He scooped her into his arms, careful of her side, hoping she didn’t note how badly his hands shook. “I’m not sure we have time to call for a doctor. I want to set sail on the evening tide before reinforcements arrive to continue what these men started.”
The urge to flee was strong, given that it was clear the attackers had come for Portia. Engaging him and the men on the dock had been a ploy to distract Grayson and the others from the real target.
“I’m fine, just a bit sore.” Her hoarse voice said differently.
“Seaton, get Cook to make a hot drink for Portia.” He’d add brandy to take the edge off her pain.
He carried Portia carefully to her cabin. “I’ll help you undress and take a look to see what damage has been done.”
A flush raced over her beautiful face, but she did not argue with him—a sure sign she was not at her best.
Grayson sat her gently on the edge of the bunk bed and then poured her a large brandy. He added a generous drop of whiskey for good measure. He waited until she’d drunk half the glass before suggesting she disrobe.
He unhooked the back of her gown and gently slipped it off her shoulders to bunch at her waist. He helped her lift her arms and pulled her shift over her head. She’d not been wearing a corset due to the heat. A pity, as it might have given her ribs more protection.
His mouth ran dry as he glimpsed her pert, full breasts, but he tried not to look. Grayson turned her gently away from him so he could assess the damage to her side and ribs, and his breath caught. He could clearly see red welts across her pale skin where she’d hit the large anchor chain. Her skin had also started to bruise.
“I need to ascertain if any of your ribs are broken. I’ll try to be gentle, but it will hurt. Perhaps you should drink the rest of the brandy?”
She complied obediently. He wished for one moment she was always this easy to manage.
Trying to separate his lustful thoughts from the need to see to her injuries, Grayson ran his hands over her rib cage. He’d done this several times for his male friends after too vigorous boxing matches, but her rib cage could fit in his hand. She was so petite and delicate, like a fine teacup. How did all of her ribs not break?
“Drink more of the alcohol, sweetheart.” He was going to have to probe each fine bone, and it would hurt.
He waited until Portia drank the rest of the brandy-whiskey mixture. When she nodded she was ready, he began feeling along the bones. She was so brave, stoically holding in her cries. Her teeth biting her bottom lip and the tears welling in her eyes were the only signs of her pain.
It was over quickly, thank goodness, and when he saw her tears, all he wanted to do was press tender kisses to the bruises marring such perfect skin. “All done. You did very well.”
Portia simply crumpled to the bed and gulped in air. She didn’t even try to cover herself. “Sorry to be such a crybaby. I’m not very good with pain.”
The curve of her full breast was clearly visible, and he tried to keep from licking his lips. Instead, he rose to find some bandages. “The good news is I don’t think any of the ribs are broken, merely badly bruised. The bad news is you are going to be very sore for a few days. I think we should bandage you up merely to keep your side protected from movement and bumps.”
He poured her more brandy and handed her the glass. She rolled onto her back, mindless of the fact she was naked to the waist. His body flared with heat, and he couldn’t help staring. His body hardened further as her nipples peaked. She simply gave a small smile, knowing the exact effect her body was having on him.
She lay across the bunk, her vibrant hair spread across the pillow as a frame around her head, neck, and shoulders, making her skin appear alabaster in the sunlight. She looked like a decadent treat, something to be savored and worshiped. The alcohol put a gorgeous flush in her cheeks and made her smiling eyes more wanton than usual.
He was completely falling under her spell. The only thing preventing him from throwing himself on her and ravishing her until they reached England was the fact she was bruised and battered.
“I’m not as fragile as I look.” The words slurred from her lips. “I’m actually feeling rather good.”
“That’s the brandy and whiskey talking. Tomorrow you’ll barely be able to move.”
She giggled.
Trying to keep his body in check, he helped her into a sitting position. He became totally focused on her injuries as he wound strips of linen tightly around her chest to hold her ribs immobile. Her giggles soon faded as the cloth tightened. Once again she did not make a sound.
When he’d finished, he finally lifted his head to look at her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Grayson grabbed for the whiskey bottle by the bed and took a long swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before turning to face her. At least the linens bound her breasts as well as her ribs. But she still looked like temptation incarnate.
“You were very brave.”
She smiled and reached for her brandy glass. “Don’t I deserve a reward?” He obliged and tipped more of the pain-dulling alcohol into her glass.
“That wasn’t the reward I was thinking of,” she said, her words still slightly slurred. With that she reached forward and cupped his chin in her little hand. He knew what she would do, but he was powerless to stop her.
Chapter 8
A shudder racked his frame. If he’d arrived a few minutes later, she would have been dead—strangled because someone wanted to destroy him. They obviously wanted to stop him from clearing Christian of the charges of rape, but why use Portia?
He had to protect her, and he couldn’t do it with a raging erection every time she was near.
Her lips pressed firmly against his. She tasted of sweetness mixed with the headiness of brandy. His lips opened as her tongue tentatively pushed into his mouth. She signaled her innocence, coupled with her desire, as she probed his tongue with hers.
When she withdrew from his mouth, disappointment singed. He traced his lips with one finger, feeling her softness still upon him.
“I almost died again today, and I’m still a virgin. It would appear someone wants me dead.” She stared up at him defiantly, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I don’t want to die a virgin. I don’t want …” She swallowed before finishing in a whisper, “I don’t want to die not knowing what it’s like to have you inside me.”
It was the tear that slid down one cheek that did it. He could no longer deny her nor himself. She was right. It was a long, dangerous journey home, and it hit him with the force of a cannonball how close he’d already come to losing her.
But he would protect his heart. If he let himself love her and he did lose her, he’d never recover. He would protect her and give her his name, his home, and his life, but never his heart.
He shut out the voice warning him to desist, but he wasn’t strong enough to deny her. Or himself. He wanted her, all of her, and it scared him to admit it, so he fell back on her condition as an excuse.
“I want you too, sweetheart, but you are in no condition to be made love to.”
She wiped her tears away. “You could make the pain go away. Take my mind off it with pleasure. I’ve heard you’re rather good at making a woman forget everything but the pleasure you can give. I’m sure you know a way that would not hurt me.”
Need overwhelmed his good sense. He flexed his fingers and ran one over the swell of her breasts pushing up from the tight linen binding her ribs.
She shivered, and he saw her nipples pebble under the makeshift strapping.
“If we do this, you will agree to be my wife as soon as we reach home?” Her mouth firmed. “I am not making love to you without your promise to wed.”
She sat there looking as sweet as a delectable treat, but he knew she was fighting her inner self. She did not want to agree to his terms, but he would not take her virginity without her promise.
“It would seem I have no choice.”
; He knew her too well. “That is not an affirmative acceptance of my terms.”
“So this is what our relationship comes down to? Blackmail?”
He laughed and stroked a second finger across the exposed portion of her breasts. He was not opposed to using a little persuasion to get her to agree. “Unlike you, I’m more than content to wait until we marry before I take you to my bed.”
Liar, his body screamed, but he would never let Portia understand the power she could wield over him.
She lay back on the bunk. “Devil take you, Grayson. If that is the price I have to pay, then yes, I gladly agree to be your wife when we return to Flagstaff Castle.”
A smug smile flitted over Grayson’s handsome face, and if she weren’t so drunk she’d be offended at his assumption she’d give in so easily. Portia hid her smile. He thought he’d won, but he hadn’t. He still had to prove to her that he would be marrying her for love. If it meant she never set foot in Flagstaff Castle again, so be it.
Soon their war of words was forgotten. Her senses came alert, leaping and rejoicing, as Grayson began removing the gown lying bunched at her waist. She watched everything he did; every stroke of his hand against her skin sent swirling heat through her body, making her forget her painful ribs.
Nothing else mattered now but quenching the heated longing igniting her from the inside out. Her need was simple. She needed Grayson to make love to her. The memory of strong hands squeezing the living breath from her helpless body needed to be banished. She hated feeling powerless, and her attacker had momentarily stolen her confidence in her ability to take care of herself. She simply wanted to forget everything related to death and rejoice in life.
Grayson made her feel alive—and safe, as if no one and nothing could hurt her.
She watched through lowered lids as her gown and underthings were slowly and seductively removed. His hands slid over her skin like a hot breeze, palms burning, marking her. He seemed to be telling her everything he couldn’t say in words, his touch gentle and worshipful. Heat flared and slid down to pool low in her belly, and it wasn’t from the brandy.
She gasped as his lips trailed up the inside of her bare leg. She tried to lift her head off the pillow to watch him, but strength seemed to have deserted her. She briefly closed her eyes and gave herself over to his expert touch.
The stubble on Grayson’s chin grazed her sensitive skin and she shivered. His lips traveled ever higher, up past her knee, and she knew the destination, for Rose had told her everything about a man loving a woman with his mouth. However, nothing could have prepared her for the exquisite sensation. At the first lap of his tongue on her most private place, the heat and sensation saw her eyes fly open and a gasp escape.
He stopped his sensual assault. “Did I hurt you?”
She gulped and shook her head. She stared into his beautiful face and was thrilled at the dark fire in his eyes.
With a sexy smile he bent his head and began loving her with his mouth. Her hands found his hair, her fingers tangling in the soft locks. Soon she was lost in his sensual world. She could feel her heart beating in her chest as the passion ignited. The heat rose beneath her skin, pulsing in time to the insistent throb of the soft flesh between her thighs where Grayson loved her so expertly.
For the first time she let go of her self-control and gave herself over to fully experiencing the telltale greedy fire that flooded her and made her yearn for … she wasn’t quite sure. Thankfully, her body seemed to know what it needed, but at this very moment she had no idea—except that it would be wonderful.
Soon her body took over her mind as sensations bombarded her. His tongue did wicked things to her, and when his fingers entered her, all thoughts fled, replaced with pure yearning.
Her hips moved wantonly, her hands sank further into his hair, and she pressed closer and moved faster. Her body strained, her breath coming in short sharp gasps, and her ribs began to protest.
Grayson’s lips closed fully on her and two fingers became three, and with one strong suck an explosion of feelings rocked her. Like sands racing out of an hourglass, pebbles of pleasure raced down every nerve, washing her veins with sensual gratification. For the first time in her life she flew, free above the earth, wholly taken by the glory of her release.
She didn’t note how long she floated in such bliss. It might have been one minute, or it might have been ten.
When her eyes finally opened, Portia met Grayson’s dark gaze, and hesitated as something within her clenched, a primitive reaction to the clear promise and accompanying need she saw in his face. His gaze hungrily traveled from her face down her neck, momentarily halting at her breasts, then over her stomach to the magical place he’d just worshiped with his tongue between her thighs.
Desire leaped to life once more. Especially as Grayson began swiftly stripping the garments from his powerful body. She’d seen many shirtless males—she did have five brothers, after all. However, her breath fled as his hands flew to the flap of his breeches.
He looked up and caught her stare. He slowed his movements. “Have you ever seen a fully naked man before?”
“Not from the waist down.”
Without a hint of embarrassment he slowly lowered his breeches over slim hips. She couldn’t find words to describe how beautiful the sculptured muscles at his hips looked or how powerfully arousing the site of his rampant erection was, straining upward toward his navel.
Mouth watering, unable to stop herself, she shifted closer to the edge of the bunk and reached out. Her hand wrapped around the hard length of him, but she was surprised at the silken softness as she gripped him.
She heard his indrawn breath, which emboldened her. She then stroked him, testing the incredible resilience of his manhood. He let her learn him. She cupped his sacs, amazed at how they tightened as she gently squeezed.
Finally, through gritted teeth he said, “Enough. I won’t last if you continue to play.”
She drew back her hand, and with one look at his face her breath caught in her throat. The moment she’d for waited and dreamed of for most of her adult life was upon her. It still felt like a dream.
“There is a position that should cause you the least pain. Mind you, this is not how I’d wanted your—our first time together to be, but with your damaged ribs, it’s the only way that won’t cause you too much pain.”
“My ribs don’t hurt nearly as much as I ache for you.” Her eyes flew wide as she heard his answering groan and he actually shuddered at her declaration.
“Move onto your good side, facing the wall.”
She was too excited to wonder for very long what he was about. Her skin prickled with want as he slid in behind her. His massive, naked frame felt like a fortified stone wall at her back.
One of his large hands reached under her arm to cup one breast through her bandage, possessively weighing and caressing. His thumb found her nipple, and when his fingers squeezed, sparks shot liquid heat to pool low in her belly. She arched her back, ignoring the slight pull on her ribs, to press her flesh more firmly into his powerful hand.
She sighed in disappointment when the hand left her breast to rove down her body, sliding over her hip and slipping determinedly between her thighs.
She fought to ride the wave of feeling as he stroked her sensitized folds. Her body squirmed, her bottom snuggling into his groin, where it met the hard maleness eager to meet her.
She could feel his rapid breathing on the back of her neck where he was placing little kisses. She wished she could turn and take his face in her hands and crush her lips to his. But her injury kept her on her side, at the mercy of his pace. He controlled her every move and everything she felt, and she learned pretty quickly that he would move at his pace and his alone.
His clever fingers soon had her soaring once more. The pleasure was almost too much. She reached back, and the nails of one hand dug into his powerful thigh, the other hand clutching the sheet in front of her. She loved the feeling of being surrounde
d, trapped, by his hot, hard, masculine body. The new sensations of hair-covered thighs and a hard erection against her skin …
Portia’s nails digging into his thigh was just what he needed. He didn’t think he could hold his raging desire in check without the pain she was creating in his leg. He had to stay in control, not solely because of her virginal state but because of the damage to her ribs and the bruising. He’d never taken a woman’s virginity before, but he knew it would likely hurt if she wasn’t prepared properly. Add the situation with her ribs, and he was not in a winning position. All his usual moves would cause her pain. He’d have to go slowly and gently, something at this moment he did not wish to do. He wanted to take her, pound into her, and make her his.
Christ, if he didn’t get his body under control, by the time he was finished she might never want to make love again.
To keep his body in check, Grayson concentrated on her needs. She moved against his hand and his body with such sweet need it almost blew the top of his head off.
He waited for the ripples of her second orgasm to fade before he removed his fingers, pushed her leg forward slightly, and settled in closer behind her.
She didn’t ask anything; he could feel as she surrendered her body to his knowledge. He was humbled by such trust. He pressed in the first inch, struggling to stop himself from pulling her back tightly against him.
He took a moment to take a deep breath. The realization that this act would change his life forever consumed him. She would be his and his alone. A calmness settled over his mind and everything suddenly felt right.
He pushed forward gently. She was tight—tight enough to send his heart racing, his breathing to deepen, and a groan to escape his lips. He continued to fill her, and she pressed backward as if to help him. Too soon he felt the barrier. Every muscle clenched as he paused, fighting the urge to surge forward. However, it was best to get it over with. He flexed his spine and thrust, forging past the evidence of her innocence to seat himself fully within her.
A Touch of Passion_A Rouge Regency Romance Page 10