by Connie Mason
“Chris, what . . .”
The moment his lips brushed against her, Sophia cried out. The shock immobilized her, and the tingling sensation that followed made her squirm with unnamed pleasure. Her core pulsed, vulnerable, aching with a need she couldn’t express. When he flicked his tongue against her, she moaned, her hips moving reflexively against him. He grabbed her hips to steady her as he explored the virgin recesses of her body, his tongue laving every intimate crevice.
When he drew the sensitive nub of her desire between his teeth, Sophia began thrashing her head from side to side, her hands flailing against his arms. She bucked her hips, searching for something, anything to ease the sensual torture. She felt as if she were tottering on the edge of an abyss, gripped by pleasure so intense it stole her breath.
Sophia wasn’t prepared when she fell into a dark hole of splintering pleasure, the bliss so razor-sharp it shattered her. She cried out, lost in the throes of climax, her fingers clutching his head. Then she went limp, her labored breathing fracturing the tense silence.
“What just happened?” she gasped.
“I’ve just given you your first climax.”
Sophia was confused. She knew about mating and how it was accomplished, but beyond that she was ignorant.
“Something wondrous happened inside me. Did you feel it?”
“Not yet, but I will.” He rose and tore off his trousers and shirt.
Sophia stared at him. He was magnificently fashioned, with broad shoulders, slim hips and waist, powerful legs and thickly muscled arms. Her gaze slid down the length of him, stopping briefly at his engorged sex. She colored and looked away. But curiosity drew her gaze back to that mysterious part of him which jutted out of a nest of dark hair between his thighs.
Chris swelled longer and thicker beneath Sophia’s perusal. Desire swelled in his loins, pulled low at his gut. He had tried his damnedest to stay away from her, but after a few tots of rum all he could think about was bedding her. He told himself his need was sharper because he hadn’t had a woman for weeks, not because he was obsessed with the green-eyed temptress gazing at him as if he were some kind of ancient god.
Even if he took Sophia as his body demanded, this night wouldn’t change his mind about sending her home to England, he told himself. She had sneaked aboard his ship, incited his lust and forced him to protect her from Rigby. He hadn’t wanted any of those things to happen. He had considered himself well rid of Sophia Carlisle years ago.
“Chris . . .”
He gazed down at her. Her eyes were luminous in the lamplight. He wanted to arouse her again. He wanted . . . he wanted . . . to be inside Sophia.
His hand moved between her thighs, parted them, eased a finger deep inside. He felt her stiffen. She gasped his name as her hands rose to clasp his shoulders. He bent his head, taking the rigid peak of her breast fully into his mouth, nipping and suckling as his finger stroked inside her. She moaned softly.
Chris lifted his head and gazed at her. She was beautiful, more beautiful even than the seventeen-year-old girl he had fallen in love with. Though time and circumstances had killed his love for her, he still appreciated her beauty. He moved slightly, pressing his erection against her hip as he continued to suckle her breasts.
“Sophia,” he whispered hoarsely as he moved fully over her and slowly thrust his thick erection inside her. He heard her gasp and eased back, but not for long. His body clamored for completion. He slid a little deeper, his clenched jaw the only outward sign of his restraint. When he felt her tighten around him, drawing him deeper, his control snapped.
He thrust powerfully with his hips, breaking through her virgin barrier, sinking into her depths. She gasped, and he knew he had hurt her. “I’m sorry, Sophia. I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”
He waited a moment, allowing her body time to adjust to his size before moving, slowly sliding and plunging, sliding and plunging, deep, deeper.
Sophia sucked in her breath as the pain gave way to something far more pleasurable. She moved her hips, tentatively at first, then timing them to meet his plunging loins in perfect harmony. The friction was astonishingly arousing, vibrantly wanton. The pleasure of it drove her wild. She thrashed madly beneath him, reaching, needing, wanting.
She could feel the strength of his desire growing inside her and the power of his body moving on top of her. When he rose slightly and slipped his hand between their bodies, the fire, white-hot, consuming, built within her again and roared out of control. The whimpering she heard came from her own throat. Then pleasure overwhelmed her as a wave of scalding heat flashed through her.
Her body seized, shuddered, and then she cried out. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain she heard Chris call her name, felt his member convulse, felt his heat spilling into her.
Panting, Chris collapsed against her, his face pressing into the hollow of her neck. Gathering her into his arms, he rolled to his side. “Did I hurt you, Sophia?”
Sophia pushed him away. “Why did you do it?” Her voice trembled with an emotion very close to anger. “You don’t like me, remember?”
Chris rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up, resting his head in his hands. “I haven’t had a woman since before the Intrepid left London.”
Chris knew the excuse was a lame one, that what he had done was inexcusable. His head felt fuzzy, his mouth dry. Was he foxed? Had Sophia driven him to drink? It was the first time he could recall having more than a drink or two since Desmond’s death. It was the only excuse he could think of. Or at any rate, the only reason he was willing to admit.
“You used me!” Sophia charged. “You needed a woman and I was handy.”
Chris knew there was more to it than that but refused to say so. “You’re right, I was foxed, but this changes nothing. You’re leaving as soon as I can sort out your problems and book passage for you. I’ll do all I can to keep you safe from your brother. I’ll give you money so you can live independent of him.”
Flexing her knees, Sophia kicked him out of the bed. He fell on his rump with a thud. “I’m willing to leave this house, Captain, but not Jamaica. You can keep your money; I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“You’ll do as I say,” Chris growled as he gathered his clothing and stormed out of the room.
Chapter Eight
Sophia found sleep impossible after Chris left. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to make sense of his actions. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t figure out what he wanted. He seemed to blow first hot and then cold. He wanted her, yet he didn’t.
How could Chris not realize that she loved him? That she had never stopped loving him?
Ribbons of purple dawn streaked a leaden sky when Sophia finally fell asleep. She didn’t awaken until a clap of thunder rattled the shutters. Startled, she sat up in bed, surprised to see rain pouring from the sky. She lay back down, seeing no reason to get out of bed. She was staring at the rain beating down on the balcony when Kateena entered the room.
“Good morning, mistress.”
“I don’t know what’s good about it,” Sophia complained.
Kateena flashed a smile. “This is Jamaica, mistress. The rain will stop soon, the sun will come out, and the day will be glorious.”
Sophia wasn’t at all interested in the day, glorious or otherwise. “I suppose.”
“Your bathwater is heating in the kitchen.”
Sophia perked up immediately. “Thank you, a bath is just what I need.”
An hour later, Sophia descended the stairs and proceeded to the dining room. She was ravenous and asked for eggs, ham and toasted bread. Due to the late hour, she dined alone.
“Is Captain Radcliff still in the house?” she asked Chuba.
“No, mistress, he and Casper left for the distillery hours ago.”
“In this rain?”
“There was trouble in the distillery; Mundo summoned the master early this morning.”
Chuba poured Sophia’s
tea and left. The thrum of rain against the windows reminded her of England, making her realize how little she missed her home. She wondered if there was any place in the world she would be happy. If things were different between her and Chris, Jamaica would be the Paradise she had always dreamed about.
Sophia finished her breakfast and wandered into Chris’s study, perusing the bookcases lining the wall. She chose a book on world history and settled down in a comfortable chair near the window to read.
Chris spent the entire day in the distillery. The rain had stopped shortly after noon, and the sun now rode high in the sky. Sweat dampened his shirt and dotted his brow as he labored beside his slaves.
The rich scent of rum permeated the air, making Chris slightly ill. After last night, he doubted he would imbibe again anytime soon. What had he been thinking? Making love to Sophia hadn’t been the wisest thing he had ever done. Had he the sense God gave him, he would have steered clear of her room last night. Nothing good could come of his indiscretion.
After solving the problem in the distillery, Chris rode out to the cane fields to check the crop. Everywhere he looked, slaves were busily employed. But he could sense their discontent; tension was thick in the air, as if they were merely biding their time. Chris hadn’t told them he intended to free them, and wouldn’t until their freedom actually became a fact. If his efforts failed, he didn’t want them to be disappointed. He intended to return to Headquarters House in a few days to see if the remittance papers had been processed.
Meanwhile, Chris had created another problem for himself. What was he going to do with Sophia? She adamantly refused to return to England, and he couldn’t blame her. Perhaps, with his recommendation, she could find a governess post in Spanish Town or Ocho Rios. He discarded that notion as soon as it was born. He was uncomfortable sending her off on her own.
Chris didn’t return to the house until dinnertime. Staying busy kept his mind and body occupied. He worked feverishly during the next several days, leaving the house early and returning late. He saw Sophia only during dinner and retired to his study immediately after the meal. He deliberately avoided rum and late night wanderings. He refused to become involved with her again.
When Chris first met Sophia at her come out, he had been entranced by her angelic beauty and lively spirit. So had Desmond. The last thing Chris wanted now was to fall into her trap again. Once bitten, twice shy: the adage expressed his sentiments perfectly.
Chris liked his life just the way it was. He had his plantation and distillery, and women to assuage his needs were at his disposal in Kingston.
Despite his mental rejection, Chris couldn’t forget how good Sophia felt in his arms, her innocent passion, her alluring scent; the way she shattered beneath him. Damn! He went hard just thinking about her. Desire pulsed through him. Heat surged to his groin. Clamping down on his lust, he turned his mind in another direction.
Sophia was bored. She needed something besides Chris to focus on. The weather had been hot and sultry for the past few days. There wasn’t much one could do during the heat of the afternoon but fan oneself and think. Unfortunately, her thoughts never strayed far from Chris.
She had figured out why he was acting so cool and remote toward her. He was afraid of her. Afraid he might develop feelings for her. If he wanted her to leave, why didn’t he just tell her instead of letting her remain in limbo?
When Chris returned early from the fields one day, Sophia learned from Chuba that he was expecting visitors. Sophia was sitting in the parlor reading when she heard voices in the foyer. She paid them little heed until Chris and his guests entered the room.
Since no guests had arrived at Sunset Hill since her arrival, Sophia was surprised to see Chris usher a distinguished-looking man and a handsome woman into the parlor. Despite Chris’s frown when his gaze found her, the visitors seemed delighted to see her.
“I brought my wife so she could meet your betrothed,” the man said. “They can get acquainted while we conduct our business.”
Sophia rose, visibly startled. Betrothed?
“Ah, there she is,” the woman said. “Welcome to Jamaica, my dear. I hope you’ll allow me to help plan your wedding. A celebration is just what we need to take our minds off all this nastiness with the slaves.”
“No, you must be mis—”
“Sophia, please make your curtsy to Lord and Lady Chester,” Chris said. “My lord, my lady, meet Miss Sophia Carlisle.”
Sophia made a halfhearted curtsy, confused by the sudden turn of events. What in the world was wrong with Chris? “Lord and Lady Chester, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Please, my dear, call me Agatha,” Lady Chester said. “We English have a tight-knit community on the island, and we don’t always adhere to protocol.”
“Now that the ladies are acquainted, we can retire to your study and get down to business,” Lord Chester said. “The unrest among my slaves is becoming troublesome. I’m calling on Wombly tomorrow to discuss the situation. We neighbors must stick together.”
Sophia sent Chris a pained look. She knew nothing about a betrothal. It wasn’t fair to let the Chesters believe she was his bride-to-be. But Chris’s shrug was all she received. It looked as if she was on her own with Lady Chester.
“I’ll have refreshments sent in,” Chris said.
“Enjoy your visit,” Chester added. “I’m sure you ladies have a great deal to discuss, what with planning the wedding and all.”
“Captain Radcliff is so handsome,” Lady Chester gushed. “Have you known him long?”
“Over seven years,” Sophia answered truthfully.
“I can understand why he brought you to Jamaica to be wed. It’s a perfect spot for a wedding. Will any of your relatives be attending the ceremony?”
“I have no relatives. My parents, Viscount and Viscountess Carlisle, died several years ago.”
Agatha clapped her hands. “You’re highborn—how delightful! I don’t know Captain Radcliff well, but I understand his brother is the Earl of Standish. Have you no brothers or sisters?”
“No, my lady,” Sophia replied. She didn’t count Rayford because they didn’t share the same blood, and both her parents had been only children.
“You are to call me Agatha, remember? And I shall call you Sophia. Such a lovely name. Now then, Sophia, have you set a date for your wedding?”
“Er . . . no. Chris and I have only just arrived at Sunset Hill. We’re just getting settled in.”
The tea cart arrived, allowing Sophia a few moments to collect her thoughts. Whatever was Chris thinking? How could he let people believe she was his betrothed? She knew he had no intention of tying himself to a woman who provoked memories he’d rather forget. He might lust for her, enjoy making love to her, but his heart was in no way engaged.
Over the rim of her cup, Sophia watched Lady Chester sip her tea and munch on a small frosted cake.
“This is delightful,” Agatha cooed. “I love my children, but I do enjoy an afternoon away from them now and again.”
“You have children?”
“Indeed. Two lively boys of six and eight.” She set her cup down and leaned toward Sophia. “Tell me, what was that little ruckus with Sir Oscar Rigby at the King’s Arms all about? Why were you seeking employment as a governess? I’m just dying of curiosity.”
Though Sophia had expected the question, she still wasn’t prepared for it. “It was a case of mistaken identity.” She held out her arm. “As you can see, I tan rather easily, and Sir Oscar mistook me for . . . someone else. As for the governess position, I thought it would keep me occupied until Chris and I were ready to wed. He has a great deal to learn as a new plantation owner, and I didn’t want to become a burden to him.”
Agatha sent her a skeptical look. “How could you ever become a burden to your fiancé? It all sounds rather mysterious, if you ask me.”
Sophia took another sip of tea while she considered her answer. Relief flooded through her when Chris an
d Lord Chester returned to the parlor.
“Tea, gentlemen?” Sophia asked, grateful for the interruption.
Both men nodded, and Sophia poured.
“Captain Radcliff, Sophia and I were discussing her quest for employment. I vow I was surprised.”
Chris looked at Sophia, as if expecting her to answer. When she didn’t, he cleared his throat and said, “Sophia likes to be useful. As Mr. Ludlow will attest, I put an end to her quest rather quickly. I moved her from the King’s Arms to keep her safe from men like Rigby.”
“I’m ashamed to count Rigby as one of us,” Chester acknowledged. “Things neither of us would approve of go on at his plantation. He abuses his women slaves and works the men until they drop from exhaustion. If there is a revolt, his plantation will be the first to come under attack.”
“Oh, dear God, John, do you really think it will come to that?” Agatha cried, clutching her throat.
“Now, now, Agatha, don’t fret. This is all speculation.”
Agatha rose abruptly. “I have reason to fret. The children are home alone with the maids. Perhaps we should leave.” She turned to Sophia. “We’ll discuss wedding arrangements at a later date, my dear. Have your handsome captain bring you to Orchid Manor soon.”
“I’ll let you know what the other plantation owners decide, Radcliff,” Lord Chester said as he escorted his wife out the door and into their carriage.
“All this talk of revolt is serious, isn’t it?” Sophia asked as she waved the Chesters off.
“I won’t lie. It’s serious enough for the plantation owners to band together for their own protection. But I hope it won’t come to that. But if it does, Sunset Hill will remain safe, my slaves will be free, so they will have no reason to revolt. Repairs on the slave quarters are under way. I wanted my people to know I have their best interests at heart. I’m hoping they will remain to work for wages once they are freed.”
Chris turned away. Sophia stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Oh, no, you don’t. Kindly explain why the Chesters believe we are betrothed. You should have corrected them instead of leaving me to deal with Lady Chester’s questions.”