turned to water when her .fingertips trickled over the
solid ridge straining against his breeches, squeezing
down the length of his thigh. Her hand moved between
his legs.
He tore his mouth away. "Tess, Tess," he moaned. "We—I—God's teeth, woman!" he uttered when she cupped him, squeezing firmly. His powerful arms instantly swallowed her. His will vanished as he crushed her lips beneath his with a ravenous need. Fool! Fool! I should never have let it go this far, Dane agonized, shoving the satin strap off her shoulder, his lips tracing a swift steamy path down her chest. I've been a bloody idiot to believe I could resist her spell, he silently admitted. But the woman robs me of all coherent thought with naught but those eyes. I've wanted her from the beginning. And now, Christ, I'm bloody starving to be inside her. A warm callused hand covered her firm breast. Her nipple tautened beneath his touch, boring into his palm. Dane lowered his head. Tess gasped with pleasure as he captured her nipple, his tongue flicking the tender peak. Then he drew it fully into his mouth, tugging, suckling almost painfully at the rosy tip. Heat splashed down her body in a quick surge. Her hands gripped the lean flesh of his ribs as he bent her back over his arm, her bosom plumping under his moist attentions.
Her lids fluttered, her gaze briefly skimming the cut on his shoulder. The memory of the day's events rapidly flooded her mind. Tears pricked her eyes as she pulled at his belt. He caught her fingertips, straighten-
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ing. Eyes locked and held.
A crystal drop fell, splashing on her bared breast. She swallowed, aching to feel anything but the turmoil churning inside her.
"I want you, Blackwell," she panted against his lips, jerking open the buckle. She freed a button. "Now!" Two buttons. Three. His heart slammed against the wall of his chest. Each bold release was like a gunshot. His legs threatened to crumble. Four. Five. His manhood sprang free, pushing against her satin-cloaked stomaph. Without taking her eyes from his, her hand slid inside his trousers. "For the love of God!" he choked. "No. For me," she whispered intensely as her hand closed around him.
Dane's breath charged in his lungs; blood rushed through his body, burning his loins as she stroked him. Her fingertip made an agonizing circle over the moist tip of him, and he fought to fill his lungs. The ship creaked.
Never had he wanted a woman more. His mouth slashed hard against hers as he shoved up the satin. A large hand slid between her thighs. She whimpered, pushing against his fingers, and Dane thought he'd die with the sheer pleasure of it. It was excruciating, almost painful to touch her. She was a sorceress, a lady witch, he thought, his head reeling with the musky scent of her. His tongue slickly outlined the curve of her lips, brushed back and forth across her teeth, then thrust inside as his finger slipped into the damp nest of black curls.
He found her. Hot and wet. The sudden knowledge nearly wrenched free the rigging on his restraint, chal-
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lenging his need to take her quickly. A finger probed the soft dewy folds, searching for the bud of her desire. He touched it, and she exploded in his arms, grinding against his hand:
"Please! Now!" she cried breathlessly, grasping his trousers and pulling him with her as she sank to her knees.
Immediately she straddled him, muscled limbs wrapping deliciously around his hips. His mouth and hands were everywhere, tasting, fondling, stroking. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she inched upward.
"Hurry, hurry," she begged.
The head of him entered her slim body. Dane shuddered violently. Grasping her hips, he watched her face as he pulled her downward. Her lids fluttered, a guttural moan of satisfaction escaping her lips as she sank onto the length of him. She lifted, then slammed down. Eager and hungry and breathless. Strong legs pulled him deeper inside her. The pleasure built to torturous proportions. Christ, she was so tight. Her arms wound around his neck, soft shudders tumbling into his mouth. She rode him. It was sizzling, vigorous — powerful. Her womanhood throbbed, blood coursing around his hard staff, pulsing, squeezing. He moved with her.
"Blackwell!" she screamed.
Suddenly he trapped her against him, stilling her frantic ride. "Say it!" She met his piercing green eyes, brilliant with desire. "Say my name, Tess!"
"Dane," she breathed.
His smile was animal-wicked as he lowered her to the carpet.
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"Dane," she whispered again, cupping his jaw and possessing his lips before her back met the floor. Her fingers plowed into his hair, dragging away the black ribbon tied at his nape. Onyx curls spilled over his broad shoulders. He pushed. She arched, claiming his buttocks, pulling him farther inside her.
"Look at me," he demanded. She did. He withdrew, then entered her again with exquisite tenderness. Tears bloomed in her eyes. She was strung tight, every nerve singing with a wondrous ache. Her body screamed for a fulfillment she'd never known.
He grasped her hands, placing them on either side of her head and lacing his fingers through hers. Locking his elbows, he moved, rhythmically, watching her sculptured body quiver and tremble beneath him. Sleek, untamed — damn bewitching. Her silken hair spread across the floor, undulating like black mist as each buffet drew her closer to ecstasy. His mouth brushed her lips as he surged forth, long and smooth. Their breaths mingled, sharp and sweet.
His body quaked. Dane withdrew fully, then plunged forth, again and again. Her cries of delight filled his head, making him dizzy, her low purrs and husky entreaties pushing him to the brink. He quickened his pace, the pumping cadence vibrating to treasured agony.
Her head thrashed on the carpet. She wouldn't survive this. It was too much. She knotted tighter with every stroke. "Dane. Do something! Ple-e-ease!"
His arms slid around her, clutching her close as he deepened his thrusts.
Tears dripped across her temples, melting into her hair.
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Close, so close.
Every nerve in her body suddenly wrenched tight, and she stiffened beneath him, gasping for the breath that would not come. Her eyes flew open and she stared up at him. For one earth-shattering moment Dane stopped, letting her hover on the passionate rim, teeter on the summit of blinding ecstasy. Then he plunged once more, hard and solid, flinging back his head and crying out her name. Tess toppled over the edge, her feminine muscles clenching the life from him. Searing waves crashed over her, shooting sparks to her weakened limbs, and he absorbed the low keening sigh of rapture with his mouth as his powerful body sang for several glorious seconds. He closed his eyes, tremors suffusing his being, then shuddered raggedly with the unbelievable release, burying his face in the cool drape of her hair.
"Sweet witch," he groaned on a shallow breath, then a moment later heard her watery reply.
"Damned pirate."
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
For one idiotic moment Dane wondered if he'd dreamt all that had transpired. Transpired? He smiled wryly at his mediocre choice of words. It was magnificent, a passionate eruption. I've passed into a new realm, Dane thought, his heart still thumping a wild tattoo as he lifted his head. It was a monumental effort. His breathing had yet to return to normal as he gazed tenderly down into her flushed face. Neither had hers. He brushed a lock from her cheek and felt the dampness.
"Tess?"
"Shhh," she hushed, pulling his head down and kissing him languidly. His breathing quickened, and he firmed inside her. One eye opened. "Are you always that easy to take advantage of?" she teased. His grin was slow, a rascally smile that made her breath catch.
Saucy wench, Dane thought, lifting his weight from her chest. She stretched slowly, catlike. He started to withdraw, and she quickly grasped him. "No, not yet."
"The bed offers a sight more comfort, love."
Tess melted into a puddle. Love. His tone was husky
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soft, intimate, and when she opened her eyes, she
wanted to freeze the expression on his face forever. She
reached up, tracing the line of his lips with her thumb,
fingertips rasping over the stubble on his chin. Was it
simply the look of a satisfied lover? He caught her
hand, nibbling her fingertips, then kissing her palm.
Her heart tripped at the lingering gesture. Was he for
real?
"Yes, I suppose it would," she finally managed, suddenly breathless. He left her, the emptiness sending a sharp pain through her chest. She wouldn't think about that. Not yet, not tonight. She closed her eyes, damming back the burn of tears. No more, she scolded herself. Adapt, overcome. Suddenly she was swept off the floor and into his arms.
"As fetching as you look on my carpet, Tess, you shall not sleep there." He carried her to his bed, placing her in the soft center. "And if I really want to?"
How she managed to look so defiant while she yawned, Dane didn't know, nor care. God, she was enchanting, he thought, stepping back, hands on his hips. He flashed her a grin. "Are you always in such a fighting snit after having your pleasures?"
Dane chuckled lowly when she stuck out her tongue as she sank deeper into the down.
Tess felt the heat burn her face but didn't care. Her eyes were glued to the sexiest sight she'd ever seen. Her heart thrashed in her chest, and she knew a hundred women who would kill to trade places with her at this moment. Shaggy locks tumbled in a thick black wave, dipping low over his brow, and all she could see beyond the hair was one frosty green eye making a leisurely
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journey up the length of her body. Long raven curls brushed his shoulders, and she was entranced as he stripped off what was left of his shirt. A light dusting of dark crisp hair tapered down his chest, disappearing into his trousers where the buttons of his pants were left unfastened. The belt hung open. A dangerously rumpled panther, she decided drowsily.
Silence was broken with the soft splash of waves, the gentle sway of the ship, and Tess fought against her heavy lids, then gave up, exhaustion quickly sapping what was left of her strength. Several moments later she felt a damp warmth between her thighs and it took a second to realize the soothing heat was a wet cloth. There isn't another like him, she thought.
Dane cleansed his seed from her body, listening to her soft sighs. He soaked the cloth again, wrung it out, then cleansed himself before he tucked her beneath the sheets. She snuggled into the mattress, kicking her legs
free. Dane told himself he must leave and started to rise.
She reached blindly, grasping his arm.
"Don't go. Please."
He cleared his throat. Her voice was like liquid smoke. "I cannot stay, Tess. Tis nearly morning,"
"Just for a little while?" She tugged.
Dane hesitated. God's teeth, she could demolish a man's sense of duty, he thought, his gaze sweeping over her satin-clad form, the sweet curve of her buttocks teasing him from twisted sheets. Her reputation would be ruined if he were discovered here in the morning.
Tess opened one eye. He'd taken off his shirt and boots. She suggested he keep going. He groaned as if in pain. "I want to feel you'
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"Nay. I will not compromise you, Tess."
"I believe it was the other way around, Captain." She jerked hard on his arm, and he fell down beside her.
"Demanding little witch, aren't you?" he muttered, unable to resist the tantalizing offer.
"Yeah, and you love it," she yawned hugely, smiling when he punched a pillow. "Dane?" She twisted a look at him. "The pants."
"I beg you, Tess, not another word." Dane pressed a finger to her lips when she continued to protest. "Blast it, woman," he muttered tightly, battling the urge to pull her beneath him. "I'm not a damned saint!" Then he slung an arm over her waist and cupped a plump breast.
Tess sighed contentedly, wiggling into the curve of his body and instantly falling asleep, unaware of how tense Dane was tucked behind her.
Just for a moment, Dane decided. She needed him. And loath to admit it, even to himself, Dane Blackwell needed her.
A breakfast tray in his hand, Duncan knocked softly, and when he heard no sound from within, he slowly opened the cabin door. He froze, the sight that greeted him leaving the old salt stunned. And bloody furious. Damn you to hell, Capt'n. Duncan backed up, shaking his head and closing the door with a sharp snap.
Dane's eyes opened abruptly, and he was suddenly aware of nothing but the womanly curves pressed intimately to his body. Tess. Sweet witch. The past hours flooded back with a heated rush, and Dane smiled softly, shifting to view the sleeping woman whose dark head was pillowed on his chest. Her beauty was flaw-
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less, the light browning of her skin somehow becoming. Her lips were slightly bruised from his kisses, and the thin strap of her chemise had slipped off her shoulder, availing him an enticing view of the lush bounty displayed. His hand rode up the soft curve of her hip to her waist, and in her dreams she flung an arm possessively across his chest. Her body was chiseled perfection, and Dane wondered how a woman could gain such a splendid physique. Aye, strong and graceful—his smiled widened—and extraordinarily passionate. He was tempted to wake her and feel that glorious explosion again. Though he'd had his choice of females, Dane never knew a lass to be so erotically brazen in her lovemaking, aye, nor to enjoy it quite so much. And he silently admitted he'd never felt more vulnerable in his entire life as when she'd held him snugly inside her body.
His manhood responded with amazing swiftness to the steamy images his mind conjured, and Dane knew that one taste of this woman would never be enough. His desire was a hunger that had begun when he'd first held her in his arms, and he was helpless to control it with the knowledge that she desired him so freely. Brushing back a raven lock, he placed a soft kiss to her forehead. Her slender leg entwined itself tighter around his own. He bent his head to taste her ripe mouth when he heard footsteps outside the cabin door. His body instantly tensed, his gaze snapping to the window. Damn and blast! Daylight. Carefully he disentangled himself from her. She moaned yet didn't waken, simply snuggling around his pillow. Climbing from the bed, he withdrew his pocket watch, flipped the spring catch, and checked the time. It was early, just past dawn. Guilt suddenly weighed heavy in his chest. He hadn't
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meant to fall asleep. He'd planned to leave the cabin early in order for them not to be discovered like this. He couldn't bear it if she were openly compromised before his crew because he couldn't control his rutting nature. Dane was honest with himself. Tess had been severely distraught, ranting incoherently, and even though she'd been more than wanting, he knew he could have halted their lovemaking at any time. A little voice mocked him. Who was he trying to fool? He'd desired her so fiercely his body ached with it. He rubbed the back of his neck, absently curious as to what had wakened him in the first place.
He strode to the chiffonier and removed a fresh shirt and breeches, quickly changing. Searching the cabin for his boots, he spied them beside the bed. He was shoving a foot in when his gaze bounced off, then returned to the bowl of water from last evening. His eyes widened. Water tinged pink with blood. Sweet Jesus! He looked at Tess. How can this be? He'd felt no obstruction when he entered her. And she seemed, well, experienced. She was twenty-five, for mercy sake's! Then he recalled something else. She may have known how to stir a man to incredible heights, but Dane was certain she knew next to nothing about her own body's response, just now remembering the startled look on her face when she'd reached fulfillment. Was it possible she was a virgin in that sense?
A strange emotion warring within him, Dane yanked on the bootstrap, then straightened and went about discarding the water and collecting the strewn clothing. He stilled when he lifted the short robe from the floor, rubbing the fabric between his fingertips. It was crisper than silk or satin, yet thinner than the latter. He started
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to toss it on the foot of the bed when he noticed a label. He frowned as he read the scrolled writing. Misakatsu Kimonos. Made in Japan. Japan? He read the reverse side. Washing instructions. Machine wash, delicate cycle, cool. No bleach. Tumble dry.
Brows knitted tightly, Dane dropped the robe on a chair and moved toward the door. He hated not being able to understand the meaning of the words. Washing garments by a machine? Surely they would be shredded in the process? And tumble dry? In what, and how? He wasn't about to make himself look the imbecile by asking Tess.
He paused, his hand on the door latch, listening before he opened it. Cautiously he peered out, then stepped into the corridor and made his way topside. Dane answered to no one, was questioned by even fewer, yet for Tess, he realized, he would go to any lengths to see her spared any more ridicule.
He needn't have worried, for the crew of the Sea Witch adored her. Without realizing it, she'd won over their barnacled hearts, and there wasn't a soul aboard that would not lie down and die for her. She'd saved their lives, the captain's, and most important, she'd forgiven their malicious behavior.
Tess woke slowly, a dreamy smile curving her lips as her hand reached out to the pile of covers, searching. When she found the space beside her cool and empty, she opened her eyes, propping herself up on one elbow. Despite her disappointment at being alone, Tess smiled, f smoothing the sheet. Last night was wild and exciting. Nothing like she'd ever imagined it could be. She
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flushed at her own aggressive behavior, flopping back on the pillows. That's what I get for being celibate for over five years, she thought. All that stored up sexual
anxiety. Reality crashed into her sensual memories with the
force of a slap.
Captain Blackwell was no longer the eccentric, but truth. I'm living in 1789, she admitted again. The previous day skittered through her brain with amazing clarity. The winch, Mr. Potts, the battle, and the blood. A shiver passed over her when she remembered how close Dane had come to death. What would I have done? What do I do now, she agonized, her emotions swelling, eyes burning. Tess sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and rubbing her face. Get a hold of yourself, Renfrew. Lamenting doesn't help, tears accomplish nothing. You're stuck here. Adjust your thinking. Jesus. Two hundred years, she thought, standing and reaching for her robe. She paused, her hand outstretched. Carefully placed across a chair was a crisp burgundy taffeta skirt, a black sash, and a beautifully embroidered burgundy silk blouse, delicately trimmed in matching lace. Corset, chemise, stockings, petticoats, the works—again. And all in a deep wine pink. Tess frowned. There certainly is an abundance of women's clothing on this vessel, she thought, annoyed. Damn pirate, plundering women's shops, no doubt.
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