William.
He stroked toward her at breakneck speed and clinched her waist, dragged her back to the rig.
The rope ladder was lowered.
William thrust her against the wooden rings. “Climb,” he ordered.
Her fingers numb, she grasped the rings and scaled the ladder, every step slow and shaky, but with the captain right behind her, pushing her onward, she finally reached the top deck.
Several hands grabbed her and hoisted her over the rail. A wool blanket draped her shoulders. A mug of rum was pressed into her hands.
Shivering, Madeline gulped the rum, needing the fortifying drink, her mind in a tizzy, her heart slamming into her ribs like a battering ram.
As soon as the captain boarded the ship, the tars collectively separated from her, their expressions wary. And with good reason. A sidelong glance revealed the captain’s livid features. She’d be spooked, too, if confronted with such a glare. She had never seen the man more incensed—not even with her.
And though her tumbling overboard had been a happenstance, she sensed the crew would pay dearly for the accident. But before any vicious reprimands passed between his lips, William’s features changed, crippled.
Madeline sensed the moment vertigo gripped him, the moment a surge of pain wracked his head. She had seen that expression many times before and realized the man was about to collapse—in front of his crew—and not from a valiant bullet wound earned in the heat of battle, but from scooping a slight chit out of the calm sea.
There was no greater defeat, no greater humiliation for a captain than to fall apart in front of his men, and Madeline quickly stepped at William’s side, feigning distress.
Her arms went around his waist, her temple rested on his chest, and she coughed, then whispered, “Thank you for escorting me back to my cabin, Captain. I need rest.”
He remained taut, desperate to maintain his composure. She tugged at him, encouraging him to lean on her and move. As he hobbled, she stumbled, too, making it appear as though the captain was supporting her floundering steps.
The crew parted, creating a channel, their heads hung in dismay as she and the captain passed in complete silence. Fortunately, William’s reticence prompted guilty sentiments instead of suspicious ones. As far as she could observe, the tars believed their captain too enraged to speak, not ill, and that was all she wanted them to think for now.
As soon as she reached the captain’s cabin, she helped him toward the bed where he finally collapsed, his features contorted. He was shaking, his eyes shut tight, and blood was seeping from his nose.
She stifled an alarmed cry and kneeled beside the bed, taking his hand. “What can I do?”
“Nothing,” he gritted. “It’ll pass, as always.”
She fetched a towel and returned to his bedside, mopping the blood. “Oh, William.”
“You . . . all right?” he stuttered, floating in and out of consciousness.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, squeezing his hand again.
“Almost . . . lost . . . you.”
“No, I can swim. My grandfather taught me as a child.”
“Almost . . . drowned.”
“No,” she repeated more forcefully. “I can swim, William. I’m alive.” And she bussed his quivering lips as proof. “I’m alive.”
He blacked out then.
Madeline slumped on her heels, tears rolling down her cheeks. She listened to his haggard breathing for a few frustrating minutes before she pushed aside her grief. She had work to do. And though she wasn’t a trained nurse, she had enough knowledge about basic care to help him through his latest episode.
After she’d changed into dry clothes, Madeline returned to the captain’s cabin and bolted the door. She first divested his wet clothes using a knife she’d found wedged in his boot. He was too heavy for her to maneuver, so she’d simply sliced the garments, yanked off his boots, then covered him with a series of blankets.
He trembled still, from pain, not fever, and she couldn’t watch him writhe in discomfort without resorting to bloody tears.
After a thoughtful pause, she crawled across the bed, lifted the covers, and snuggled beside his naked body. She crooked one arm and nestled her hand under her chin, stretching her other arm across the breadth of his chest.
His warmth, his heartbeat comforted her, even if it didn’t offer him much solace . . . or perhaps her proximity soothed him after all, for he soon settled and breathed with greater strength, his rhythm even.
“Oh, William,” she whispered once more, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. “What ails you?”
But she suspected she might not want to learn the truth anymore.
CHAPTER 8
Madeline found herself on a roaring battlefield, ducking whizzing bullets and dodging fleeing soldiers. As the stinging smoke cleared, she spotted a body splayed in the trampled grass.
William.
She ran toward him, screamed his name, but he remained unmoving, bleeding from the chest. She pressed her hands over the bullet wound at his heart, desperate to stymie the blood flow, but the fiery fluid gushed between her fingers unchecked.
“No,” she cried. “Don’t die. Please don’t die!”
With a twitch, Madeline awakened, her heart pounding, her lungs starved for air. It took her several frantic moments to regain her poise and realize it was another dream. But what was William doing on the battlefield? Dying?
She shuddered at the perturbing thought—and seized when a large hand squeezed her hip. There was a heavy arm draped around her body, and a male chest tucked under her cheek. A very naked male chest.
Madeline stifled a groan. She had fallen asleep in the captain’s bed—on the captain. She hadn’t intended to find herself in the compromising position. She’d meant to leave the bed before he’d recovered from his delirium, but her own bones had ached from the fall, and the warmth of the mattress, the man’s flesh had been an irresistible comfort.
Her cheeks burned, but not with shame. The quiet intimacy suited her after such a night terror, and she longed to remain in the harmonious moment. But the captain had also threatened to throw her in the brig if he ever found her in his cabin again, much less his bed, and the harmony between them fractured as she wondered what sort of mood he was in—benevolent or punishing.
She turned her head and peeked at him, meeting his smoldering gaze, and another shudder wracked her body, so sultry and titillating. He sensed it. His arm tightened around her. And his eyes burned ever hotter.
Something had changed between them. She found herself staring into the eyes of a very different man. A man who had lowered his guard. And as she delved into the pools of his beautiful blue irises, a wealth of feeling overwhelmed her, frightened her, even.
“Are you all right?” he asked, voice gravelly with sleep.
“I-I’m fine. I had a nightmare.”
He lifted his other hand and brushed a tousled lock away from her moist brow. “And the fall?”
“Oh, the fall. Yes, I’m all right.”
Madeline uttered a soft squeak as the hand on her hip shifted, covered her rump, and hoisted her up the length of his frame until they were nose to nose . . . lips to lips.
“Tell me the truth, Maddie.”
The truth? The truth about what? That his breath tickled her sensitive skin until she wanted to take his mouth and ravish him? That his hand, still braced on her arse, shot waves of sensual desire through her feverish blood? That her nightmare had opened a new chapter in her life, where she now feared for William’s survival?
There was too much to confess, too much to lose . . . and much to gain with the truth.
But she would give him her truth, she decided at last.
“Touch me, William.”
His breath hitched. “Maddie—”
“I need you. And I think you need me, too.”
As his muscles stiffened in resistance, she stroked his cheek. “For tonight,” she rasped. “Just for tonig
ht.”
Her own muscles firmed with want. And fear. He might still reject her, toss her from the room, but she wanted the hurt in her soul relieved, the loneliness gone—for a while, at least.
He trembled a tense moment longer—then gripped her tresses and pulled her in for a kiss.
When their lips touched, her heart spasmed. His kiss wasn’t punishing, a deterrent to keep her away. For the first time, he’d opened for her, trusted her, and his buss was welcoming, tender, and, oh, so hungry.
Madeline sighed with sweet relief and dropped her own guard. As his fingers grazed the length of her hair and slipped over the knobs of her spine, she shivered, and soon found herself tumbling in bed, being pressed against the mattress.
Her troubles were quickly forgotten as he ministered gentle kisses, pecking her cheeks, her nose before tending to her flushed lips once more. He handled her in a light, even delicate manner. Afraid she’d break in his hold? Or perhaps he just cherished the moment, cherished her?
Her heart jerked. A want filled her. The primal need to be adored, revered. She’d neglected her desires far too long, bound by guilt and regret. But for one night, she would pretend she had no scandalous past, that she was deserving of intimacy. She imagined she was alone in the world with William, the only two creations on earth, joining for the first time. She would not hide her body or mind or soul from him.
As soon as he sensed her submission, he heaved with unfettered emotion—and his kisses turned rich, more sensual and invading, taking everything she offered, and giving much dreamed of pleasure in return. And healing. She hadn’t realized the breadth of her suffering until pure delight swarmed the void in her heart, and she sobbed with joy.
William’s kisses gained ferocity. His fingers curled into her dress, clumping the thin material, yanking it off her shoulders. The linen stretched across her breasts. She heard the fine threads splitting apart before he rent the fabric.
Her heart jumped. She was moist with sweat, covered in quivering gooseflesh. She dragged in a much-needed breath as he broke away from her mouth, his hot lips hungering at her throat and down her breastbone. He bussed her breasts, first one then the other, before he took a nipple into his mouth.
Madeline gasped. Her whole body arched as he sucked her areola, drawing her deeper into his ravenous mouth. She clasped his hair, holding him tighter against her flesh. And when he flicked his tongue across the sensitive nub, she cried “yes,” choking on the word. His tongue circled and laved, provoking more shouts of insatiable longing.
With a guttural growl, he soon settled between her thighs, hooked an arm under her knee—and slipped into her.
Her spine pitched as unhindered arousal coursed through her very marrow. She panted at the full length of him, then moaned, over and over, as he rocked inside her, so slow, like a rhythmic dance. Her quim throbbed for more.
“William,” she cried, bucking her hips. “Harder.”
She clutched his wet backside, lifting her rump, and he grunted with each swift penetration, thrusting deeper still, his every stroke rough yet tender until a savage need pooled within her, demanded gratification, and violent release wracked her bones, her muscles thrumming in ecstasy.
She heard a desperate groan as he orgasmed inside her, and then the world went quiet in the euphoric afterglow of lovemaking.
It was several breathless minutes before he separated from her, sated, and buried his mouth in the crook of her neck. Shaking, she curled into his protective embrace.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Damn, woman.” His thigh anchored between her legs. A finger soon followed, sliding into her still sensitive quim. “I will always give you what you want. Don’t ask me for it. Don’t beg me for it. And don’t ever thank me for it. Do you understand?”
“Aye,” she gasped, holding him for balance, moving her hips to match his seductive undulations.
“Then take,” he said in a harsh, almost angry voice. “Take anything you want from me. Take everything from me, if it pleases you.”
“I will,” she vowed, unsure why he’d made such a sacred offer, but it was clear “just one night” wouldn’t be enough, not for either of them.
Her thoughts in an uproar, she dismissed the confusion and listened to his hypnotic voice resounding in her head: Take anything you want from me. Take everything from me, if it pleases you.
She obeyed. For once. And it was under his devoted, carnal ministrations she orgasmed again—and again—before blissful satisfaction turned into blissful sleep.
CHAPTER 9
“Why do you keep a snake aboard ship?”
William almost nicked his throat shaving when he looked at Madeline’s refection in the mirror, her supple arse so damn tempting in the morning light. He watched her as she slipped into the frock he’d fetched from her room, buttoning the front length, covering her beautiful breasts.
She then collected the dress he’d rent, inspecting it, perhaps wanting to repair it, and he stifled a groan at the memory of their heady night together, and how he’d lost control of his senses—something he had never done before.
“Why not keep a cat to look after the rats?” she wondered.
William put away the straight razor before he sliced his throat, unable to concentrate and maintain a steady grip with her in the same cabin. He dunked his hands in the bowl of hot water and washed his face before toweling his semi-sheared cheeks.
“The snake belongs to my eldest brother, James. He found her in Jamaica many years ago. But after he married. . .”
“Ah, his wife would have nothing to do with it. A sensible woman.”
Aye, sensible. His sister-in-law, Sophia, loathed the serpent, which was named after her, and had tried on several occasions to lop off its head. James had given William the yellow boa to protect its life. But William wouldn’t be able to look after the reptile much longer.
“I intend to release her in the Bahamas,” he said, thoughtful.
“Good.”
Madeline tamed her long brown hair, braiding and twisting the unruly curls, pinning the tresses in place, and he observed the simple ritual with intimate pleasure.
“I hate wending through the ship, fearing it’ll swallow me whole.”
A very unsubtle complaint.
“I have a terrarium.” He latched the shaving kit, putting it away. “I’ll place her inside the habitat until we reach the islands.”
Her arms stealthy slipped around his naked waist. He stiffened. She had sneaked up behind him. But how? He was always alert. Yet with Maddie . . .
And how strange, he thought, that a surprise embrace wasn’t so perturbing? At least, not from her.
She grazed one hand across his ribs and backside, tracing the line of his spine with her fingertip. He shuddered at the sensuous touch. Her warm lips pressed between his shoulder blades, and he shut his eyes at the arousing gesture, at the mounting desire in his blood . . . desire he wouldn’t be able to restrain much longer.
“Maddie, I have to go above deck.”
“I’m not asking, Captain.” Her hand dropped to his arse, scraping his buttocks. He gritted as her slender fingers raked his muscles, exploring . . . craving . . . torturing him even more. “I’m taking.”
He grunted in defeat, turned and latched onto her smoldering gaze. Her bold demand disarmed him. Aye, he’d given her permission to take as much as she wanted from him, but to feel and hear her yearning almost crippled him. She coveted life like no other woman he had ever met, and he was irrepressibly drawn to her unbound passion.
William cast off the shadow of death that always trailed after him and pushed her against the table.
“Be gentle, Captain. I don’t have many dresses left.”
Her sultry chastisement weakened him even more. Rucking her skirt over her hips, he hoisted her onto the table.
“Open for me,” he ordered. “Wide.”
Blood rushed to her cheeks, her full lips. She lifted her knees, her breathing sw
ift and shallow. His own lungs expanded with desperate mouthfuls of air as he stepped between her splayed thighs, unfastened his trousers—and thrust into her.
Madeline released a sensual moan and dropped her head back in abandon.
“Is this deep enough for you?” he growled, buried in the tight folds of her wet quim.
She gasped. “Yes.”
He bumped her hips, quick and rough. “Is this hard enough for you?”
“Yes,” she cried. “Yes!”
“Do you want more, Maddie?”
“Yes,” she pleaded, gripping the table for balance as he pumped inside her with swift, piercing strokes. “Don’t stop, William.”
The wood joints of the table creaked and stomped as he pounded into her, and she arched her body, drawing him more fully into her womb. It was madness. Sweet madness. And when he sensed her muscles spasm in orgasm, and her shouts of pleasure carry throughout the cabin, he released his seed, burrowing into her one last blessed time.
She almost dropped on the table, so faint, but he captured her in his arms, trembling after such intense sex.
“Are you satisfied?” he murmured into her ear.
“For now,” she whispered with a sly smile.
In the serene silence that followed, he cradled her in his embrace, inhaled her divine scent, listened to her labored breathing, and he suddenly ached to never let her go. In that moment, he realized he was doomed, that she had a hold over him like a fabled siren—an unbreakable hold—and he cursed himself for letting her get so close to his heart. The shadow of death returned, but now it trailed after both of them—for soon he would leave her. Forever.
But not today, he thought in defiance. Not today. And he searched for a reason to remain with her in the perfect moment.
He rubbed her spine and bussed her salty throat. “You had a nightmare last night,” he said offhand. “Tell me about it?”
And though it was dangerous growing even closer to her, the temptation was just too much to resist.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, keeping him near, fingering his hair in wayward fashion.
“I dream about the past sometimes, about a boy. He was the youngest son of my father’s steward. And such a devil. At every turn, he yanked my hair, kicked dirt at my dress, tossed acorns at my head. I had him whipped on several occasions.”
How to Steal a Pirate's Heart (The Hawkins Brothers Series) Page 5