His Wicked Kiss

by Gaelen Foley

  He got the feeling there was something she still wasn’t telling him, but from what she had said, there were so many wrong assumptions built into her innocent words that he didn’t know where to begin to correct her.

  Besides, it wasn’t his place. Who was he to dash her little-girl illusions about the glittering delights of London Town? He had no desire to nay-say her, especially now, after she had opened up to him.

  Maybe she needed to hold onto that illusory dream right now, anyway, to keep her courage up for the unknown road ahead. He merely worried what would happen to her when she got there and found out there was another side to that world, as well. A dark side. A cruelty. An emptiness one had to guard against.

  Those who had been exposed to it, as Jack had in his early years, quickly came to realize that the one thing a life of opulence lacked was meaning; that lack had nearly destroyed his youngest brother, Alec, as his sister’s letters had described.

  No, Eden didn’t know that side of London life at all, but Jack did. He had survived firsthand the particular cruelty of the ton.

  Considering that Eden was as much of an outsider as he was, he feared what could become of her in Society. At least in the jungle, she understood the dangers. In London, she would walk right into any number of traps. Chances were, she’d have to learn the hard way. And what then? Pain and disappointment could quickly leave her jaded.

  A few years of trying to be what Society required would turn her into someone as cynical as he—or worse, a mercenary woman like Maura and her ilk, those title-chasing females who sold themselves on the marriage mart for a country house and a coronet.

  Having already developed a certain fondness for the little jungle oddball and all her charming quirks, he didn’t want to see her hurt or changed by her efforts to fit in. Indeed, the whole prospect only made him want to protect her all the more.

  Well, she still had time, he mused. He hadn’t told her yet that, in fact, he was not taking her directly to London. She’d be staying in Ireland for six months, until his mission was completed.

  As a result, she would actually miss the whole Season. Maybe by next year, she might have a better idea of what she was getting herself into. She could better prepare herself that way and learn ahead of time where Society’s worst traps were buried.

  For now, Jack dared not tell her of his decision to leave her safely ensconced at his castle in Ireland. Informing her now would only lead to feminine fury and tears—and they were getting along so well, he thought as he held her on his lap and gently stroked her hair.

  A few more hours into their vigil, Eden fell asleep.

  Since she had worked for two days straight tending her patient, earning, in all, the greatest measure of respect that he had ever had for a female, Jack lifted her in his arms and carried her up to his cabin, where he laid her in his bed.

  He pulled the coverlet over her slender body to make sure she stayed warm. He smiled as his gaze trailed over her in the sparkly sea-princess gown, her auburn tresses spilling gracefully across his extra pillow. You want to be one of the beautiful people? He shook his head. Eden. Don’t you know that you already are? Aye, she was more beautiful than most of them could ever hope to be, and this kind of beauty had nothing to do with her fairness of face.

  He leaned down and placed a whisper-soft kiss on her pale, smooth forehead, then straightened up slowly and withdrew from the room without a sound.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  Eden dreamed of orchids.

  A weightless rain of petals, so delicate and pale, floating down on her, and Jack was there, smiling, brown, solid as an oak in the mossy jungle shadows. But somehow, instead of their usual vanilla scent, the orchids smelled like cinnamon….

  “Oh, Miss Farraday,” murmured a deep, playful singsong, beguiling her to awaken. “Milady, your breakfast is served.”

  Reality pirouetted its way into her magical dream. The morning sunlight filtered through the cotton sheet that veiled her eyes.

  That husky whisper came again: “There’s chocolate here.”

  Her stomach growled in answer to the lovely smells floating through the thin layer of cloth.

  Chocolate…and cinnamon?

  Ahhh…

  She was already smiling before she was even quite awake.

  Drowsily inching the sheet down from her face, she peeked over the edge of it, and saw Jack sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, his arm braced possessively across her body.

  By the soft, gold, rosy light of morning, the terror of the West Indies was watching her with a tender, slightly doting smile on his ruggedly handsome face.

  “Jack!” she said softly, and sat up, clutching the bedsheet to her bosom.

  He leaned near and kissed her cheek. “Good morning, sweet.” He swept a gesture to the legged tray waiting on the bed. “May I present this celebratory breakfast in your honor.”

  “Goodness, I accept, but what are we celebrating?” she asked with a large yawn.

  “The fever’s broken. Peter Stockwell is awake, and more importantly, alive.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, thank God.”

  “Thanks, also, to you, my intrepid little doctor.” He handed her a mug of hot chocolate without further ado.

  She was thrilled by this rare luxury, glancing down into the cup, then at him again. “Is there sugar in it?”

  “Lots.”

  She sipped of its sweet, dark comfort and let out an appreciative sigh.

  “Let’s see, what else have we got for you here?” he mused aloud. He reached toward the breakfast tray and lifted off the silver lid, revealing a glass of juice and a beautifully arranged plate of sliced ham, fresh grapefruit, and cinnamon rolls, still steaming warm, with raisins peeking out from underneath the white glaze that dripped down the flaky sides.

  Tempted, Eden set her chocolate down, licked her lips, and picked up the cinnamon roll, taking a large bite. Jack’s smile broadened at her amazed exclamations of delight. After years of taking care of Papa and Connor in the jungle, she could not remember anyone ever having made such a fuss over her.

  She pushed the plate toward him. “You don’t mean to make me eat all of this by myself?”

  “Yes.” He grinned with a flash of even, white teeth. “Every crumb.”

  She gave him a look of playful scolding and held up a cinnamon roll to his lips. He took a huge bite, and Eden ate the other half, then leaned forward, giggling as she chewed, and kissed him on the mouth.

  “Mm.” Jack swallowed, returning her playful peck as he reached for a sip of her chocolate. “That’s good.”

  “I told you so.”

  “I meant your kiss.” He set the cup aside and lifted the glass of juice out of her hand. Setting it on the tray, he gave her a hungry stare. “I want another.”

  Her pulse leaped with anticipation as he cupped his hand around her nape and gently drew her closer. She sighed softly as his lips caressed hers, melting into his embrace.

  She had not realized how much she had been craving him and counting the hours since he had last reached for her. It seemed ages since she had last felt his arms around her, but it had only been two nights ago when he’d kissed her in his bed.

  As she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kisses eagerly, he pulled her closer with an arm around her waist; his fingertips glided down her neck, the light touch causing her to shiver.

  She knew she shouldn’t want this, but she did.

  She knew that it was dangerous, but she wasn’t afraid.

  As she stroked his smoothly shaved cheeks and the dark silk waves of hair, her world turned giddy spirals. She wasn’t sure what was happening to them, but the exquisite pleasure they took in each other was something that neither of them had expected to find. It was a pleasure that was much more than physical.

  “Good morning, Eden,” he whispered, after a long moment of reveling in her response.

  “Good morning, Jack.” Her voice was a breathless purr.
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  Taking hold of the lapels of his unbuttoned waistcoat, she pulled him closer, smiling, and demanded more kisses.

  He gave them happily, letting her hair tumble through his splayed fingers. His breathing was deepening; her whole body tingled as she ran her hand hungrily down his waist.

  “I have to stop this,” he ground out, dragging his lips away from hers.

  “Why?” she breathed.

  “Because I want you.”

  “Well?”

  He shuddered and closed his eyes at her urgent whisper, leaning his forehead against hers. “Eden.”

  “Jack.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “Then why don’t you show me?” She traced the curve of his ear with her lips. “I trust you, Jack. I’ve trusted you from the start.”

  “Aye, that’s the problem.”

  Sitting back, she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his fingertips. His face was taut, and the aqua hue of his eyes promptly darkened to the deepest blue. He watched her, fascinated, as she took the end of his middle finger into her mouth.

  All of a sudden, he leaned in and captured her face between his hands, replacing his finger with the urgent stroke of his tongue. Her heart thundered. His fine mouth slid back and forth across hers, coaxing her lips open wider. She knew the fundamentals of the mating dance, at least in theory, and he mimicked it now, with his tongue delving deep in her mouth.

  Her chest was heaving when he finally ended the searing kiss.

  “Lie back,” he ordered in a husky murmur.

  Without hesitation, holding his fevered stare, she obeyed.

  He set the tray aside and moved onto the bed beside her, his every motion full of smooth control. He traced his middle finger slowly down the center of her body, letting it snag on the low-cut V of her shimmery sea-princess gown.

  She looked at him in nervous curiosity as he slipped his hand inside her dress; but she closed her eyes and moaned when he squeezed her nipple. He kissed her chin while she reveled in the sensation, then flicked the corner of her lips with the tip of his tongue. She turned her head and devoured his offering of fresh kisses. Meanwhile, his hand left her bodice and traveled lower, down to her waist.

  She wound her arms around his neck in wild anticipation when she sensed him discreetly inching her skirt up her thigh.

  “Oh, Jack.” She hugged him harder, her body on fire.

  “May I?” he whispered, skimming his hand up beneath the gauzy blue fabric, his deft touch running slowly along her inner thigh.

  Panting, Eden stared at him, unable to give her reckless yearning voice. Touch me.

  He gave her a knowing half smile then bent his head to her throat, letting her frantic pulse beat against his lips. His questing fingers glided deep between her legs, exploring, caressing her, pleasuring her. She groaned, accepting his incursion in helpless yielding. Her limbs went lax, her knees weakened, and she let her thighs part in uncertain welcome.

  “Tell me what you like,” he whispered, but the power of speech was beyond her.

  She liked it all. He kissed her shoulder like a man in a trance as he penetrated her with one and then two fingers, making her so hot and so wet she feared she was melting. She groaned, soon given over entirely to hot, craven lust.

  Oh, God, yes, this was what she had burned for without even knowing it. She was entranced, could think of nothing but the power of his strong body enfolding her, and his clever hands taking her to places she had never been, had never dreamed existed. She wanted to visit all of those places with Jack.

  He cradled her head with his other hand and teethed her earlobe lightly, his heavy breathing raspy by her ear. “Just let it happen, my love.”

  “Let what happen?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She moaned in helpless bliss as she held him close, one arm draped around his neck, the other hand clutching the covers. The fervent pleasure of his touch dazzled her, coaxed her ever closer toward some unknown cataclysm. She could do naught but trust him to take her there safely.

  She wondered what was going to happen, like he said—and then all of a sudden, she knew.

  “Jack!” she wrenched out as the blinding wave hit her, washing through her core with shattering power. She shuddered and arched and clung to him like a drowning woman, gasping in the rush of wild release.

  Panting by her ear, he growled her name as her pleasure spilled over into deep, sweet currents of panting joy. He kissed her temple while the throes of bliss gradually eased.

  For a moment, eyes closed, she brushed her cheek tenderly against his. “Oh,…Jack.”

  Her ability to reason had returned—enough, at least, to deduce that he, too, had needs, and how fascinating it would be, she thought, to fulfill them.

  All of her limbs felt like jelly, but she rallied the strength and the courage to reach down to offer him the same.

  He flinched and stopped her before she could caress him through his black trousers. “Don’t, sweet. It would be more than I could bear.”

  “But I want—”

  “No, angel.” He laughed softly, though his wince seemed pained. “Just relax. Trust me.”

  “I do,” she whispered.

  He let out a rueful sigh. “So it seems.”

  With a wide smile, she flung herself into his arms. They lay abed together for some time after that, Jack cradling her head on his chest, while his other hand, still trembling a little, trailed light caresses over her hair.

  She sighed, smiling dreamily. Lord, if this was breakfast, she could barely wait to see what was for lunch.

  At his desk later that afternoon, Jack was supposed to be going over the quarterly reports from the heads of each of his company’s main divisions, making sure they all were following his orders properly, executing his decisions promptly, and not letting any of the details fall to the wayside, but his mood was restless.

  It had turned into a fairly ordinary day, Trahern on deck in charge of the watch, the Nipper brushing Rudy in the corner. Peter Stockwell was still in recovery.

  But Jack was distracted by his awareness of Eden hard at work on her sewing with Martin behind the painted screen in the corner. No, not so much distracted, he mused. Painfully randy. Completely frustrated. Bluntly speaking, in dire need of sex.

  It was no longer a question of should he hold back, but could he?

  This was torture.

  Of course, he realized in hindsight that he had brought it on himself, from the first day he’d kissed her fifteen hundred miles ago, back in the jungle. Then he had sealed his fate by making her strip and take a bath in front of him. He supposed he deserved this torment now for underestimating her.

  Her innocence was a weapon against which he had no defense, not for all his cannons, swords, nor all his Baker rifles.

  But if he had to sleep beside her one more night without making love to her, he sincerely feared he was going to lose his mind. Yes, his control was slipping, but the most alarming part was that it wasn’t just lust anymore; a very warm and simple affection for her was gathering strength in his heart.

  Devil take her, all of this was utterly foreign to him. It was a most unsettling sensation. He was still in the dark, anyway, as to how a young stowaway from the cargo hold had become the queen of his ship.

  The men were enchanted with her, Mr. Palliser spoke of her in tones of awe, and even Ballast had been won over. The surly gunner had whittled her a little porpoise out of a scrap of wood to show in his gruff way there were no hard feelings between them. The Nipper was now no more than twenty feet away from her at any given time, and even the dog seemed to prefer her to him.

  As for Jack, he did not have a name for what he felt.

  All of his sane, logical reasons not to bed her, when it was obviously what they both wanted, seemed to be wearing rather thin. It all seemed so simple: Bed her, marry her. He still needed heirs, of course, so that only left his fears to contend with.

  The ones he li
ked to pretend did not exist.

  There was so much she didn’t know about him. So much that he couldn’t tell her. But the more she came to matter to him, the less inclined he was to explain to her all of the ways in which he was unworthy.

  No matter, he thought grimly. When she finally got to London, she’d hear.

  On the other hand, when he thought of all she had been through, well, he could only wonder what all his strength and efficacy were for, if not for taking care of someone else? Someone exactly like her.

  But she was not the kind of woman he’d ever had in mind for a wife. He had planned on some docile female who would not dare to venture anywhere near the locked doors inside him.

  That in no way described Eden Farraday.

  And yet, for all her courage and all her brains, and all her damned persistence, who knew better than he how vulnerable she was? How sheltered and naive? Who besides him could take care of her properly?

  Aye, he was beginning to think this girl might need him, whether she knew it or not. Jack enjoyed being needed: It not only made him happy, it gave him a sense of control. What was a great deal more threatening, however, was considering the stark possibility that he might bloody well need her, too.

  Now, that was a very dangerous state of affairs.

  “Psst—Captain!” A playful whisper beguiled his attention over to the sewing corner.

  He glanced over to find Eden peeking around the edge of the screen, her eyes sparkling. She held up two fabrics. “Which do you like better? The red wool or the dark green velvet?”

  They had found more bolts of cloth that were supposed to have been sold in London.

  A smile tugged at his lips, for it was plain to see she was having a marvelous time. “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “Oh, come. It’s for a little spencer jacket,” she explained eagerly. “What do you think?”

  He shrugged, shaking his head. “Either one.”

  Her smile turned to a mild pout. “You must have a preference, Jack! You’re the deciding vote. Martin and I can’t agree.”

  His valet stood behind her, out of Eden’s sight, pointing emphatically to the green. Well, it would match her eyes. Jack hid his smile and seconded the choice.