He unbuttoned the two buttons that held his coat closed and shrugged it off over his shoulders.
As was his habit, James wore nothing beneath. He’d long ago learned that onboard ship, a man was soaked more often than not, and the southern climes could become hellacious hot. James had quickly grown tired of changing shirts, so he just did without.
Usually he didn’t wear the coat either, letting his torso bake in the sun. Most of the men did the same. Even Mr. Henderson, his dandy of a lieutenant, stripped down in the heat.
James had left all his shirts aboard the Argonaut, in any case, and on Haven, there wasn’t a spare one that fit him.
Diana’s lips parted, moistened with her breath, as she looked him over. “Now unbutton your trousers.”
James got hard in two seconds flat.
“The tide’s coming in,” he said. “We’ll be cut off from the ladder.”
“We will be all right for now.”
James slanted her a look. “You’d better hope that pistol never gets into my hands.”
“Unbutton them,” Diana repeated, her voice flint hard.
“Yes, ma’am,” James drawled.
Slowly and deliberately he unfastened each of the five gold buttons that held his breeches closed, parted the placket, and pulled his breeches open.
Chapter Ten
James’s cock, hard and happy to be free, tumbled out. Diana’s eyes widened, and her chest rose with her intake of breath.
What had she expected him to do? She’d pointed a pistol at him, for God’s sake. He was much happier baring his backside than taking a pistol ball in the chest.
But then, James had never stood bare before a fire-haired, wild-eyed woman like Diana Worthing. He’d never felt wanting like this in his life.
A wave crashed through the opening with a swirling hiss, tugged at Diana’s skirt, and chilled James’s ankles.
“Darlin’,” James said, teeth clenching. “That water is cold.”
Diana could not even feel the wave. Her heart was beating so hard she could barely breathe, and the pistol was heavy in her sweating hand.
James stood before her, unselfconsciously bare from neck to knees, and breathtakingly beautiful. His broad torso was sun-bronzed, the deep tan of a man who’d spent his life in the sun. His wide shoulders, knotted with muscle, were streaked with scars, and a new scar, red and angry, creased his belly.
The tan stopped at his waistband. Above that line, James’s skin was liquid brown, below it, pale.
A line of dark hair led downward to the join of his legs. From there his arousal rose, long and hard, pointing straight at her.
Diana couldn’t stop staring at it. She remembered some friends giggling to her once about Edward, teasing her that a naval hero’s organ must be as great as a mainmast. Diana could not for the life of her recall what Edward’s had looked like. He’d always come to her in the dark — that is, when he’d bothered to find her bedchamber at all.
This was broad daylight. This was real. And terribly, terribly exciting.
The pistol was not primed — James must know that. But he played along. It was Diana’s game, but James had taken it over.
Diana swallowed the tremor in her throat. “Move your hands to the ledge behind you.”
James slowly lifted his bare arms and stretched them to either side of him, resting his hands on the ledge.
Diana’s heart skipped and bumped. Any other man would have stopped her by now. Lieutenant Jack would have. But she could not imagine playing this game with Lieutenant Jack. Jack was an ordinary Englishman. James was something different.
James waited, his arms outstretched, his breeches sagging to his boots. She wanted to go to him, to lick him from the base of his arousal all the way up his body to his bronzed throat. She would do it. He would let her.
Diana took a step forward, and another. Her hand shook so hard she had to lower the pistol before she dropped it.
She reached him, James all the time watching her. His body was warm when she stepped to it despite the chill in the cave, Diana so close that his heat enfolded her.
She leaned forward, her breath catching, and touched her tongue to the hollow of his throat.
James’s pulse jumped a little under her tongue, but he didn’t move. Diana closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him, warm, male, and savored his taste of salt and sweat. His erection touched her abdomen, probing gently.
Diana lifted her head, their faces an inch apart, James’s gaze sweeping down as he studied her. He bent to her without touching her, and their lips met.
He kissed her with slow passion, one that spoke of Southern nights and sweet magnolia. There was possession in the kiss, yes, but one so persuasive that Diana barely understood she’d surrendered to it. James caressed with his lips, his tongue stroking hers with gentle force.
The pistol twisted, hard, from her grip, the movement breaking their contact.
James came up with the pistol in his hand, and Diana rubbed her aching wrist. He checked the trigger pan, his eyes neutral. “As I thought. Not primed.”
Diana shook her head, her heart pounding furiously.
“Never play with a weapon, love. It’s dangerous.” Before Diana could draw breath to answer, James set the pistol on the ledge then caught her hand and wrapped it around his large, hot cock. “Now, that you can play with all you want.”
Diana stopped, stunned. James lay heavy in her shaking hand, as long and rigid as the pistol. She’d never touched a man’s organ before. Edward had always thrust inside her without preliminary and withdrawn all too soon. Diana had never had the chance to look, to touch, investigate the wonders of a man.
Now she explored James gently, moving her fingers along the firm, smooth length to the tip. “What do I do?” she whispered.
James gripped her shoulder, fingers biting through her thin dress. “You’re doing just fine, sweetheart.”
Diana ran her thumb across the tip, watching in fascination as all the muscles in James’s body s tightened. She skimmed from the tip down to the hot base of him, his wiry hair catching her fingers. Her throat was dry, and she could barely breathe. This was desire, this was real, not a game.
James threaded his fingers through her hair, pulled her head back, and kissed her on the mouth. His lips and tongue moved on hers, echoing the rhythm of what her hand did on his cock. He tasted of heat and salt, and his hips moved a little to thrust himself through her fist.
Another frigid wave rushed into the cave and soaked Diana to the knees. She gasped and lost her grip on James’s lovely cock.
James stepped away from her, fully in control, despite his flushed face and the fact he’d been kissing her savagely. “We need to finish elsewhere. Or wait out the tide on one of these ledges. I imagine you keep these crates snug and dry, but it seems like a cold way to spend a night.”
Her voice shook. “There is another way up.” She pointed to the other side of the cave, where a series of rocks lifted against the wall, leading to a small hole in the top. From there the hole opened out onto a gentle slope at the highest point of the island, but between James and Diana and the cave wall, water poured in, the tide coming fast.
“Then we’d better hurry,” he said.
With economical movements, James buttoned his breeches, snatched up and shrugged on his coat, and pocketed the pistol. He was so casual about it, as though he were used to dressing and undressing for liaisons in cold caves.
Diana plunged through the icy water, now knee-deep, hoping its chill would lower the temperature in her veins. It did not. Her heart hammered, and she was very aware of James striding a pace behind her.
Jessup had hollowed out a series of handholds so the wall could be scaled, but only a very athletic person could climb it. Diana had no doubt that James could follow her up without hesitation.
Diana scrambled up to the first handhold. She was panting already, her fingers weak. She put her booted foot on the next niche, started to pull her
self up, and slipped.
James caught her with his large palm firmly on her backside, and boosted her upward.
Lifted by his strength, Diana reached one of the jutting boulders as he followed her up. Her thighs in form-hugging breeches, revealed by her lifted skirts, were at his eye level, and James made no pretense of not looking his fill.
Quickly Diana grabbed the next rock and scrambled up. James boosted her again. They went on this way, she scrabbling to the next handholds, he pushing her upward.
At last she reached the wide ledge at the top of the cavern, and the hole above. She’d climbed down this way, the quicker route, when Lieutenant Jack had staggered back to the garden and made his heart-stopping announcement that James had continued his exploration.
But Diana had reached bottom cave too late. James had already found the cache, had already been examining it.
Diana’s father said that James might understand. And James had, as far as he’d guessed what the cache meant.
He’d not guessed everything, through, which was why Diana had distracted him with her command to take off his coat. She’d not really believed he’d do it.
Then the heady power of him going along with the game had made her giddy. Would he bare himself all the way for her?
Diana could make no pretense that she did not want him. She’d never met a man like James, who overpowered any intentions she had. She’d never returned any hunger for the men who’d chased her in London, no matter what Edward had believed. Diana had prided herself on her self-control, but after meeting James, she’d realized that those other gentlemen had simply been easy to resist.
James pulled himself up beside her, ducking against the low ceiling. “Up?” he asked over the roar of water below.
Mutely, Diana nodded. Before she could begin her climb, James grasped her hips in strong hands and boosted her through the hole.
The hole to the caves opened out from the side of a rock. Diana slithered through and landed on soft, sun-warmed grass. She rolled out of the way, coming to sit on the downward slope, her cloak tangled around her. Impatiently, she untied the strings and pushed the cloth away.
James scrambled through the hole behind her and landed on his back in the grass.
Diana got to her feet. The sun was warm, but she’d felt warmer in the caves with James’s arms around her. Now she must make her way back to the house, damping down her wanting to take care of her daughter, her father, and Lieutenant Jack.
A strong hand closed about her ankle. Diana lost her footing and tumbled down, to be caught in James’s arms and pulled full length on top of him.
“Oh, no you don’t,” James said. “You start a seduction, you finish it.”
“Seduction?”
“What did you think that was? Tellin’ me to unbutton my trousers.” His callused hands lifted her loose hair, his eyes dark, his smile sinful. “Wicked woman.”
“I wasn’t certain you would do it.”
“I had to. You were holdin’ me at gunpoint.”
Warm fingers found the buttons at the back of Diana’s bodice. The top one was already loosened, and James unbuttoned the second, the third, the fourth.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it feel like I am doing?” he rumbled.
“James . . .”
His eyes were so warm. “I love when you say my name. I like to watch your lips. Say it again.”
“James.”
More buttons loosened. His roughened fingertips drifted down her bare back.
“Say it again.”
“Jam — ”
When she reached the m, lips pressed together, James kissed her.
His lips were shaking, as though he held himself back. Her heart sped. What would he do when he decided not to hold himself back?
Diana could still feel the imprint of his bruising grip in the cave when he’d taken the pistol from her. He had strength. He could do anything he wanted. The thought should frighten her.
It didn’t — it excited her. James traced patterns on her bare back as he kissed her mouth, skimming his fingers to the base of her spine. His fingertips slid beneath the waistband of her breeches to find the crease in her backside. Diana wriggled, letting herself feel pleasure.
When the kiss ended, Diana raised up on her elbows. Her loose bodice tumbled forward, and she didn’t stop it.
Sunshine touched her bared shoulders. Diana pushed her arms free of the sleeves, her heart beating with a wildness she’d not felt in a long time. The bodice crumpled to her waist, and James’s gaze slid to her breasts, admiring them.
James hadn’t fastened his coat, and his sun-bronzed chest, hard with muscle, lay bare to the sun. Diana lowered herself on top of him again, letting out a little shudder as she lay against him skin to skin.
For the first time since she’d met him, James gave her a true smile. No bitterness, no teasing wickedness. The smile softened his severe face, showing her the handsome man who must have turned heads of all the debutantes in Charleston.
His eyes became sinful green slits, as he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close, and kissed her again.
*** *** ***
She tasted like sunshine and fine, rich rum. James could lie here and kiss her forever.
And why not? He wasn’t going anywhere. O’Malley had the Argonaut, and they’d planned to part ways until James had finished what he wanted to finish. He could only play a waiting game, which meant he had time to lie in the sun and kiss Diana Worthing.
James’s heart beat in slow, thick beats. Diana was a woman worth kissing. She was worth touching. Worth having. Worth loving.
He didn’t fight the thought. A beautiful woman had told him a year or so ago that he would find someone — out there, she’d said, looking up at him with her lovely brown eyes. James hadn’t believed her. And then he’d come up against Diana Worthing in that garden in Kent.
James eased a lock of hair back from her face. “Diana,” he whispered, “Darlin’. . .”
She answered with a kiss like molten fire. She needed to kiss, despite her protests of innocence. He tasted that in her, a need that ignited his own.
James moved his hand fully inside the back of her breeches as he explored her mouth. Her buttocks were soft mounds under his palm, her skin warm and slicked with sweat.
He wanted to peel off the breeches and stroke the tight thighs beneath them. Then lick them. And then drink her, thrusting his tongue into the depths of her as he now thrust it into her mouth.
Oh, love, we could burn down this whole island.
A small shadow touched James’s his face, and he looked up into the blue-gray eyes of Diana’s daughter.
Diana gasped, pressing her bare torso against James’s to hide herself. “Isabeau.”
Isabeau regarded her mother solemnly, the wind lifting her loosened hair. Then she spun around and scampered away down the grass. Her little dress swirled about her boy’s breeches, mirrors of her mother’s.
Diana thrust her arms into her sleeves and scrambled to her feet.
James could not get up fast enough. Diana was already running by the time he gained his feet.
“Diana!”
She did not stop, even though her bodice still gaped wide open in back. James sprinted after her. A path at the bottom of the slope led around rocks, curving toward the house, the tiny figure of Isabeau already most of the way along it.
James caught up with Diana and seized her shoulder. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “You go in like that, you’ll embarrass yourself.”
Diana at least stopped long enough to let him button the bodice. James even fastened the top button that had been undone in the first place.
Diana swung on him, her glorious eyes blazing. She balled her fists. “You . . .”
Emitting a scream between clenched teeth, Diana whirled and ran down the path after her daughter.
*** *** ***
By the time James reached the garden again, it was deserted. N
o sign of Isabeau, no sign of Diana or Lieutenant Jack.
The gate to the garden stood ajar, the wind making it creak. Below the garden, the surf ran up to the beach. Wind tossed the wild trees and stirred the succulents, blooming blue and red, on the rocks. The house sat in the middle of this beauty, wings running haphazardly, trees overhanging the roof. The open windows stirred Diana’s lace curtains.
Haven. The name suited the place. Here, they were far from the evils of the world, far from harm, safe. Or so it seemed.
Isabeau catching James kissing her mother dredged up memories of the sunny Ardmore house on the Battery, a house that had once echoed with laughter. James remembered coming across his father kissing his mother in the garden, under the magnolia trees, he feeling superior at eleven years old, because he would never do anything so foolish.
His mother had started up from his father’s lap, blushing furiously while James’s father smiled quietly, unembarrassed. His father had known what it was to be in love.
Now the Charleston house was empty and echoing. James’s parents had died of the typhoid when he’d been fourteen. Paul was dead now too, and Honoria lived alone. She was be thirty-one this year, unmarried, keeping up the house that was too silent. The last time James had visited home, four years ago, the silence of it had driven him away.
Honoria would like it here, he thought suddenly. In this sanctuary. This haven.
She’d even approve of Diana. Lady Worthing, the wife of a knighted naval hero, daughter of a high-placed admiral, would be given high marks in Honoria’s book, even if Diana was English.
Admiral Lockwood emerged from a side door to the house and strolled into the garden. He saw James and gave him a nod but continued around the house on whatever errand he was carrying out.
Isabeau followed her grandfather out of the house. In the short time James had been here, he’d come to almost forget that Isabeau was deaf, that there was anything wrong with her. He couldn’t understand everything she said with her hand signals, but he was learning. She said Joo for James, and Maa for her mother, and a gurgling noise that meant Grandfather.
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