesh wound ever had.

  He did talk about his family sometimes. At her instigation and his own, he shared a few fond memories of his younger brother, Griffith, during happier times, and less often, his conflicted feelings about his parents.

  Kate knew she might be indulging in wishful thinking, but she couldn’t help hoping that Deverill’s frozen heart was slowly thawing, making him less resistant to the possibility of love.

  As for passion, he was most definitely broadening her horizons as he’d promised. Two afternoons later, he returned early from the search and took her to explore the Roman bath that Gabrielle had mentioned.

  The ancient buildings, which had been erected in a small cove with a spectacular view of the sea, had long ago fallen into ruin, but there were three fairly large pools made from slabs of stone, fed by a natural hot spring swirling from the depths. The water was fresh and clear and partially shaded by overhanging branches of tall willows that had sprouted between the cracks in the rock.

  It was a perfect place for lovers, Kate thought: the aquamarine of the sea behind them, the waves washing upon the shore below, the surface of the heated pools dappled with sunlight that wove through the sheltering leaves above.