Too Great A Temptation

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Too Great A Temptation Page 19

by Alexandra Benedict


  Her lips pursed. “Now?”

  “Yes, now.” He tugged off his boots, then attended to the buttons of his trousers. “Care to join me?”

  “No,” she said tightly. “And you can’t take a bath. I don’t want to look at you.”

  “So turn your head.” After nights spent relishing sinful pleasures aboard the Bonny Meg, chivalry seemed rather hypocritical.

  He whipped off his trousers.

  Mirabelle gasped—in outrage, he assumed—and faced the wall again.

  “Aren’t you being rather prudish, Belle?”

  Her back stiffened. “For a whore, you mean?”

  Damian hardened. He hated hearing her say that word. He hated even more being reminded that he had said it first.

  Rain pounded on the shingles overhead, the patter filling the silent void between them.

  Damian settled in the balmy tin tub. He picked up the soap and worked up a lather. He hadn’t had the luxury of a bath in weeks, and despite the warmth of the water bathing his muscles, he found no pleasure in the diversion.

  He watched Belle. With only an oil lamp in the room, lanky shadows painted the walls, and even though she wasn’t facing him, she could still see everything he did just by looking at the shadows—if she wanted to. Did she? Damian wondered. Was she studying him as keenly as he was her? Probably not. He had dashed any regard she might have sheltered for him. He had to accept that…yet he was tempted to make amends. Again.

  Damian smeared the soap suds over his chest and shoulders. He couldn’t make the same mistake twice. He had come close to begging her for forgiveness tonight in the meadow. What a mistake that would have been, thwarting all his own efforts. To have engaged in one more passionate tussle with Belle would only have strengthened their bond. And he was trying to sever it.

  A dull ache throbbed in his chest. It was better that she despised him, really it was. He didn’t need her affection. He didn’t need the comforting heat of her body. He had lived twenty-eight years of his life without Belle. He could go on without her for a few more days.

  The ache in his heart tightened. To hold Belle in his arms, snug against him, to feel her faerie breath tickle his skin, was a calm unlike any he had ever experienced. He could close his eyes when with her and not dream of demons. He could close his eyes and hope. Hope for a life worth living.

  But it was a false hope, he knew. He was too much like his father. Even if he abandoned his quest for vengeance and made Belle his wife, he would still hurt her one day. It was in his blood, the need to destroy, to devastate the lives of those around him. He could never have a real life with Belle. And it hurt like hell to admit it.

  Damian suddenly felt as if he were drowning in the tin tub. He quickly stood up, water sloshing all over the floor. He grabbed the towel draped over the chair and started to dry himself.

  His hasty movements must have startled Belle, for she whipped her head around to glare at him. She was a delightful sight. Pouting. Hair escaping her loose bun in an unruly mess. He wanted nothing more than to strip her locks of pins and comb his fingers through the mussed and silky strands; to twist his palms in her wild tresses and lose himself to her like a fortress lost to ivy long ago.

  “Finished so soon, Damian?”

  He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the tub. The weight on his chest was crushing. An intense feeling of loss gripped him. The loss of Belle. She was only a few yards away from him, and yet he sensed she was gone. Gone from his life and from his heart.

  It was suffocating, the thought. A darkness came over him, blanketing him in despair.

  “Damian?” Her brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”

  He moved to the window, staring out at the thrashing storm beyond. Lightning cracked in the distance. Thunder roared. The glass panes rattled under the fury of the whirling winds. It was like standing in front of a mirror. The tempest reflected his inner being to perfection. Pure mayhem. What he wouldn’t give to have the pain, the loneliness, the chaos inside him stop.

  He headed for the bed.

  Belle’s eyes widened. “What are you doing, Damian?”

  But he didn’t say a word. Roughly he yanked at the knotted rope, setting his siren free.

  She bounded to her feet. Alarm and outrage flashed in her amber eyes. She looked ready to have an emotional snit, but he didn’t give her the chance…

  Mirabelle gasped.

  Damian’s hot mouth crushed hers in a wicked kiss, the tempestuous movements taking her breath—and her wits—away. Hell’s fire, but the man could whip her insides into a frenzy. About to rail at the blackguard for tying her up like a convict, she was suddenly lost for words. She could only feel the maddening passion he impressed upon her, arousing her, stirring her heart…

  Oh no you don’t!

  The oaf had her in a mighty hold and she couldn’t break free, so she pounded on his chest, desperate to get away. She would not give in to him, no matter how delicious the experience. The bloody bastard had called her a—

  “Forgive me, Belle, for what I said.”

  His whispered words, so sultry and sincere, made her heart pinch in forgiveness. Oh, cursed heart! So weak and—

  “Don’t deny me this, Belle.”

  Those beautiful blue eyes, so stormy, so needful of her, cut up her soul. There was such agony in his heated gaze. For just a moment, she could see inside his heart. And she saw a man in pain, vulnerable.

  She didn’t resist when Damian took her lips in his once more. She kissed him back and let the warmth of his touch bathe her, burn through her flesh, scorch her to her very soul.

  “Oh, Belle,” he breathed and dropped to his knees, burying his face in her midriff.

  Damian reached under her skirt and tugged at her boots. She splayed her fingers over his moist back, holding him close, and lifted one foot, then the other. Soon both her feet were bare. She sighed in pleasure as he massaged her toes, her ankles, her calves. Slowly he moved his hands along her legs, his fingers raking her fevered flesh, hoisting the garment up to her waist. Quickly she pulled the dress over her head, dropping it to the floor in a crumpled heap.

  Damian was still on his knees. He reached around to fumble with the laces of her petticoat. Yanking the garment to her ankles, he then tossed it aside.

  She clutched him in a passionate hold as he pressed kisses to her belly. Smoldering hot kisses. She twisted her fingers in his hair and curled her toes when he licked her belly button in a lazy caress. Then kissed. Then licked again.

  Mirabelle shuddered. She was naked from the waist down, the chill of the room mixing erotically with Damian’s balmy wet kisses and warm palms.

  Suddenly she couldn’t breathe very well. The corset clutching her breasts seemed too tight. She wanted out of the restrictive garment. Now!

  Fortunately, the apparel laced up the front, so she quickly set to work to rid herself of the suffocating nuisance.

  But Damian stopped her.

  “Let me, Belle.”

  She shivered again. Her name had never sounded so carnal before, like a seductive growl.

  Blue eyes fiery and intent, Damian slowly unlaced the meddlesome corset. She was anxious all of a sudden. She wanted him to go faster, but she could tell by his easy pace he intended to take his time. To torture her with exquisite pleasure.

  Damian must have sensed her impatience, for he dipped his head to kiss her midriff in appeasement. Carefully he unworked the corset, Mirabelle quivering in anticipation. With a hard jerk, he broke the last of the troublesome bonds, her breasts springing free.

  She let out a half sigh, half moan of relief, and thrust her sore breasts forward, searching for more of Damian’s soothing kisses.

  He obliged her. Still on his knees, he captured one rosy hard nub between his lips and gently sucked.

  Mirabelle shook with abandon and want. Her nipple ached in Damian’s mouth, not with pain but with throbbing pleasure. She held him tight to her breast, leaned against him for
support, for she sensed her balance tipping.

  Reverently he licked and kissed and sucked the sensitive mound, evoking a whimpering groan from her lips.

  She closed her eyes and bowed her head forward, lost to the blissful sensation. It felt so good, being with Damian. So powerful. So right. Her heart pounded in her breast. Her skin prickled and danced. Her body hummed with desire. And all because of one man. One man who made her feel such wonderful things.

  She wanted Damian. To be with him always. To feel him inside her whenever the need arose. She wanted it more than…being a pirate.

  Damian leisurely got to his feet, leaving titillating kisses all along her frame. With a flick of the wrist, he discarded his towel, and their bodies pressed together. The warmth between them was intoxicating.

  Mirabelle opened her mouth to the hot thrust of his tongue. Rocking on her tiptoes, she took in the heady scent of him, the taste. She was a mess inside. On fire. She was eager to be with him. But he, the dratted man, was in no hurry.

  “Damian,” she purred, trying to entice him, “I want you.”

  But he made no effort to quicken his pace.

  “Now,” she all but growled in frustration.

  He chuckled softly. Gruffly. Making her tremble with delight. “I want to take you slow this time, Belle.”

  He pressed his sex, already hard and throbbing, against her belly and gently undulated, the erotic movements mesmerizing.

  She was growing wet with need. When his hand slipped behind her buttocks to stroke the dewy flesh between her legs, she all but crumpled onto the floor.

  Firm fingers fondled the sensitive area, rubbing in quick and fluid strokes, whipping her loins to a pulsating frenzy.

  He withdrew, his fingers moist with her essence, and trailed his hand along her hip and thigh. She groaned in disappointment, wanting his wanton caresses to go on forever. The bounder! Was he intent on making her beg?

  “Damian—”

  “I’ll give you what you want,” he cut in hoarsely, kissing her between words, taking the pins from her hair until her locks rained free. “I promise.”

  You’d better, was all she could think. And when he finally started moving her toward the bed, she wanted to quip, “About bloody time.” But his devouring lips prevented her from making the rejoinder, so she simply held him tight, making sure he really did take her over to the bed and ravish her thoroughly.

  He set her down and moved to nestle between her thighs. It was thrilling, the pressure between her legs. A tantalizing torment. And she wriggled and squirmed beneath him until she could better feel his long, engorged organ pressed hard against her quivering flesh.

  He kissed her over and over again, cupping her breasts, swirling his thumbs over the puckering nipples, so sore and sensitive and begging for more.

  She ached inside for him. A burning need consumed her. She couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “Damian, if you want me to forgive you, you’ll take me now.”

  He groaned at her words. A groan of sweet surrender. No sooner had she made the demand than he slipped inside her in one piercing stroke.

  Yes! she wanted to scream. But his mouth crushed hers, so she moaned instead. He moved within her. Swift and steady plunges. Hips grinding, he rocked her body in ecstasy.

  Mirabelle sensed the tension building at her apex. She lifted her legs higher, taking in more of his eager thrusts.

  “Oh yes, Damian. Don’t stop.”

  He hooked his arms under her knees, holding her in place, so he could push deeper into her.

  She groaned. Each hard thrust was more titillating than the last. The strain between her legs intensified, twisted. She could feel the explosion coming.

  She cried out. A sound of gratifying pleasure as the muscles in her loins throbbed, squeezing him deep inside her. Damian gave a guttural cry of his own, shuddering, spilling his seed into her. He had never done that before. But it was such an intimate moment, to feel him climax inside her.

  Slick with sweat, Damian rested atop her, supporting his weight on his forearms so as not to crush her. He remained imbedded inside her for a little while. She didn’t mind. She liked the feeling.

  Heart still thundering in her ears, she could feel Damian’s stomping against her breast.

  “That was wonderful,” she praised weakly, stroking his damp and mussed hair.

  He kissed her softly. “You stubborn”—another kiss—“impatient”—another kiss—“demanding siren.” He slipped out of her heat and rolled onto his back, taking her with him. “I wanted to take you slow.”

  “And let me go up in flames?”

  He gave her another tender peck on the lips. “I would have put out the fire in time, Belle.”

  She snorted. “Why did you want to take it easy? You’ve never been slow about it before.”

  He looked up at her, a pained and troubled expressions in his heavenly blue eyes. “I just didn’t want to hurry this one time with you.”

  “Because it’s our last night together?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  Mirabelle sighed. He was going to let her go now, it seemed. But what else was there for him to do? He had escaped her brothers. He need not haul her through the countryside anymore. But she didn’t like the thought of being let go. It had a downright wretched effect on her, twisting her heart in the most wicked way.

  “Where are you going, Belle?”

  Squirming in his arms, she paused to look down at him. “To get my clothes. I have to get back to the ship.”

  It hurt to say the words. It hurt even more to separate herself from the sizzling warmth of his body. But she had to go. The longer she stayed with him, the harder it would be to say good-bye.

  The warm light in Damian’s eyes disappeared, a cold darkness taking its place. “I can’t let you go, Belle. Not yet.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “But why?”

  “I need you.”

  “For what?”

  He rolled out of the bed and stalked over to the window. He just stood there, in the buff, glowing in the misty candlelight. God, how she yearned for him. It was a pain in her breast she cared not to dwell upon, the thought of losing Damian. Of living the rest of her days without him. Even the allure of the sea and the soothing creaks of the Bonny Meg’s deck could not inspire within her the fierce emotions that Damian did. The more time she spent with him, the more she came to accept that truth. Did he feel the same way? Was that why he didn’t want to let her go? Did he want to be with her, here on land?

  Her heart pinched at the thought. A thought not so unappealing.

  She asked again, her voice fluttering, “Why do you need me, Damian?”

  But he still didn’t answer her.

  Perhaps he needed a little incentive…

  Mirabelle scooted off the feather mattress and set about collecting her clothes. “Well, I’m leaving. You can roam the countryside all you like…whoa there!”

  Well, her motion to leave had certainly provoked a response in Damian. Only not the one she had intended.

  He grabbed her by the wrists, and with rope in hand, dragged her over to the bedpost.

  She thrashed all the way. “Damian!”

  But it did no good, her cries. Once more, she was secured to the bedpost. And naked at that!

  “You bastard!”

  Gathering her garb, Damian placed the bundle on a nearby chair. He then picked up a blanket and draped it over her.

  He didn’t say a word. He just turned away and slipped back into his breeches.

  It was suffocating, the turmoil inside her. A great welter of disbelief—and disgrace. She tried to pound the tears into submission. The fiend! He had tricked her. Made her think he was truly sorry for what he had said to her, that he cared for her. But no, he’d just wanted to rut about, to relieve himself of his burdensome lust. He was going to prolong the miserable abduction. But why? Did he hate her that much? Hate that she was a pirate?

  And then the dreadful truth
came to her. Damian intended to escape her brothers and torment them by kidnapping her. A reprisal, of sorts, for the time he’d spent confined aboard the Bonny Meg, immured in the brig.

  Mirabelle took in a deep and shuddering breath, careful to hide her face in the blanket so the black devil would not see her grief.

  Bloody hell, it hurt. Squeezed at her heart and crushed the bones in her chest, the betrayal…but it also made her cold.

  Soon the tears stopped coming. Soon the pain was numbed. And as Damian lay quietly on the bed beside her, she vowed the bounder forever her enemy.

  Chapter 21

  I n the faint light of the breaking dawn, Mirabelle sat on the bed, her legs curled and tucked under her chin, her eyes fixed on the devious navigator. Still strapped to the bedpost, she could do little but watch Damian scrape away the last vestige of stubble from his chin. It was such an intimate moment. So private. Something a doting couple would do.

  She snickered. A doting couple? With her tied to the bed like a slave?

  Damian set the shaving blade aside and dipped his palms into the washbasin. Splashing water across his fresh-trimmed face, he then patted it dry with a towel. Decked in riding gear, he sported a close-fitting, double-breasted coat, copper brown in hue. Black leather boots, scuffed and smeared with mud, cupped strong, thick calves, and supple suede breeches masked hard-muscled thighs. Thighs that had moved against her last night and given her incredible pleasure…

  Mirabelle took in an unsteady breath. Shame still burned in her belly. She couldn’t believe she had considered opening her heart to the bounder. Of spending the rest of her life on land with him. What the devil had happened to her last night? She had vowed to keep away from the scoundrel. He had betrayed her brothers by escaping. Of course he would betray her, too. So why hadn’t she realized that last night? Why had she accepted his hollow words of contrition?

  Because she was a sentimental fool, that’s why. She had wanted Damian to have feelings for her. To need her…as she needed him.

  What rot! Feelings of caring only brought pain. Her mother was proof of that. Mirabelle should have guarded her heart better.

 

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