And the surprisingly soft curve of his lower lip.
There was no sound on the warm night air but his unsteady breathing and the thrumming of her heartbeat.
Then all at once, she was leaning into him, his hands were sliding into her hair, and they kissed, right there on the open deck, under the sails and the stars. His arms came around her and pulled her in close.
And suddenly Ashiana could no longer remember the meaning of forbidden.
With a sigh of longing, she parted her lips beneath his and they lost themselves in the kiss, sinking back against the quarterdeck wall. He tasted of spices and fire, and she melted into his embrace as if it were the most natural place in the world for her to be. His hold on her tightened until her breasts flattened against the solid muscles of his chest. Moaning, she grasped the collar of his shirt at the nape of his neck, slid her other arm around his steely ribs, and held on to him for dear life.
Because it felt as if the Valor had shifted beneath her, as if Saxon was all that was steady and solid in the endless sea, his broad hands sure and strong on her back. His kiss became hot, urgent, his tongue exploring her mouth, thrusting along hers. Restless tremors fluttered to life low in her belly. Summer’s heat thickened the air, but she was shivering, vividly aware of the strength of his arms around her, the masculine power in his hard, muscular body, the intensity of the hunger in his kisses. The night sky and glassy sea seemed to be spinning out of place.
By the time he lifted his mouth from hers, they were both breathing hard. He brushed kisses over her cheek, her neck, then he found that exquisitely sensitive spot where her jaw curved into her throat.
She tilted her head back with a breathless moan, whispering his name, “Saxon.” Then three more words tumbled from her lips in an aching, husky plea. “Do not stop.”
Groaning, he lowered her down onto the pillows and blankets, dishes clattering as he knocked them out of the way. He braced himself over her, his weight balanced on his arms, and his mouth claimed hers again. Their tongues met and dueled and danced, their kisses becoming slower, deeper.
Her senses came vibrantly to life with awareness of him—the roughness of his beard against her jaw, the surprising silkiness of his hair when she ran her fingers through it, the hard curves of his shoulders and his arms beneath her hands. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the same tension that swept through her.
She tried desperately to remember all the reasons why she should not—must not—do this. There were so many reasons. Important reasons. But the emotions that had ignited in her heart burned all those objections to cinders.
In that moment, it felt as if she was exactly where she belonged.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him closer. Gave herself over to the heat of the summer night, the scent of the sea, the fiery taste of his kisses. She was still covered by the overly large cape, but he unfastened the chain at her throat and unwrapped her from the dark fabric. She was wearing nothing but his borrowed shirt underneath.
His gaze traced over her, burning. She felt her nipples draw to tight buds, just from the way he was looking at her. The sensation made her breath catch. He eased himself down beside her, balancing on one forearm. His other hand skimmed over her ribcage, stopping just below her breast. His palm felt hot through the thin cotton of the shirt.
In the glow of the lantern, his silver eyes were afire. He was still fully dressed, but she could feel the hard evidence of his arousal pressing against her hip. He lowered his cheek to hers, his long hair tickling her face, his voice strained.
“Vaada kartha hun. I promise,” he whispered in her ear. “I promise, meree mahila veer, you will be safe with me. Always.”
She did not know which touched her heart more—his promise or the name he called her, my daring lady.
When he lifted his head, looking into her eyes, awaiting her answer, she knew she was already lost. She could not fight what she felt for this golden-haired scoundrel. The feeling was too powerful, more powerful than any emotion she had experienced in her life. She needed him, needed this…to be closer to him in a way that was utterly new to her, and so intense that she ached with it.
She reached up to cup his face in her hands, tangling her fingers in his hair. This was what she wanted—this strong, protective, impossibly gentle man.
He was what she wanted.
She lifted her mouth to his and whispered her assent against his lips, twice, in Hindi and in English. “Han. Yes.”
With a groan, he claimed her mouth in a deep kiss, pressing her back into the pillow beneath her. He opened the buttons on the shirt she wore, his hand slipping inside to cup her breast. Gasping, she arched into his touch as he caressed the pale curve. His strong, callused fingers felt rough from his work on the ship, yet so astonishingly gentle. His thumb whisked over the sensitive tip and flickers of pleasure raced through her.
Lifting his head, he looked down at her while his fingers played and teased. Then he bent to brush a kiss over the taut peak, his tongue circling her nipple—before he drew her into the wet heat of his mouth. Ashiana bit her lip to stop a sharp cry, grasping handfuls of the blankets underneath her. He shifted his attention to her other breast, tormenting her with his lips and tongue. Lost in the sensations, Ashiana moved helplessly beneath him, aware of a melting warmth between her thighs.
He brushed his cheek against one swollen curve, the masculine stubble of his beard a tantalizing friction against the wet, sensitive tip. Her head tilted back, her lips parting on a moan. Quickly, he unbuttoned her shirt the rest of the way, opening it until she lay naked to his gaze, to his touch, all her feminine secrets bared to him.
To her astonishment, she felt no shame, no shyness. Warmed by the fire in his eyes, she felt…daring and feminine and beautiful.
“Sundar,” he whispered, a muscle flexing in his lean jaw.
“Saxon…” Her voice a husky plea, she pressed her thighs together, trying to soothe the ache there, sensing instinctively that only he could make it better.
A slow smile curved his mouth, as if he knew exactly what she needed. He slid one hand down over the curve of her ribs, her flat belly…lower.
His fingertips touched the intimate, feminine center of her being and her hips lifted off the deck. When he felt how wet she was, his deep sound of pleasure mingled with hers on the humid night air. He began to stroke her, parting the delicate folds, exploring her with the slowest, most seductive caress. Somehow, his touch eased the ache she felt and yet made it more intense at the same time.
The pad of his thumb found the sensitive bud hidden within those petals and just grazed it. Ashiana moaned as unimaginable, icy-hot bolts shimmered through her. He began to rub it in a tight circle and every nerve ending in her body flared to life, making her feel flushed, breathless, aching. Wordless pleas tumbled from her throat.
Then he eased one finger inside her, moving in and out in a deliberate way that sent shocks of pleasure through her. Her blood was pounding through her veins. He slipped another finger in, stretching her gently, stroking deep, his thumb pressing more urgently against that hard pearl. Faster. Waves of sensation cascaded through her until she felt as if she were made entirely of flame.
Suddenly he stopped, drawing a whimper of protest from her lips.
But just as suddenly, her whimper ebbed into a moan when he began to trace a searing path down her body with his mouth, kissing her throat, her breasts, her ribs, moving lower…
Tingling heat radiated like sunstreaks from the play of his lips along her skin. He lingered over the curve of her belly, his tongue teasing her navel—then he kept going lower. Her whole body trembled with a mix of shock and anticipation. Merciful gods, she had read of such things in the kama sutra but had assumed they were…mere fantasy…had never imagined that any man would actually…
The tip of his tongue brushed against that nub that throbbed and ached and her thoughts scattered, her breath flowing out in a long, low moan. He licked her just
lightly at first, then he began to move his tongue in agonizingly slow circles.
“Arey,” she cried in wonder, her hands fisting in the blankets underneath her. Shivers and sparks danced through her entire body. Pleasure didn’t begin to describe the sensation. It was like riding a storm. Like being swept toward the stars on flashes of lightning. Waves of hot rain and swirling winds rushed through her, carrying her toward some height that seemed just beyond reach.
When she was certain she could bear no more, Saxon grasped her hips in both hands, holding her still as he pleasured her with the most intimate of kisses, drawing the swollen bud between his lips and suckling, hard.
All the lightning exploded at once inside her and she cried out, lost in a shattering rush of ecstasy. She soared to the heights of the sky and plummeted down, the sensation fierce and exhilarating. She was falling, falling, certain she would faint from the overwhelming power of it.
She almost thought she had fainted, because by the time she managed to open her eyes, Saxon was stretched out beside her again, his mouth on hers, sharing the musky taste of her own desire.
Groaning, she kissed him back, passionately, her hands tugging at his shirt. Need made her utterly shameless, impatient to be even closer to him. He stripped off the shirt, kicked off his boots and breeches, then shifted position, lowering himself over her, slowly, allowing her to adjust to the weight of his muscled body, the feeling of his naked skin against hers.
Ashiana sighed as his hard form molded to hers, the bristly hair of his chest rasping her skin, every inch of her sensitive from his kisses. He rubbed his arousal against her mound in a way that made her feel singed, branded, burned, melting. That male part of him seemed iron-hard and perhaps a bit too large, like everything else about his powerfully built body. But she felt no fear at the idea of taking him inside her.
On the contrary, she found it unspeakably arousing.
He positioned himself between her thighs and locked his gaze on hers. The intensity blazing in his eyes might have frightened her…except that she knew, just as she knew the stars above shone in the darkness, that she would be safe with him, as he had promised. Always. She wrapped her arms around him.
“Hold tight, meree mahila veer,” he murmured as he nudged the rounded tip inside her, groaning at the touch of her wetness against that sensitive part of him.
She could not help tensing, expecting pain…but she felt only a twinge, followed by an astonishing sensation of sweet pressure and fullness as he pushed forward, so slowly.
He went still, giving her time to catch her breath, then pulled out of her a little way, only to move forward again. He repeated the tantalizing motion, again and again, deeper each time, until at last he sheathed himself to the hilt. Her voice was a husky cry of discovery and joy in the silence as he became part of her in that mysterious, ancient way, his hard body melding with her softness.
He shut his eyes, his features etched with an intense pleasure that seemed on the edge of pain. She lifted her mouth to his, kissing him deeply, reassuring him that he had not hurt her. They were one, embedded and surrounding and part of one another.
And the feeling was not painful, but exquisite.
He buried his face in her hair, breathing hard against her neck as he began moving his hips, thrusting in slow, deep strokes that sent delicious bursts of lightning dancing through her. She felt stretched and filled, astonished and soaring. Tension built from deep inside her with every arc of his body into hers. She closed her eyes and held on to him, her fingers kneading the corded muscles of his back and neck. Fire-tipped wings unfurled and swept her with him through the darkness, toward the light. She moved beneath him, matching his rhythm. Together they strained upward, higher, reaching for heights she had never known existed.
Her heart told her that more than their bodies intertwined there on the tangle of blankets and pillows, more than their gazes, more than their thoughts. Something had ignited and taken fire between them.
They were no longer apart, no longer alone on the deck in the night. They were together, they were one. So perfectly joined, it was as if all the gods in all the heavens above had destined it to be so.
Every stroke filled her with the most delicious sensation of fullness, of being truly complete for perhaps the first time in her life. He moved one hand to cup her bottom, urging her hips up to meet his, taking her deeply. His rhythm became faster, his thrusts gathering power. She cried out in astonishment and arched into him, needing, wanting…she did not know what to name it, only that she would die if the swirling tension inside her did not end.
Then a sudden, blinding flash of ecstasy swept through her, even stronger than the first. She cried out as a dazzling shower of fire burst all at once within her, as if they had ignited a new star. She clung to Saxon, half-afraid she was dying, tumbling through the storm, her body washed by light and heat.
An instant later a groan tore from deep in his chest as he joined her in bliss, thrusting deep, flowing into her, as if his strength, his power had become hers—hers to share, hers to take and give back tenfold.
As the last of the waves ebbed, he sank down over her, pressing her back into the blankets and pillows, surrounding her with his scent and a muskiness that she knew was a blend of them both. Every inch of her body, her entire being, felt extraordinary, heavy and languid and yet light enough to soar to heaven.
Spent, limbs tangled, muscles limp, they lay in each other’s arms, still joined, breathing hard. Tenderly, she stroked his shoulders, his back.
He levered himself up on one elbow, that warm, smoky expression swirling in his eyes. “My daring lady,” he whispered in English, bending his head to brush his mouth over hers, softly. “Meree mahila veer.”
She reached up to caress his stubbled cheek, unable to find any words to reply. What they had just shared went beyond pleasure, beyond any words she knew in any language. When he withdrew from her body, she moaned in protest, not ready for this exquisite moment, this extraordinary night to end.
But then he settled next to her on the blankets, drawing her into his arms. She curled into his chest, still unable to speak, her heart aching. She closed her eyes, fighting a sudden rush of tears.
By all the gods, she wished the two of them could stay here, together. Wished they could sail away on his ship and forget all the rest of the world.
And leave words like duty and enemies far behind.
The wind woke him. Not the faint whisper of air that had scarcely touched the sails all day and night, but a true, powerful wind. Saxon felt it on his face, ruffling his hair, blowing against his bare chest. He opened his eyes, blinking, and saw that the sails were full, all of them—mizzens, mains and foresails.
Perhaps the Hindu gods had reconsidered their grudge against him.
He glanced down at Ashiana, snuggled so trustingly against him. It was still night, the sky lit only by stars and the moon high above. They had held each other for a long time after making love, neither speaking, neither pulling away. They must have drifted asleep.
He felt an unfamiliar ache, like a bowline hitch knotting tight in the middle of his chest. She was so passionate and sensual, as gracious and giving as a goddess come to earth from paradise. And she had given him her innocence—a gift he did not begin to deserve. Not that that had stopped him from accepting it.
She had told him the truth about that, along with everything else: she had been a virgin. The emperor had never taken a fancy to her in all the years she had spent in his harem.
Saxon didn’t understand how that was possible. How could any man resist a woman so desirable, so charming, so extraordinary? She should be with an emperor or a king…not a smuggler. A younger son of a scandalous duke. A man who had accused her of being a criminal, threatened her and held her prisoner.
Saxon shook his head in wonder. How could she be so forgiving? And how could she give him a gift so priceless? The fact that she had never been with any man but him filled him with a ridiculous amount
of male pride and possessiveness.
She was right, he thought with a grin: men were a hopelessly primitive, wicked lot.
Reluctantly, he woke her with a kiss. “The wind is up,” he said gently. “I need to summon the next watch.”
She murmured a sleepy protest, reaching for him when he moved away from her side. He dressed quickly, then wrapped her in the shirt and cape she had borrowed before lifting her in his arms. He carried her below to his cabin and placed her in his bed, tucking the covers around her.
Returning above, he cleared away the evidence of their evening together before he went down to the crew berths and fetched the men assigned to the midnight watch.
Soon the Valor was picking up speed under the helmsman’s steady hand. Saxon stood beside him, taking his usual place on the quarterdeck. He knew he should stay and monitor the ship’s progress, but he felt…off-balance. All he could think about was that there were still a few hours of darkness left.
And he didn’t want to spend them here.
He gave the men orders to keep the ship on course through the night, then went below to his cabin. Ashiana was sound asleep when he arrived.
Closing the door quietly, he took off his boots and shirt, slipped into bed beside her, and eased her into his arms. Holding her close, he joined her in sleep within minutes.
And on this night, for the first time in weeks, he was not haunted by painful dreams.
Ashiana woke reluctantly, not wanting to leave behind the feeling of being safe and protected that had surrounded her while she slept. As she drifted to awareness, she wondered where the pleasant feeling had come from. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep, alone, after Saxon had carried her to his cabin and left to summon the watch and see to his ship.
As she opened her eyes, she realized she was no longer alone: a candle’s glow and the gray half-light sifting through the mullioned windows illuminated him.
One Night with a Scoundrel Page 16