Dragon Tamer

by Jane Bonander

  “No,” he said. “Only for me. We are the only two people in the world.” And it was so, their world had shrunk to the size of Middle Brewster Island.

  “Ah, yes. Here we are, Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.” Her voice was languid.

  “And until the snake tempts us, we will wear not even a fig leaf,” he teased.

  She laughed again, then took his hand and drew it lower, over the waistband of her drawers. “Untie them, Dante.”

  He pulled the ribbons loose and slowly, slowly moved his fingers inside, onto the soft, velvety warmth of her bare stomach.

  “Oh, my.” She drew the words out on a long, desirous sigh.

  “You feel like velvet, Ellie,” he said.

  “Really?” came her shaky reply.

  “Oh, yes.” The tips of his fingers touched her mons, and the hair that covered her was thick and soft. His middle finger dipped lower, just to her warm, welcome opening. She gasped again, then moved her legs apart and expelled a quiet moan.

  “Patience, Ellie,” he instructed, skirting the outsides of her nether lips, purposely avoiding the inner labia that were, he had no doubt, beginning to swell.

  He stroked the insides of her trembling thighs, evading what she wanted him to touch, drawing out her desire.

  “When are you going to touch it, damn you!”

  “I said, patience,” he repeated.

  She turned onto her back and spread her legs. “Oh, please,” she pleaded, her voice thick with desire.

  Dante slowly drove his middle finger into her heat, her warmth. “Ah, Ellie,” he murmured against her ear. “You’re so wet.”

  She was breathing erratically. “That…that’s a good thing, right?”

  He chuckled. “That’s a very good thing.” His finger slid over her slick, slippery vaginal opening, dipping inside for more of her sweet, succulent juice. Then he touched her clitoris, stroking it, moving below, moving above. It was thick and hard, beautifully aroused.

  “Oh,” she groaned sweetly, “it feels so…so…so good.” The last word was a moan.

  “Tell me more, Ellie,” he urged, continuing to stroke the wet, swollen center of her.

  “Oh, God, it’s…it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.” Each word was accentuated with a hint of awe and arousal. “I can’t explain—”

  Suddenly she stiffened and her voice rose in impatient, lusty screams, over and over, louder, higher into the trees. She gasped for breath, shaking, sobbing, laughing, until she finally collapsed into his arms.

  Dante held her, deeply moved. This was real. There had been no artifice in her response. Never before had a woman come crashing to orgasm for him like this. He kissed her wet cheeks and stroked her back, hugging her tightly against him.

  He continued to hold her, listening as her breathing slowly stabilized, not knowing what to say.

  She said it for him. “Oh, Dante. That was a symphony.” In less than a minute, she was asleep.

  When morning came, Dante was certain he hadn’t slept at all.

  Eleanor woke up alone. She sat up quickly at first, then as she remembered the night before, her movements slowed.

  How amazing it had been! Of course she could survive the rest of her life without knowing that ecstasy again, but did she want to? Not every man considered a woman’s pleasure, of that much she was certain.

  Would Sylvester?

  She groaned and pressed her face against her knees. Why was she even thinking about him? Although he was a nice man, he paled so next to a man like Dante. And now that she had experienced such absolute joy, she knew with a startling certainty that she could never settle for anything less.

  Which meant, she realized, as she stood up, that she would probably spend the rest of her days alone.

  She dressed, knowing that if she met someone with whom she could be as comfortable as she was with Dante, it might happen. Someone with whom she could speak her mind, like she did with Dante. A man who wouldn’t be appalled by her shocking questions and scandalous requests, like Dante.

  In other words, she thought with a mingling of glumness and irony, Dante. And that was about as likely as finding tits on a boar.

  She went in search of him, the fog appearing to have lifted some during the night. Unlike the freshwater marsh where they had gotten fresh drinking water, which was surrounded by bramble and cattails, the flora on this part of the island was sand and rock.

  The shrill, scolding cries of the seagulls that nested on the eastern shore could be heard through the mists. Yesterday afternoon they had trudged to the southeast corner of the island to look for driftwood and discovered a rookery of blue night crown herons.

  And, she thought with a shudder, there were the rats that scurried along the shoreline, feeding on anything that moved—or didn’t.

  There wasn’t much to see on Middle Brewster, and it was just as well that she couldn’t see beyond it to the distant Boston Harbor, for it would only serve to remind her of the fix she was in.

  No one knew where she was. That suddenly alarmed her. She had not planned on being gone more than a few hours, and she hadn’t felt her destination was anyone’s business but her own.

  She picked up driftwood as she walked toward the shore where they had hit the jagged rocks, knowing Dante would be there repairing the boat. Hopefully, once the fog lifted, they could be on their way.

  Odd, though, how idyllic it was in this place. It was as if they were in a world of their own and outside forces didn’t exist.

  But they did. And Eleanor wondered what kind of hell there would be to pay when she returned to face them.

  She came upon Dante, who had pulled the boat from the water and was working on the damaged hull. He did, indeed, look like the pirate Lydia imagined him to be, for he had three days growth to his beard, and his hair was pulled back from his face and tied with a leather thong.

  There was an awakening in her when she looked at him. This frightened her. “Dante?”

  He looked up from his labors. “What is it?”

  “About last night—”

  “Eleanor, forget it.”

  “I can’t,” she admitted. “And…and last night you called me Ellie.”

  He continued to work without looking up. “What’s your question?”

  That unwanted, unsummoned inner awakening puzzled her. “If you say that a man is capable of arousal with a woman even if he doesn’t love her, is the same true for a woman?”

  He fitted a piece of driftwood over a small hole, placed a nail over it, then reached for his hammer. “I don’t know. I suppose some women can be aroused by a man they don’t love, but I think a woman has to have more invested in the relationship.”

  Eleanor mulled over his words and frowned. From his point of view, she was either capable of being aroused by any man, or she was falling in love with Dante. Neither prospect sat well with her.

  She had never been aroused before, and she surely wasn’t falling in love with Dante. Or was she? No. That was ridiculous. And besides, it would lead to naught even if it were true.

  “In other words,” she said, carefully sidestepping her inner turmoil, “a man thinks with his penis and a woman thinks with her heart, and that, in turn, relays messages to her erogenous zones.”

  He stopped working, threw his head back, and laughed. “Eleanor, you never cease to surprise me. I couldn’t have said it better myself, although I might have said it a bit more plainly.”

  Despite his compliment, Eleanor was miserable. Was she beginning to feel something for him, and if she was, did she even want to pursue it just to make sure?

  “Dante?”

  “Now what?” he asked, appearing a bit impatient.

  She ignored it. “I want you to kiss me.” She cleared her throat.

  He stared at her, skeptical. “Why?”

  “I’m just experimenting,” she explained with a shrug, not really sure what she was doing.

  He gave her a look of disbelief.

&nbs
p; “All right, then, don’t.” Feeling piqued, irritated, and just a little bit hurt, she turned and walked quickly toward the camp. Why was he so reticent?

  He caught up with her. “Eleanor—”

  “It isn’t as if I’m asking you to bed me, for heaven’s sake. You’ve dipped your wayward oar into many an illicit water, and it hasn’t caused you to so much as blink. All I’ve asked for is one little kiss.”

  He continued to stare at her but said nothing.

  She was defiant. “What!”

  A wealth of emotions crossed his face, but finally he said, “The boat’s ready.”

  A surge of mingled feelings jolted her. “We can leave? What about the fog?”

  “There’s a southwesterly wind blowing it away from the coast. By the time we gather what we need to take back with us, it will be clear enough to set sail.”

  Fifteen

  Even though, at her request, Dante had left Eleanor at the corner of Pinckney and Belknap, it wouldn’t have mattered where it had been, for news of their arrival beat her home.

  Willa hung in the entryway like a vampire bat on the attack. “Well, I don’t believe it. I simply do not believe it.”

  With a weary sigh, Eleanor closed the door behind her, noting that Willa’s voice held anger and impatience, but no concern or relief that Eleanor had returned.

  “Thank you, Willa. I’m just fine,” she answered lightly. “Your concern is very much appreciated.” She took the stairs to the second floor, Willa close on her heels.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Willa scolded. “You’ll not turn this entire fiasco around and make me the guilty one. First of all,” she began, “we were worried sick about you. No word, nothing. Why, you could have been lying dead somewhere, for all we knew.”

  Realizing that she had to make some concessions, Eleanor reached the second floor landing then turned to face her sister-in-law. “It was my fault, I grant you that. I thought I’d be gone for only a few hours, and since an explanation was, at best, complicated and misleading. I chose to say nothing at all.”

  “Just like you,” Willa admonished. “Only thinking of yourself.”

  “Yes, that’s me,” Eleanor said, so fatigued she thought she might collapse, “selfish to the core.”

  “Don’t you get sarcastic with me,” Willa threatened. “Perhaps you didn’t deem it necessary to tell Calvin or me where you were going, but you might have had some concern about Lydia.”

  That stopped her cold. “Why? What’s happened?”

  “Well…well, nothing,” Willa admitted. “But she almost got sick she was so worried about you.”

  Eleanor trudged up the third floor staircase, anxious to get out of her clothes, bathe, and crawl into bed. “I’m sorry about that, truly I am. It was never my intention to hurt or alarm anyone. We didn’t plan on running into a fog bank.”

  Willa was right behind her. “So, it’s true that you were with Dante Templeton?” Disbelief rang in her voice.

  “Yes, it’s true.”

  Willa grabbed Eleanor’s skirt, stopping her. “But…why?”

  Too tired to explain, she merely said, “Because he asked me.”

  “Have you no concept as to what this has done to your reputation? You’ve compromised yourself with a man who will never have you,” she wailed.

  “It was not my intention to be compromised, Willa; it was a twist of fate that no one could have predicted.” She massaged her neck. “This is all just a whirlwind in a washtub. It will blow over and be forgotten.”

  “Oh, that’s what you think,” Willa warned. “This is not just gossip, missy, this is a scandal.”

  Eleanor paused and slanted her sister-in-law a puzzled look. “Scandal?”

  “You have brought shame and dishonor to this family,” she announced. “You should have told him no.”

  “Maybe I should have, but I didn’t. It’s too late now, so what’s the point of rehashing it?” She was being harder on Willa than the woman deserved, but oh, she was so tired…and her bed beckoned.

  “And what do you think this will do to poor Sylvester?”

  Ah, yes. Now came the crux of the matter. “Not that it matters one way or the other, but I would hope he wouldn’t believe idle gossip.”

  “Gossip nothing! It’s fact. You were marooned on an island, alone with a well-known womanizer, who may or may not have compromised you—”

  “Willa,” Eleanor warned.

  “All right, he probably didn’t. After all, you aren’t exactly the Marguerite Banning type, but that’s beside the point. You were betrothed.”

  Leave it to Willa to remind her that she wasn’t the type of woman men pursued, Eleanor thought. “I wasn’t betrothed.”

  “But…but Sylvester would have asked you. Now, he certainly won’t.” She choked back a sob. “How selfish and inconsiderate of you to do this to us. You owe us. I…Calvin and I were hoping this union would finally get us out of financial trouble. That’s the least you could have done after all we’ve done for you.”

  From Willa’s point of view, Eleanor would forever be in her debt. “Yes, you took me in when—”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Willa interrupted. “By marrying Sylvester, you could have repaid the dowry we gave Amos when he agreed to marry you.”

  As Eleanor’s ears perked up, her stomach dropped. “Dowry?”

  Willa looked like she wanted to take the words back.

  “What dowry?” Eleanor asked, her insides fluttering nervously.

  Willa’s shoulders slumped. “Calvin promised Amos five thousand dollars if he would marry you.”

  “But…why?”

  “Because we heard that he was looking for a young wife, and you were here with no beaux,” Willa almost whined.

  “But why Amos?”

  Willa tried to laugh. “Well, there certainly weren’t any other suitors banging down the door.”

  Eleanor slumped onto the bed, stunned. For the first time in a very long while, she felt the despicable and ruinous pinch of self-pity. How was she ever to find a man who would love her if even an old, cranky, salty, miserable sea captain couldn’t? If it weren’t so pathetic, it might be funny. She laughed, a soft sound that wasn’t filled with much mirth.

  “And just what’s so funny?”

  “Well, I guess I’m not really surprised.” She knew he hadn’t loved her. Unlike other whaling widows who got letters from their men when they were at sea, Eleanor rarely heard from Amos. Her biggest question was, what did he do with all that money, plus the loan against his shares in the whaler, and why had he needed it?

  Willa paced inside the room. “This isn’t over,” she threatened. “There is much, much more for you to deal with.”

  Eleanor had removed her dress, shoes, and stockings and crawled into bed, too tired to request a bath. “I promise I’ll deal with anything you want, Willa. Later.” Now, she just wanted to sleep. To escape. To postpone the inevitable, whatever that might be.

  Later that evening, while sitting in a bath that Butterfly had prepared for her, Eleanor pondered her situation. Perhaps she should never have accepted Dante’s offer to go sailing, but she had, and there was nothing she could do to change that. And no doubt every tongue in Boston wagged over the story of her and Dante being stranded alone together for two nights and three days.

  Personally, she didn’t care what people thought. Despite the truth, they would come to their own conclusions, embellish them, and brand her a harlot and Dante a rogue. Which, of course, she never would be, and he already was. So, as far as she could see, she was the only one who would come out of this worse off than she was before.

  Lydia would still love her, the nuns and the children at the orphanage would hopefully want her back, and she had her piano students. She wasn’t destitute.

  She was wrapping a towel around her washed hair when the door squeaked open. “Aunt Ellie?”

  Ellie. Dante had called her Ellie. Had that been just yesterday? Lord, it already see
med like a lifetime ago. Eleanor turned and smiled. “Come in, Lydia.”

  Lydia’s face was creased with worry. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, dear. Come here and let me look at you.”

  Lydia stepped to the side of the tub, wearing a delicately flowered cotton nightgown, her cinnamon hair flowing in waves down her back. “I was so worried, Aunt Ellie.”

  Eleanor stroked her cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I know, darling. I didn’t mean to worry anyone, and I wouldn’t worry you for anything in the world. I’m so sorry.”

  Lydia’s eyes were grave. “Is it true what they said?”

  “What did they say?”

  “That…that you and the pirate went away together, and that he brought you back because he didn’t want you anymore?”

  She suppressed her surprise, and her misery. “What do you think, honey?”

  Lydia lowered her gaze. “I don’t know. I don’t want to believe it. I like the pirate, and I don’t think he would do that to you.”

  Eleanor’s heart filled with warmth. “The truth is, he invited me to go sailing, but we ran into lots of fog. The boat hit some rocks, and we were stranded on Middle Brewster Island until the fog lifted and he could fix the boat.” She tweaked Lydia’s chin. “I had no intentions of being gone more than a few hours.”

  Lydia didn’t meet her gaze. “Mama and Papa are awfully upset. They say that now Mr. Conway won’t marry you.”

  “I don’t think I would have married him even if he’d asked me, Lydia.”

  Tears welled in Lydia’s lovely big eyes. “But where will you go?”

  A tiny bite of concern, if not alarm, rose within her. “Where will I go?”

  Lydia nodded, swiping at her tears.

  Just then, the door swung open and Willa stepped ceremoniously into the room. “Lydia, it’s past your bedtime. Crawl in, and I’ll kiss you goodnight after I’ve had a word with Eleanor.”

  Lydia gave Eleanor a forlorn look, then did as she was told. Eleanor didn’t remember ever seeing her niece quite so docile and spiritless.

  She rose from the tub, draped a towel around her, and waited for Willa to begin. It didn’t take long.