“Oh, you called me that earlier, did you not?”
His fingers went the length of her skirt to her knee and ran back up to her hip, leaving a hot streak below the fabric. “I did. My mermaid once had dark hair and olive skin, but when I met you, I knew that she must be changed—must be painted to reflect the good fortune I have.”
“You repainted the mermaid because of me?” She felt her face flush and she was both flattered and confused. It seemed a good deal of work just to flirt.
He didn’t answer, but she heard him laugh a little behind her.
She watched his fingertips slide farther up to her waistline, skimming one of the bodice bones that ended right below the curve of her breast. Then his hand trailed back to her hip, where it stayed. She found it hard to focus on much more than the lazy way he caressed her. The feeling of his palm on her hip almost made her forget where she was.
“Are you well, meu único ouro?” Gaspar interrupted her thoughts.
“Yes. But may we move, now? The mermaid is beautiful, but I can’t sit here any longer.” Her fear of below was only one part of why she wished to move. His touch was stirring something within her that hardly had a name.
“Of course.” He stood, pulling her up with him, careful to support her. “I’ll show you some of the rest of the ship.”
She hooked her arm through his offered one, drawing nearer than she normally would. The inappropriate way he often teased her was gone. Gaspar was in his element upon the ship. He strolled down the edge of the stern, letting her walk on the inside. He seemed calmer, less…obnoxious. He was lord of his vessel, and acted accordingly.
“This is the helm,” he said, helping her up a small set of stairs. “Do you know much about ships?”
“Only what I’ve read.” She placed a hand on the wooden wheel, worn smooth from use.
He released her and stood at her back, taking both hands and putting them upon the spokes. His fingers rested over her own. “From here, you have total and complete command.”
She looked out over the open water, imagining the frightening thrill of being the captain of such a massive ship. “And you say you have more boats under your charge?”
“Four more. They should be here in a week, perhaps longer, depending on the sea.” He stepped back. “Care to see where you will be staying, if you choose to go to Spain?”
“I suppose I must,” she murmured, letting go of the wheel and following him down to the main deck. There were two doors on either side of the brass bell.
Gaspar opened the one to the left. “The other leads to the deck below, where the crew sleeps and eats.”
Gwen shadowed him into the cabin, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim light within. It was a small space, with two more doors, one beside her and another ahead. He opened the one by her arm and pushed her inside. It was a quaint, but cozy room. It held a wardrobe, a bare bed, a dressing table that also functioned as a desk, and a side table. A single, thin window let in enough light to brighten the cabin comfortably.
“Of course it will be better furnished, if you do come,” Gaspar assured her.
“I hope I’m not taking your accommodations?” she asked, wondering if he would sleep in the hold among the men, as she had read in books.
He shook his head and nodded toward the other door. “I will show you.” He swung the silent door open to reveal a much larger room.
She stepped inside the elegantly decorated chamber. It was all dark wood from the carved beams above to the massive desk covered in maps and ledgers. Several fine paintings hung on the walls and six tall windows trimmed in stained glass lay behind the desk, letting in colorful beams of light. In the corner was a great four-poster bed, the red brocade hangings showing only a glimpse of the bedding within.
“This is my cabin.” He strode over to the desk and leaned against it. “Has been since I was sixteen.”
“Sixteen? How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
Gwen was puzzled. She hadn’t thought he was that young. It was odd for someone of his age to command so many ships. But then again, her brother took charge of the clan when he was but twenty.
A crashing sound came from above and Gwen ran straight to Gaspar, grabbing onto his arm tightly, her fingers digging into his bare skin. “What was that?”
He chuckled and stroked her back as she drew nearer still. “Just the crew, meu único ouro. They must maintain the ship.”
There was another loud bang and Gwen buried her face into his chest, on the verge of tears. She waited for a wave to crash down upon them, or for the boat to split in half, letting her drop into the ocean. She clung to Gaspar, barely noticing that he had his arms wrapped tightly around her, his fingers in her curls.
“Hush, Gwendolyn,” he murmured, his accent thicker than usual. “La Sereia is a fine ship. It’s only the crew you hear. You are safe, I swear to you.”
Gwen allowed herself to be comforted, breathing in his scent of leather, wood, and salt. She counted each intake of breath as Gaspar purred Portuguese into her ear. Slowly, her heart began to steady and she opened her eyes, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. She pulled out of his embrace and turned her back to him.
“I’m so sorry I reacted in such an inappropriate manner,” she whispered. Gwen hated showing weakness, and that’s exactly what she was doing.
“It’s all right. It takes time to become accustomed to the sounds of the ship.”
“And I’m sorry I clung to you like that. It would have been horrible if we had been thrown into the water. I just…panicked.”
“I’m not sorry. I know I told you I would never touch you without your permission…but sometimes I feel as if I cannot help myself.”
She heard the sound of his thick boots approaching before he laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. Gwen relished his touch; her fear of being drowned at sea was quickly replaced by the sensation of his fingers trailing down the length of her arm. They swept away her unease, replacing it with an elated gush of heat.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, brushing her hair away from her neck.
“No,” she replied in a hoarse whisper.
He placed his lips on the curve of her throat, one hand drifting to her stomach, flattening her back against him. He nipped at the sensitive skin, sending jolts of energy coursing through her body. Gwen reached one arm back, brushing the side of his rugged jaw, savoring the feeling of his mouth on her neck. For a brief second, she thought it strange that her first kiss wasn’t on the lips, but on her neck.
As if he read her thoughts, he stopped kissing, but allowed his hands to lightly roam over her bodice. When his palm ran over the swell of her breast, she gasped, but pushed her chest outward, allowing him greater access. But then he spun her rapidly in his arms to face him.
“Do you want me to stop?” His voice was throaty, deep, and Gwen saw something flash in his gray eyes. She didn’t know much about the ways of men, but she knew what lust looked like.
“No.”
He fell upon her then, pressing his full lips to hers, clutching the back of her neck. His tongue probed her mouth, and she allowed him entry as he crushed her to him. She moaned as he bit her bottom lip and she tangled her fist in his dark hair. The feelings he was arousing in her were dangerously primal and addictive. Gwen wanted nothing more than for him to rip open her gown and take her where they stood.
She slipped her hand to the front of her dress, popping off the top button. The moment the silk-covered fastener came free, Gaspar pulled back, panting. He looked down and his eyes widened.
“What are you doing?”
Gwen challenged his gaze and unhooked the next button. “Are you blind? I know you know what a button is.”
He shook his head, his mouth slightly open. “But…but Spain…the prince?”
Another fastener came undone. “Merely a contract to benefit us both. There can be no lost love where there was nothing there to begin with.” She didn’t know the words were
true until she said them aloud. She didn’t give a fig about the prince, Spain, or her possible future vows—only the feelings she was experiencing in that moment, in Gaspar’s embrace.
Gaspar took her hand away from the buttons and pressed the knuckles to his smiling mouth. “There is no rush then.”
Gwen wished he would rush; otherwise she might lose her nerve. She had spent her life being perfectly in control and wished to let go of her inhibitions and give in to her desires. A few hours to live as if she had no rules or plans was as intoxicating as Gaspar’s touch.
She let him be her captain as he took her by the hand and steered her toward the four-poster bed. He kissed her again, slower then, his hands skimming her face, caressing her neck and shoulders, and then settling on her buttons, undoing each one without sight, his movements swift and expert.
He slowly let her silk gown crumple around her ankles, leaving her in her corset and lace shift. Gwen had a passing flash of clarity where she was thankful for her recent accumulation of fine French undergarments suitable for an adult woman. Gaspar was clearly in appreciation, as he brushed against the tiny embroidered roses along the top, his breaths becoming shallow.
She brought her hand to his belt and pulled his shift free, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the floor. The moment his face was clear, he took to her lips again. She felt a pang of disappointment that she didn’t get a chance to see his bare chest, but the feeling was short-lived. Gasper pushed aside the brocade hangings and grabbed her round the middle, sitting her on the edge of his soft bed. He knelt to the floor and gently slipped her shoes off and brushed up the hem of her shift. She watched him, her breath hitched in her throat.
“Meu único ouro, I will worship you,” he whispered, slipping his hand beneath her skirt and taking the top of each stocking. He slowly revealed each leg, placing his lips on her knees in turn. “You are so beautiful.”
Gwen felt her cheeks flood with heat at the feelings of his skin upon her bare thigh. But then he stood and looped a finger round the chain she still wore. He pulled it off her and hung over the lamp beside his bed. Then he brushed his lips over her bared collarbone, his fingers working the strings of her corset.
She grabbed hold of his wide shoulders, her nails digging in as he freed her from her stays. Then he pulled off his boots, standing over her in naught but a pair of black, low-slung pants. She pored over the sharp lines of his hipbones, the hills and valleys that made up his muscular stomach, and the flat planes of his chest. She bit her lip and looked up at him, almost unsure of what to do—or if they should discontinue. But she knew they had reached the point of no return.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked again.
She didn’t answer. Instead, her fingers flew to the wide silver buckle of his pants and then the small tie that held them closed. She couldn’t bring herself to look at his newly bared manhood when she finally loosened his pants enough to allow them to slide from his trim hips.
Gaspar climbed on the bed beside her and moved her so that she lay over the blankets. She watched as he settled between her legs and ran his palms from her knees, over the curves of her thighs and helped pull her shift over her head, tousling her curls. He stared for a moment, his gray eyes grazing over her body, leaving strips of burning heat in their wake.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Gwen felt the tips of her lips curve up. “Ask me that one more time and I’ll put my gown back on and leave this ship for good.”
Gaspar grinned and hovered over her, cupping a breast in one hand, his thumb teasing her nipple, making her gasp. She knew she should feel ashamed of her actions, but the overwhelming tingling that filled her arms and settled in her chest was too delicious to pass up. But then he brought his mouth to her breast, circling the sensitive peak with his tongue. When she thought the heightening sensations could go no further, he gently touched the juncture of her thighs, slowly swirling his finger around her most sensitive place.
When she let out a loud gasp, his head rose up. His light eyes were wide in alarm. “Are you all right? Do you want me to—”
“Don’t stop,” she panted, her back arching.
Gaspar let out a sound akin to a growl and pressed his lips to hers. She let herself melt into his arms as he slipped a finger into her sex. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more before she lost her nerve completely.
“Gaspar,” she sighed into his mouth, gripping his shoulders.
“I love the way you say my name,” he moaned, his stubble scratching her face.
She lightly pushed him away before he could continue his exploration. “I’m ready, Gaspar.”
“Are you certain?”
Gwen paused and skimmed her hands down his hard sides. If men could do as they pleased—and her marriage would be nothing more than a contract—there was nothing for her to lose and every pleasure to be gained. No one need know what she and Gaspar did in the captain’s quarters of his ship. It would be their secret.
“Yes,” she whispered, biting her lip. She could feel his member pressing lightly against her opening and she spread her legs wider as he steadied himself.
“You can tell me to stop at any time,” he murmured, hitching one leg up, settling it in the crook of his arm.
Gwen nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. With a final caress of his lips against hers, he pushed inside her, making her cry out. It wasn’t that it hurt—she had expected blood and tears by the way the older women spoke—but it was still a new and unfamiliar feeling.
As soon as Gaspar was fully sheathed within her, he stopped and looked down at her, brushed the loose hair away from her face. “Are you certain you are all right?”
She took in his concerned expression, almost wondering if he knew she had been a maid. “Yes.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead, then her cheek, then her mouth again. Then he began moving slowly, tenderly, his strokes filling her to the brim with a carnal longing she didn’t anticipate but welcomed. She buried her face the crook of his shoulder, her nails raking his back as she tried to get closer, though it wasn’t possible.
As his thrusts quickened, she wrapped her legs around his waist and moaned in ecstasy. He returned her expressions with deep groans of desire and soft croons of gentle Portuguese and he reached his climax. Gwen sucked in a sharp intake of breath as the feelings of pleasure reached a peak and crashed over her, carrying her to shore.
***
Gwen lay on Gaspar’s chest, listing to the gentle ebbing thump of his heart. He lazily drew circles on her bare shoulder as their collective breaths slowed. Her eyes were closed and it was easy to ignore the fact that she was in a ship on the ocean—well, the cove was still part of the ocean. What’s more is that she couldn’t ignore the reality of the act which had just taken place. She was in bed with a Portuguese captain and had just willingly given her maidenhead to him without a single regret.
The more she thought about their tangled legs, her breast pressed against Gaspar’s side, and the plush Persian pillows they lay upon, the more ridiculous the situation felt. She had bedded a man out of wedlock, a handsome man, but not one she loved nor planned a life with. She felt like some manner of…well, she felt like a man. Unable to control herself, a small giggle burst from her lips.
Gaspar turned to her, a smile on his lips. “I hope you are not laughing at me?”
“No, never,” she replied lightly.
“Then what is it, meu único ouro?”
She rolled onto her back and stretched, looking up at the dark canopy overhead. It was inlaid with gold strands that made up a most peculiar pattern. “Might I be frank?”
He lay on his side, propped up by his elbow. “I would prefer it.”
“I’m just thinking how darkly humorous this is. I’m in bed with a foreigner to whom I am not wed while my brother prepares to collect my dowry to give to another man.”
His face fell. “And you regret it?”
“Certainly not! I rather
enjoyed myself.”
Gaspar smirked and ran his fingers through his mussed hair. “Oh, did you?”
“No complaints,” she replied, watching as he raked over her body. “Rather surprising, considering it was my first time.”
His dark brows rose slowly, disappearing into the shock of wavy hair above. “O Que?”
“What?”
“You were…you were a maid?” he choked out gruffly.
“Emphasis on were.” She sighed, extending her arms above her head to touch the headboard.
“Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you?”
“No, not at all. I found the entire situation entirely gratifying.”
Gaspar fell onto his back and ran his hands through his hair again, but that time it was a gesture of aggravation. He muttered something in Portuguese. “I had no idea. I would have been gentle, perhaps not done it at all! I would have—”
“You were gentle. You kept asking me if I wanted to continue.” Gwen frowned. She hadn’t meant to make him feel guilty. “I wanted this. All of this.”
His mouth curled into a smile. “You little minx. I had no idea, by how deliciously wet and writhing you were.”
She was about to say something when she saw, upon the slope of his broad shoulder, a love bite, clear as day. She tapped it with a finger and laughed. “Oops.”
“You’ve marked me!” he exclaimed, faking shock. “Now I must do the same to you.”
Gwen covered her chest with her hands and shrieked playfully. “No!”
“Yes, my fair Gwendolyn,” he growled, pouncing upon her. He nipped at her ear and twisted his long fingers in her hair. “Mmm, you smell of lavender.”
“So much for the monstrous revenge,” she tittered, running her hands over the smooth expanse of his back. She felt him harden against her thigh and she became excited at the promise of another round.
He began moving his mouth lower, sweeping over the swell of her chest and dipping over each tip. As his light kisses swept past her bellybutton, Gwen arched her beck, turning her head to the side. She could see the diming light streaming into the cabin, the orange glow of sunset filling the room. Gwen sat up quickly, surprising Gaspar, who drew back at once.
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