“You couldn’t know…” she offered, not knowing what else to say.
“The battle exploded. We were outgunned, outmanned, outmaneuvered. Shells started exploding all around us, tearing up the hull, setting the sails aflame. I had a good crew, Devon, good men. But there was so much chaos, so much smoke and fire and screaming. Sharpe gave us no time to surrender, no time to do anything. Within minutes, the decks were so slick I thought we were taking on water.”
Devon summoned her voice to ask, “Were you?”
He shook his head. “The deck was running with the blood of the wounded. We couldn’t stop to take them below…” His voice faded away. He stared at her for a moment, then forced himself to continue. “A cannon broke loose, and I heard it rumbling behind me, but by the time I turned it was too late. I was pinned between the gun and deck rail and I couldn’t move. That was when I saw Gideon.”
Cole paused, the pain in his eyes so intense, Devon could hardly bear it. “He hadn’t listened to me,” he continued. “He hadn’t gone below, like I’d ordered him. Instead he’d stayed on deck and was working with the forward gun crew. I screamed at him to go below, to get down, out of the way, but he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t listen. After all those years that I’d encouraged him to be wild, reckless, to disobey, it had never occurred that he wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Cole…”
“I couldn’t move, I couldn’t get to him. God, if only I could have moved… I heard a shell shrieking toward them, but there was nothing I could do. The shot exploded, killing all of them instantly. Except Gideon. Gideon didn’t die right away. The impact blew his arms off at the shoulders, knocked him flat.”
Devon closed her eyes, feeling as though all the air had just been knocked from her chest. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Cole continued as if he’d forgotten she was there, talking in a voice that had gone absolutely flat, toneless.
“Gideon tried to get up, but he couldn’t. He kept slipping in all the blood. He kept slipping and falling. I don’t know if he knew…. if he knew…” Cole stopped, his fists clenched at his sides, and drew in a ragged breath. “When he saw me, he started screaming, crying for me to help him, but I couldn’t. I was pinned behind that damned gun. Sharpe kept firing and firing, he wouldn’t let up. Finally a shell hit hard enough to jar the hull and shake the cannon free. But by then it was too late. Gideon bled to death in front of me, begging for my help.”
Devon was trembling, aching inside. She’d wanted to know, and now she did. Now she knew why Cole had treated her with such burning contempt back at Fort Monroe. Now she understood his harsh words, his painful silences, and why the nightmares never went away. After what he’d been through, how much he must have hated her, thinking she was Jonas Sharpe’s agent. And yet he’d risked his life to save hers. He’d actually listened to her, when no one else would. Despite everything, he was still trying to do what was right, what was honorable.
She leaned forward, willing to trade her soul at that moment for the words that would take his pain away. She laid her hand gently on his leg and said, “Cole, it wasn’t your fault. Just like Emmett dying wasn’t General Brader’s fault. It’s the war…” Her words dropped like stones, with no impact whatsoever. She should have known as much, she thought, and immediately changed her tack. “Tell me something about Gideon.”
He turned toward her, his face still haunted with pain. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything. As long as it has nothing to do with the war or the battle. Tell me something that only you would know.”
Cole shook his head, unable to think. He felt as though his skin had been peeled back, leaving every nerve raw and exposed. The shock of Emmett’s death had brought back all the feelings he’d been trying so hard to bury. All the shame, all the guilt, all the sorrow and impotent fury… there was no place to put it, no way to control it. He couldn’t keep shoving it down inside him, but letting it out, talking about it, hadn’t solved anything either.
“Please, Cole,” Devon said. “Tell me something about Gideon.”
He knew what she was trying to do, but it wouldn’t work. He couldn’t let go of the anger and regret long enough to remember anything else. But because she looked so upset, so desperate to help, he struggled to find something to tell her. “He cheated at cards,” he said at last, the thought striking him like a bolt from the blue sky.
She looked startled, then visible relief washed through her expressive eyes. “He cheated at cards?” she repeated.
Cole nodded, grasping the memory tightly in his mind, as though it might slip away. “He didn’t call it cheating, of course. He referred to it as card tricks.” He paused, shaking his head. “He would have given you and Uncle Monty a run for your money.”
She smiled. “Tell me something else about him.”
Cole thought again. Bits and pieces of memories washed over him, fragments of the past that were still painful to look at, but for the first time, it was a pain he could manage. “Gideon loved the sea,” he said at last. “He and I were alike in that regard as well. From the first time I took him with me on one of my voyages, when he was still a boy. He loved everything about it: the smell of salt air, the rolling pitch of the deck, the foreign ports…”
With her encouragement, Cole began to talk. Hesitant initially, then with greater ease. He regaled her with stories of the sea, the details of the trips he and Gideon had taken. When he finished, he saw that the stars had shifted overhead. He looked at her in astonishment, amazed at how long he’d spoken.
“Those are the things you have to remember, Cole,” she said softly. “When you think of Gideon, remember why you loved him, and he’ll always be with you. If you don’t, you’ll never be able to let the pain go, and you’ll lose him forever.”
He stared at her in sudden understanding. “Is that what you do, Devon?”
She nodded.
As Cole considered her turbulent past, a feeling of aching tenderness exploded in his chest. “Will you share a few with me?”
Devon drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin atop her knees. “I remember the time my father came home from one of his trips,” she began, “and he brought Billy a pair of long pants as a gift. Billy was so proud of his grownup pants. It was literally weeks before my mother and I could convince him to take them off long enough for us to wash them.” She paused, smiling softly. “Are all boys so wild about their first pair of grown-up pants?”
“Absolutely,” Cole averred. “Though I must confess that I didn’t get my first pair of grown-up pants until I was nearly thirteen.”
“Thirteen?!” she gasped, choking back a giggle.
“Go ahead, laugh,” he said. “I’ve already spent three of the most wretched years of my life defending my honor in the schoolyard because I didn’t have those blasted pants. And now I can see that I’ve completely discredited whatever dashing image you might have had of me.”
“Completely,” she agreed at once. Her eyes danced with merry amusement, two captivating dimples framed her mouth.
“If you’re through laughing at my expense,” he teased, “I’d like to hear something else.”
She tilted her head to one side, thinking. When she spoke, her voice was rich, warmed by her memories. “I remember the spring my mother and I were planting flowers and we found a bird’s nest with baby robins in it. I remember Uncle Monty sitting by my bed and reading me fairy tales one time when I was ill, even though I was far too old for them. I remember how delicious it tastes to catch the very first snowflake on your tongue in winter, and how lovely the sun feels in the spring.”
He matched her sentimental smile. “What else do you remember?”
Devon stared at him, then said with total solemnity, “I’ll remember you, Cole McRae.”
Cole’s heart slammed against his chest. Their eyes locked as the quiet stillness that surrounded them seemed to pulse, as if the night itself had suddenly come to life. He moved towa
rd her, closing what little space there was between them as he reached out and lightly brushed her cheek. Pain and regret knifed through him. “It would be better if you didn’t.”
Devon ignored that. “Will you remember me?”
He stared at her for a never-ending second. “Always,” he whispered roughly.
She lifted her hand, catching his fingers in her own. “Are we going to make love, Cole?”
He drew in a sharp breath, his entire frame suddenly racked with tension. She asked the question without any artifice or pretension, but merely the forthright candor and quiet courage that he’d come to expect from her. It was a simple acknowledgment of what they both knew: they’d been drifting toward this moment for days, carried toward each other as irreversibly as a river empties into the sea.
But it was wrong, and Cole knew it. Devon deserved a hell of a lot more than what he had to give her. She deserved a home, a family, security—he couldn’t promise her any of that. Not now. All he would be doing was taking from her. Taking her warmth, her strength, her passion, and her virginity. Giving her nothing in return.
But even as he played out the argument in his mind, the delicate scent of her skin drifted toward him, like a gentle, moonlit caress. Her eyes glowed as though lit by an inner fire. Her lips were slightly parted, ready for his kiss. She waited in silence, watching him, her expression one of tender vulnerability.
Devon might be savvy with regard to cons and crimes, but she was absolutely sheltered when it came to experience with men. He’d felt that in her kiss, in her passionate, unrestrained embrace. She was too trusting, too giving. Naive and untutored in the ways of making love. As a rule, he preferred sophisticated women who understood the rules of the game, who expected no emotional attachment. Women who knew the difference between love and lust. Until now, that had always suited him. But never before had he experienced the driving, aching need that Devon Blake aroused in him.
In that instant, Cole knew exactly what he should do: ride until he found an icy creek and plunge himself in headfirst, staying there all night if need be, until he cooled his ardor and came to his senses. Explain to her—gently but firmly—all the reasons why they shouldn’t become lovers. Take her to Washington and find her a husband who could give her everything she’d ever dreamed of. But he wasn’t going to do that; despite the fact that he knew better, that his conscience was screaming at him to stop, not to take advantage of her warmth and innocence, he wasn’t going to do that.
Instead, bastard that he was, he was going to seduce her.
Cole moved ever so gently, easing her down on their blanket as he stretched out next to her. He propped himself up on one elbow, studying her face. Brushing a strand of dark hair from her eyes, he asked, “What do you know of making love?”
Not knowing how to interpret his question, Devon could only respond with the truth. “Not much,” she admitted. “But I do know how it’s done.”
Cole quirked a brow. “Do you?”
She nodded as a delicate pink tint infused her cheeks. “Sort of a cross between kissing and dancing; only private, and much more embarrassing.”
A lazy grin spread across Cole’s face. “Much more enjoyable,” he amended softly, leaning down to brash a light kiss at the base of her throat. “Much more satisfying.” His kisses moved over her collarbone, sending a shiver racing down her spine, “Much more intense.” He wrapped his arm beneath her waist and pulled her tightly to him, capturing her mouth with his.
Stormy desire shot through her as his kiss robbed her of all breath and thought. Devon responded purely on instinct, her body locked beneath his as they established a rhythm that mimicked the heat and passion of their kiss. Cole traced his hands over her body, exploring her every curve, as a hot, quivering yearning spread through her limbs. She arched her hips and pressed herself tightly against, him, aching for more.
Cole pulled back, his eyes dark with passion. “Let me see you, Devon,” he murmured huskily, his breath softly fanning her neck. She leveraged herself up to a sitting position and with trembling hands slowly released the buttons of her gown. He reached up to help her, rolling it off her shoulders and over her hips until it lay wadded beside them like a limp rag. Her boots came next, leaving her in her stockings and undergarments. She reached for the delicate blue ribbons that held her chemise in place.
His hands came up immediately, covering hers. As his eyes met hers, she saw a question in their depths, and knew he was asking her to let him do it. She brought down her hands in silent answer. But instead of reaching for her chemise, he first removed the pins that held up her hair, letting it cascade down her back and over her shoulders. He brushed the long, dark, silky strands away from her face, touching her with an almost reverent tenderness.
After a moment, his hands returned to her chemise. Nervous tension flooded through her, making her body tremble once again in anticipation of his touch. With infinite care, he undid each ribbon, then parted the material and let it fall away. She heard his subtle intake of breath, then he reached for her, gently caressing her skin, brushing her body with soft kisses as he slowly worked her clothing free. Her undergarments and stockings soon joined her gown, tossed carelessly in a pile near their feet. Cole pulled back and knelt above her, absolutely still as his burning, tawny-gold gaze moved silently over her delicate form.
Insecurities Devon never knew she had suddenly rose to greet her. Her small size had always been an advantage before, for it made her look younger when she and Uncle Monty were working a con. But she wondered now if Cole like the way she looked. Or if he preferred women with lusher hips and fuller breasts. When he didn’t say anything, only continued to stare at her, she reached for her dress, anxious to cover herself.
“Please, Devon,” Cole whispered hoarsely, stopping her. “You’re so beautiful, I just need to look at you for a moment. Is that all right?”
The tension slowly drained out of her. “I’m not too—”
“You’re perfect,” he answered firmly.
Thrilled and embarrassed by the compliment, she reached for him, running her hands beneath his shirt. “Now can I see you?” It took far less time to remove his clothing than hers. Within mere seconds, Cole had torn off his shirt and pants and flung away his boots. He knelt above her in naked, golden, all-male splendor, giving her a full and complete view of what she’d only seen hints of before. Every inch of his body was corded, sinewy muscle, raw masculine beauty. Her gaze traveled down to the most intimate part of him, then quickly moved away as courage deserted her.
Devon wasn’t comfortable in unfamiliar situations, and this was utterly foreign. Cole was so big, so strong; such a contrast to herself in so many ways. Years of instinct to protect herself, to shield herself from the unknown, suddenly took root. He must have seen it in her eyes, for he went completely still, something that looked akin to pain flashing across his face. “Devon, if you’ve changed your mind—”
“No,” she said immediately, thinking how green she must look to him,, how naive and unsophisticated. She reached out for him, then hesitated, suddenly lost. She lifted her gaze to his, searching his eyes. “Is it all right if I touch you?”
“Yes,” he said, his breath coming out in a rush. Devon realized then how still he was holding himself, how badly he wanted her to do just that. She placed her hands on his shoulders and felt his muscles leap beneath her palms in response. His reaction not only amazed her but gave her a quiet sense of power, knowing that her touch could affect him the way his affected her. She moved slowly, taking her time in exploring his rugged male physique. Familiarizing herself with the hot, rough velvet feel of his skin and the clean, masculine scent of his body. She traced the broad expanse of his chest, weaving her fingers through the coarse, spongy blond hair she found there, then let her palms drift downward, over the flat, rippled muscles that lined his stomach. She drew her hands over his lean hips, the firm curve of his buttocks, and his rock-solid thighs, never losing contact with his s
kin, turning her aimless exploration of his body into one long, lingering caress.
Cole remained rigidly still, letting her explore his body,: sensing instinctively that this was what she needed to do. Her confidence slowly returned. Touching him gave Devon the time she needed to accept and adjust to the fact that this was still Cole, the Cole she’d always felt so safe with, and the simple fact that they were naked wouldn’t change that. As her fear lessened, her curiosity returned. She glanced down at him and asked, “Can I touch you…there?”
A muscle leaped in his jaw as he nodded tightly.
Her hand moved down, and her fingers lightly traced his erection. The skin felt softer than the rest of him, but every bit as hard and rigid. As she grasped him delicately in her hand, she saw a shudder run through him. “Devon, please—” he rasped out.
She looked up at him, then jerked her hand back, alarmed by the expression of pure agony on his face. “Did I break it?”
He made a sound that was part laughter, part groan. “No, you didn’t… I love the way you touch me. But I need time, don’t want to rush…” Realizing he was stammering, he wrapped his arm around her waist and lowered her to the blanket. “Let me love you, Devon.”
His words found their way straight to her heart, breaking through all her defenses, crashing through the barriers she’d hidden behind for so long. Leaving her more open, more vulnerable than she’d ever been in her life.
Cole pulled her instantly back into his embrace. His hands moved wildly over her body, as if desperate to make up for the time when he hadn’t allowed himself to touch her. He traced the rounded curve of her buttocks, the silky smoothness of her thighs, the gentle curve of her hips, and the tiny span of her waist. He cupped her breasts, brushing his palms over her nipples in a light, teasing touch until they grew hard and firm beneath his hand. Devon arched her back, her breasts straining against his palms as the motion grew rougher, faster. He gently squeezed her nipples between his fingers, then leaned forward, bringing a firm, rosy peak into his mouth.
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