Chelsea’s perceptions thrummed and heightened wherever he touched her; her emotions hurled and spun, wreaking havoc upon her senses. He left her then to divest himself of his own restraining garments, and when he returned it was to be greeted by her eager hands and greedy fingers as she held him to her as closely as a secret.
She had watched as he had undressed, had seen the hard, rippling muscles that lay beneath his broad chest and the planes of his back. He was sun-bronzed to the waist; curling patterns of chest hair narrowed to a thin, fine furring over the flatness of his belly and invoked Chelsea’s gaze to his nether region, which stood proud and erect with pulsing anticipation. The sudden paleness of his lean haunches delineated the dark patch of hair surrounding his manhood, and his tapered hips flared into thighs thick with muscle and hard with strength.
She had never seen a man this way, undisguised by clothing and immodestly bathed with light; yet she knew somehow that he was above most men in his magnificence. The secrets of the male body, which had only been hinted at in her hurried and limited experience, were now revealed, and she found them beautiful.
As her hands moved over him, Quaid was filled with a sense of his own power and exulted in her undisguised passion for him. He had been held in the spell of her gaze as she’d watched him undress. She was so beautiful with her moist, kiss-reddened lips parted seductively, and her languorous, heavy-lidded gaze hinted at a depth of passion that excited him unbearably. Damn, but he was hungry for her; he would have liked to spread her beneath him and plunge into her fiery depths, to feel himself become a part of her. Each curve of her body was eloquent, the roundness of her breasts with their pink pouting crests, the slender arc of her hips that narrowed into long, lean legs, the golden hue of her skin gleaming softly with a sheen of desire. But he would take her slowly, savoring every inch of her, delighting in the pleasure they would share.
When he moved to cover her with his body, it was her turn to protest, just as he had when she’d begun to undress herself. “No, let me,” she whispered, rolling over on top of him and leaning on one elbow.
As she bent over him, her cloud of dark hair tumbled around her face, grazing his shoulder and tickling his chest. She smoothed his chest with her fingertips, trailing through the patch of dark curls, exploring the regions that were smooth and hairless, then moving to the flat hardness of his belly. He heard himself gasp as her hand wandered dangerously close to his groin and then flew upward again to his chest. He wanted to applaud her daring, yet he almost laughed when he saw her eyes widen at her own boldness. “Touch me,” he encouraged, taking her hand in his, moving it downward again. When she hesitated, he asked, “Do you like it when I touch you? Here?” He caressed her breast, feeling its weight in the palm of his hand, relishing the softness of it and the hard little crest that jutted into his palm. “And here?” he asked, sliding downward to the softness of her belly. “Here?” His fingers grazed the satiny flesh of her inner thighs, whispering past the fleecy curls between her legs.
She allowed her hand to follow his, adventuring into uncharted territory, combing past the thicket that surrounded his eager shaft. Hesitantly, her fingers explored him, moving upward to touch the velvet-smooth tip, upon which poised a drop of moisture, like a glistening tear. As she turned her head to watch the progress of her fingers, her hair hung like a curtain, shielding her face from his view. His member was incredibly sensitive to her touch, and it pleased her to hear his sharp, indrawn breath as she traveled the length of it downward to the surprising vulnerability between his hard-muscled thighs. She felt desire ripple through him and realized with a curious proud excitement that she was in command of his passions.
When she lifted her head to look back at him, her tawny eyes heavy with desire, he was reminded of a feline who has just discovered the cream crock; the little smile she bestowed upon him was rife with a cat’s self-satisfaction. And she was feline, he found himself thinking, sleek and smooth and silent, like a jungle cat, a black panther who has just given chase and is now anticipating the feast. She reached out to touch him again, this time watching him, aware of his every reaction, relishing the masculine hardness of him and feeling it pulsate in anticipation of her touch. When she closed her hand over him, a deep throbbing sounded in his chest and rumbled from his lips. Unable to withstand her sensuous onslaught a moment longer, he reached up and pulled her beside him, and this time it was he who took the superior position. Only having her, losing himself within her, would satisfy.
A golden warmth flooded through Chelsea as he brought his mouth to hers once again. His movements were smoothly executed as he drew a path from one breast to the other, covering each first with his hands and then with his lips. She clung to the strength of his arms, holding fast as though she were fearful of falling in on herself, never to be found again.
His hands spanned her waist and rounded to her buttocks, lifting her slightly from the bed. Tortuous, teasing explorations of his tongue made her shudder with heightening passion. Her fingers clutched and pulled at his dark, ruffled hair as though begging him to stop, while her body arched into his, feverishly exposing herself to his maddening mouth. He searched for and found the secret places that pushed her to the brink of release, only to have his worshiping kiss follow another path before returning again to the first.
A yawning ache spread through Chelsea, demanding satisfaction, settling at her core and forcing her to seek relief by writhing and thrashing about restlessly. Quaid held her there, forcing her to him, adoring her with his hands and lips until she could deny herself no longer. Her body flamed, her back arched, and her world divided in two parts: her need and his lips. And when the tremors ceased and his mouth covered hers once again, she tasted herself there. She was satisfied, yet discontent; had feasted, yet was famished. There was more she wanted—much, much more. She wanted to share with him the release of his own passion, to participate in bringing him to that same wonder.
She urged him onward, assuring him she was ready. Grasping her hips, he lifted her and wound her parted thighs around him. She guided him into her, pulling him forward, driving him downward, knowing that same need within her, a desire of a different, cooler color than before. It was as though once having slaked her thirst, she could now enjoy the flavor. Moving with him, becoming part of him, Chelsea fueled his passion and renewed her own. Together they were flung upward; together they found the sun.
Afterward, they lay together, dozing in one another’s arms. And even in their sleep their lips sought and their hands soothed.
When Chelsea awakened it was to find his face inches away from hers, his dark, fathomless eyes watching her. When she returned his stare, he grinned.
“What are you forever smiling about?” she asked, stretching her arms above her head as she wrested herself from sleep.
Just like a cat, he thought, his grin widening. “I’m smiling about you. You’re so predictable at times, and at others you’re an enchanting surprise.”
“That’s hardly a compliment, Mr. Tanner,” she chided.
“You’re already deviling me again. No woman likes to think of herself as predictable.”
“But you are.”
“May I have an example?”
“Whenever I mention your maid, you flush and become angry. You were quite funny, and I couldn’t resist deviling you, as you so charmingly put it.”
“I don’t think it was charming of you,” she countered. “You knew all along who I was, and you took pure delight in making me squirm.”
“As I said, you were predictable.”
Chelsea stretched again and then laid her head on his shoulder, her fingers winding through his chest hairs. “Now tell me when I’m the enchanting surprise,” she fished brazenly.
“Can there be any doubt? Tonight. I had meant to extract a kiss, and instead I’m transported by the entire woman. You are delightful, dear Chelsea.”
She stiffened, the fingers that grazed tenderly along his chest becoming the claws
of a cat as she swiped her nails over tender skin.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. “Why in hell did you do that?”
She pounced on him, intending to rake hell with her nails, spitting and spewing sudden fury. “A kiss! A kiss is all you wanted? When I offered you my ear bobs you said you wanted more, much more! I thought … I thought … Ooooh!” She came at him again, face flaming, claws reaching.
He subdued her by rolling on top of her, holding her hands firmly over her head. “I knew you were a cat, but I foolishly forgot about your claws. Is that what you think of me? That I force myself on women? That it is impossible to have a woman lay with me unless I trick her?”
“You said it, not me!” Chelsea spat.
“Take it back!”
“No! You’re a bounder, Quaid Tanner, and I’d like to tear your eyes from your head. You knew who I was from the moment you saw me aboard ship, didn’t you?”
“Even before, madam. I knew you were sailing on the Cross because I recognized Mrs. Harris as the woman in the theater who’d had her purse snatched, and I heard her give your name to the ticket agent and tell him you were sailing as her maid.”
“It was never true. We were to share a cabin at a reduced rate. I was never to go along as her maid. When I’d learned what she’d done, she was too sick to make amends, and … and … I was insulted that she should be asked to sit at the captain’s table, while I, as her servant, was to take my meals in the galley or in the cabin. She gave me permission to use her identity. It’s all a misunderstanding!”
“A misunderstanding like forcing your thieving uncle to give you Mrs. Harris’s purse that night at the theater?” He laughed, knowing the sound infuriated her. “Oh, yes, I was witness to that little scene. And isn’t it Mrs. Harris’s own money you used to pay your passage? The truth, Chelsea; there’s too much between us now to lie.”
“I don’t owe you any explanation. Not one! So you knew all along who I was?” She had slipped down in the bed, sheets modestly covering her breasts. Her hair was tousled from lovemaking and raged about her head, her eyes flamed with accusations, and all in all she presented a very pretty picture.
Quaid nodded affirmation. “Look over there,” he told her, gesturing. The gaudy yellow feathered fan he’d retrieved from the stage the first time he’d seen Chelsea was stuck behind his shaving mirror, its bright plumed tip hanging at an odd angle. Chelsea instantly recognized it.
“That’s mine!” she hissed. “Where did you get it?”
“The night you met Honoria Harris. You dropped it.”
“You sneak! You bounder!”
He sensed her intention to climb out of the sheets and continue her attack. Before she could move he had seized her again, holding her back with the weight of his body and the strength of his hands. “Look who’s calling whom a sneak! For shame. Every time I had to call you Mrs. Harris I almost choked.”
“More’s the pity you didn’t,” Chelsea snapped. “A man like you can’t be trusted. How do I know you won’t expose me to the captain before I can get Honoria to straighten out this mess? It’s all her fault, presuming to sign me on as her maid and then making herself a profit on my fare! And I don’t want you telling anyone I’m an actress; I’ll have enough to live down once Honoria sets thing right. Or do you intend to keep on blackmailing me?”
“God forbid!” He recoiled in pretended horror. “What you do is your own business. We all have to make a living one way or another. If you choose to do it dishonestly, that’s no concern of mine.”
“You wretched lout!” Chelsea cried, trying to convince him she was wounded to the quick. “I had no other choice.”
“Of course you did; you just didn’t like the other choice. You took the one that was easiest and most beneficial to you.”
Gone was the little innocent throwing herself on the wolf’s mercy. The leopard resumed in full force, claws glinting, teeth bared. “You’re despicable!”
“I find you rather endearing, too.” Quaid grinned. “Come here, I think I want to love you again.”
“Let go of me. I’m through striking bargains with you.” She wrestled out of his grasp, panting from the exertion. Oh, how she wanted to scratch that all-knowing grin from his too handsome face!
“But I’m not through with you,” he told her, his voice heavy with meaning, his eyes glowing with a victory about to be won. His arms were wrapped around her, holding her close, stilling her rebellious actions. Her feet were kicking, her fingers curled to scratch, but he flew in the face of danger to press her beneath him, trailing incredibly slow kisses along the line of her jaw and down to the base of her throat, where he could feel her pulse throb.
“We’re good together, Chelsea, you and I,” he murmured. “You know it, and I want to hear you say it.”
“Never.” But even to her own ears the word sounded less than convincing. His mouth had taken a patternless path to her breasts, nipping and teasing the sensitive flesh. “Never,” she repeated, feeling the resistance leave her arms, feeling her legs falling still beneath his.
“Tell me, Chelsea,” he urged, the tip of his tongue grazing the soft underside of her breast. He released her hands and lowered himself over her, his lips tracing a warm, moist trail across her torso and lingering in the downy triangle below. “Say it, Chelsea, say it.”
An involuntary shudder rippled through her, and she felt herself growing limp and yielding beneath his touch. As her back arched and she brought herself to meet his lips, she heard the words come of their own volition, breathless and urgent. “Yes, yes, we’re good together. So good.”
Chelsea moved about her cabin the next morning attempting to straighten and set things to rights. The small porthole remained open to allow a minimum of air, but it seemed to do little good without any cross ventilation.
Thanks to the laudanum, Honoria seemed to have spent a peaceful night, but since awakening that morning she’d done poorly; the dark circles beneath her eyes and her sickly complexion showed Chelsea just how exhausted she really was. After a meager breakfast of warm tea and a few nibbles of toast, the malady had struck her anew and she’d just finished retching into the slop pail.
“Please, Chelsea, give me more of the medicine,” Honoria begged. “It’s the only thing that brings me any peace.”
“You know what the purser said, Honoria. Try to endure it, just for a few hours. You can’t spend the next three months drugged into oblivion.”
“But I’m so ill.”
“Yes, and that’s why I think I should ask the captain to put you off the ship. Mrs. Crain told me at breakfast that we’ll soon be rounding Plymouth before heading south along the French coast. Honoria, please, you’re obviously in no condition to withstand this journey.”
“No! Please no. Don’t you understand, there’s nothing here for me in England, nothing.” She turned her face to the wall, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Then at least let me help you bathe and change your nightdress. You’ll feel better,” Chelsea promised. She was truly worried for Honoria. At breakfast that morning the captain had predicted foul weather. If Honoria couldn’t bear the gentle sway and roll of the ship under the best circumstances, how was she to withstand a storm? Still, Chelsea was extremely sympathetic to her plight; she understood what the woman meant when she said there was nothing left for her in England. Nothing.
After Honoria’s quick bath and change of nightdress, Chelsea’s chores were almost completed. Only emptying the slop pail remained. As she left the cabin, she found herself facing portside 8, Quaid Tanner’s quarters. He had not appeared for breakfast that morning, and she supposed he was still sleeping. She would have liked to pound on his door and awaken him, but she dreaded seeing the slow grin on his insolent face. It wasn’t until the wee hours of dawn that she’d crept from his bed across the companionway into her own. And it wasn’t until then that she realized he’d never given her his promise never to reveal that he knew her to be an actress
. Damn him! He’d tricked her last night—not once but twice!
Later in the afternoon, when Chelsea went on deck for a breath of fresh air, she met Mrs. Crain once again.
“How is your maid?” asked the woman. “Mr. Crain said he saw you tending to the facilities earlier. You really should leave that to the steward,” she admonished.
“If you were in my cabin, you’d advise otherwise, Mrs. Crain,” she replied testily, resenting the woman’s intrusion. “And it serves to make my companion more comfortable.”
“Still, you mustn’t forget your station, my dear. Although I think it quite admirable the way you tend your servant. She is no better, then?”
“Hardly. I was forced to give her another dose of laudanum an hour ago. Since the weather began blowing up, her misery increased.”
“Have you thought it might be a mistake to force the poor thing to endure this journey? The other passengers seem to be doing quite nicely,” Mrs. Crain observed approvingly as though she herself had something to do with everyone’s good health. “It would be a shame to mar our journey with an invalid. It casts a pall over everyone, I assure you, Mrs. Harris. And there’s something else to consider—you wouldn’t want to be a nursemaid for the next three months, would you? If you would like, I can have Mr. Crain speak to the captain for you before we turn south. Leaving your companion at Plymouth might be the kindest gesture.”
“I said as much to her myself, but she pleaded with me,” Chelsea admitted.
“And are you in the habit of allowing your servants to contradict you? If you are worrying about traveling alone, dear, let me assure you that Mr. Crain and myself will take you under our protection. Servants are easy to find in New South Wales. Surely you can’t be thinking of the inconvenience of tending to yourself for the time being. Isn’t that what you’re doing now, not to mention tending to your patient as well?”
To Taste The Wine Page 11