He began to unbutton his shirt, but gave voice to the niggling hurt that still plagued him. “You seem rather enthusiastic about hurrying me along, given that it was your tardiness today that has made us so pressed for time. I think an hour devoted to the task of swimming is enough time to accomplish the day’s lesson.”
She drew in a sharp breath, and he couldn’t help but notice how the motion made her breasts, small though they might be, strain against the confines of her misshapen apron. “Are you forgetting we have a bargain?” she demanded. “You promised to teach me a few things as well.”
David froze, arrested in the very motion of shrugging off his shirt. Her words reminded him like a punch to the gut of what else beyond swimming she intended to accomplish this afternoon. The last time he had removed his shirt in this woman’s presence, he had entertained only one objective: learn to swim using her overhand stroke. But today, the act of undressing carried more weight. There were two stated goals to the lesson this afternoon, and he was reminded of the second one as Caroline’s eyes swept over his bare chest in open admiration.
“I had hoped you had changed your mind about that,” he told her. Liar. His heart was even now lunging against the end of its tether. “Are you sure you would not prefer to pass the hour focused just on the swimming lesson?”
“We shall divide the hour up, a half hour each.” Her gaze settled behind his shoulder, on the ocean. “And . . . and I cannot swim today.” She gestured to her hair. “Not like this. I shall have to instruct you from the shore.”
Whatever remaining wisps of anger he harbored fell away at that. That she had come, when she couldn’t even swim herself, told him how important this exercise was to her.
David tossed his shirt upon the rock, then hurried to dispense with his boots and socks. He didn’t even consider removing his trousers given her admonishments about time, just dove into the cool water with the fall still buttoned. The wet, heavy fabric created extra drag against the current, but there was no way on God’s good earth he was going to spend the afternoon teaching Caroline . . . things . . . without his trousers on.
Not if he needed her virtue to stay intact.
CAROLINE WAS GRUDGINGLY impressed when David finally dragged himself back to shore a half hour later.
“That was really well done.” She meant every word. It had gone remarkably well, all things considered. He had retained most of the salient points of Wednesday’s lesson, and had performed well in the rougher water today.
And tomorrow, by God, she was going to swim with him, the indignity of curled hair or no.
“Still not well enough to guarantee a win on Monday, I’d wager,” he said, shaking his head and sending a spray of water all about.
“I think you will acquit yourself well enough.” She touched her tongue to a drop of water that landed near the corner of her mouth, reveling in the familiar taste of salt, imagining she could taste the essence of the man in it as well. “You’ll be the only one using this stroke, which gives you a decided advantage.” She held out his shirt, which he took and began to rub with brisk, efficient strokes over his chest and arms. “That and the fact I shall be cheering you on from shore.”
He grinned at her, and his rakish smile sent warmth curling through her abdomen. “ ’Tis good to hear you say that. Last night I was convinced you had decided to cry off.”
Caroline shook her head, surprised by how her thoughts spooled up tight at the thought. When he had first suggested this course of action, she had been hesitant, true enough. But now that she had committed to this path, she would not let him down. The inability to race herself would sting, she suspected, but cheering David’s attempt come Monday would be no hardship.
“I promised I would do this.” Her mind whirled in protest as he began to shoulder his way back into his shirt. “But you promised me something as well. Surely you remember our agreement—”
“Aye.” He set his fingers to the buttons, even as his mouth worked its way to a grim line. “I have not forgotten. You shall have your half hour.”
Relief flicked through her. “Wouldn’t this next bit be aided by a continued lack of clothing?”
He seated the last few buttons with slow, deliberate motions. “Clothing was not discussed as part of our bargain. I prefer to keep my shirt on.”
Caroline huffed a frustrated moment. She felt coiled up inside, a child’s toy that had been wound up too tight and was now being held without the opportunity to spring free. Her eyes locked on a droplet of water as it escaped his damp hair and ran down his neck to catch in the collar of his shirt that was now, regrettably, buttoned. She wanted to trace its path with her tongue, to show him what an apt pupil she was prepared to be.
Then again, they had at most a half hour left. A casual exploration would need to wait for another day.
Aware only of the march of time, Caroline took three steps forward, stood on her toes, and pressed her lips against his. His hands came up, hesitant at first and then growing in pressure, to span her waist.
Yesterday’s failure, and her morning’s frustrations, all fell away as the taste of the ocean met her lips again. He felt large and damp and solid beneath her hands, which had come up to fist his buttoned shirt. Her body unfurled. She felt like one of the waves she loved, building in momentum, and she wanted to crash down hard into him.
“Slow down,” he murmured against her mouth, as if he could feel the precarious emotions building there at the point where they were joined. “There is no need to rush this lesson.” He stepped back, forcing a few inches of reluctant sanity back between them.
He was, she noticed with some satisfaction, breathing almost as hard as she was. Nonetheless, she battled a moment of hurt at his rejection. She had hoped that David might seem a bit more enthusiastic about his role as instructor, but she was curious—and greedy—enough to wait and see what he offered.
She studied him a moment, trying to sort out what was different today. He had seemed more susceptible to her in the bathing machine, but that had been a different day, and a different set of boundaries. No doubt he wanted his shirt on to ensure he kept her at some safe, respectable distance.
Well, if he insisted on adding a layer of clothing, she had every right to take one away.
Caroline turned away to face the white cliff walls and presented him with the row of buttons that ran up the back of her dress. She waited, training her eyes on the familiar cliff wall instead of his terse features. “I’ll need your help getting out of this,” she prompted.
She swore she could hear him swallow, and for a second she basked in the pleasure of it. But then he cleared his throat and said, “I have some rules to put down first.”
Caroline looked over her shoulder and raised a brow. “You are not in a position to negotiate the terms of this next half hour.”
“You negotiated the terms of the swimming lesson,” he pointed out, making no move to come closer and help her out of her clothing. “And then you provided today’s instruction from shore, a distance of some two dozen yards or more.” He smiled, and it was a wicked sight to behold. “I offer the same to you. Our clothes remain on. And a kiss, while nice, is a bit more physical contact than what I have in mind.”
Caroline jerked back around to face him, irritation making her restless. “If you’ll recall, you promised to show me far more than just a kiss.”
“Aye. And you’ll not discover what I intend unless you take yourself up on that rock like a good lass and wait for my instructions.”
Caroline sucked in a breath, at a loss to explain why his words, far from making her feel angry or unwanted, sent a sudden, forbidden thrill snaking through her veins.
“What would you have me do?”
“You instructed me from a distance today. Turnabout is only fair.” He crossed his arms, still making no move to touch her. “Up on the rock, if you please. Skirts pulled up high.”
She regarded him for a long silent moment, aware of the accelerating bump of h
er pulse. This didn’t seem anything close to what she had petitioned him for yesterday. How could she help him overcome his aversion to emotional intimacy if she was not to be permitted to touch him? “This was not our bargain.”
“On the rock,” he said, more sternly this time, “or I shall presume you do not mean to have this lesson today.”
Caroline turned and scrambled up on the rock. The warmth that had earlier percolated in her abdomen now bloomed along her cheeks. “I instructed you from a distance because I could not risk getting my hair wet,” she objected over her shoulder, but she clambered up the sun-warmed rock face anyway. “And you did brilliantly out there on your own,” she added as she threw herself down in a puddle of skirts.
“I suspect you will acquit yourself well enough,” he replied. His choice of words sent her embarrassed anticipation soaring even higher. She had no idea what he was about, or what was in store for her.
She only knew the threat of not finding out was untenable.
When he did no more than watch her, their precious seconds sliding by, she felt her ire rise. “Are you going to join me over here, or stand there like a lout?”
The low rumble of his laughter made the fine hairs on her neck stand at attention and she responded with a glare she was quite sure could have singed the sun.
“Neither. Skirts up,” he reminded, looking every inch the smug seducer, for all that he stood at least ten feet away.
She inched them up, wincing as she caught sight of her freckled legs. This was not the day to eschew stockings, it seemed.
“Higher. I want to see your legs. All of your legs.”
She jerked her skirts up to the vicinity of her waist, wanting to sink beneath the stone surface in mortification. She pulled her shift down as low as it would go, but it only stretched to mid-thigh. Oh, but this was not what she had in mind when she had negotiated this devil’s bargain. She had imagined tangled limbs and closed eyes and the feel of his hands on her body.
Bright, revealing sunlight, David’s unfettered scrutiny, and squirming mortification had been the farthest thing from her mind.
He stared a long moment, his eyes roving the regrettable length of her legs. She concentrated on breathing through her nose, reminding herself that she had made this deal, pointing out to the rational parts of her brain—the parts that objected to such a bawdy display—that David Cameron had already seen her legs, and likely more, through her wet shift several nights ago.
It didn’t help. Her thoughts still ran wild, and her mind refused to reassemble into something lucid.
“Aren’t you even going to kiss me again?” she asked crossly.
“No, lass. I am not going to kiss you. Now lie back,” he commanded. “And close your eyes.”
DAVID WAS NOT just hard at the sight of Caroline lowering her body down upon that cursed rock.
He was raging hard.
He could not recall having ever experienced this degree of arousal before, and all from the simple act of sparring with a girl who had her hair tied up in rags. A girl who, he was beginning to suspect, was determined to see herself ruined, and whom he was going to do his damnedest to deliver to a future husband with her innocence mostly intact.
But God’s teeth, the little hoyden deserved a sliver of the frustration she meted out so freely. And he could not deny a perverse sort of enjoyment in knowing he was not only going to be the one to deliver her set-down, but also be the one to instruct her first taste of pleasure.
He stepped closer to where she lay, staring down at the offering he had demanded of her. If one focused on her body instead of her hair, she looked like a sacrifice to some pagan god of fertility, her lips parted in the sweetest of invitations, and her skirts rucked up around her hips. His fingers itched to tangle up in her.
So did his cock. In fact, it was quite insistent.
Go easy, he cautioned himself. This was not meant to be a lesson he enjoyed.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he growled down at her from his new, closer vantage point. “Or the lesson is over.”
She nodded and her lids stayed closed.
He had the freedom to look at her all he wanted. He took full advantage of the gift. He stood, two feet away, and stared. With his eyes, he traced the freckles along the column of her neck, imagined pressing his lips against the tempting hollow of her throat. He regretted now refusing to help her remove the damned dress, as the only thing he could imagine sweeter than the current picture was also seeing her nipples peak beneath her shift.
But there was nothing to be done for it if he was to maintain any kind of hold on his sanity.
David permitted his gaze to settle lower on the worn, white cotton undergarments that peeked out at him from beneath her bunched skirts. He swallowed. “Have you ever touched yourself, Caroline?”
Her eyes scrunched tighter at the question. She shook her head once, the perfect picture of a woman shocked by a man’s lewd words. But something in the way her lungs filled with air and strained against that ugly apron gave her away.
If she was appalled by his bold suggestion, he was a thirty-two-year-old virgin.
“Liar.” A delicious bolt of lust swept through him at the thought. “I can imagine you running your hands across your body. Slipping between your legs. For today’s lesson, I want you to show me what pleases you.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she protested, her cheeks now a slash of crimson below her tightly squeezed eyes.
“No?” he drawled. “Pity. It will be a short lesson then, I am afraid.”
She made a sound of frustration that echoed how he felt inside. “How is this supposed to show me what to look for in a partner?”
“A good partner will care about what pleases you.” David forced his voice to soften, deepen. “Trust me, Caroline. This will help him see what you want, which is a first necessary step toward providing it for you himself.”
He waited to see what she would do. He could see the war she waged, the desire to slide off that rock and run, pitted against the desire to remain compliant and see where this might lead. All the while, she kept her eyes carefully shuttered, and he had to admire her restraint.
God knew he wasn’t feeling very restrained at the moment.
She had no way of knowing how she looked, laid open for scrutiny, with the halo of afternoon sun splashing across her bare, freckled calves. He dared not breathe, lest the moment be shattered by his impertinence.
And then, impossibly, she lifted a hand. Rubbed a tentative finger across the skin of her inner thigh.
Simultaneous to his own shocked inhalation, he saw her face relax into the pleasure of her own touch. The urge to follow her lead and press his lips to that same tempting place where she placed her fingers almost sent him scrambling atop that rock himself.
Instead, he anchored himself in place, gripping his fists in the bunched wet wool of his trousers and using his own torso as ballast.
It was the hardest thing he had ever done.
“Higher,” he whispered, wanting to pull her hand northward himself. “Move your hand higher.”
Slowly, as if she could not quite believe what she was doing, she obeyed.
“The place there, at the top of your woman’s mound. That is where is it feels the best, doesn’t it?”
She nodded.
“Focus there.”
David held his breath until his lungs reached an agonizing peak of pain, watching as she brushed a tentative finger across the shadowed space between her legs. He imagined her growing moist beneath the cotton hemline, secret scents driven by her rising passion. He wanted to press his lips there, wanted to watch her face as he introduced her to the wonders of a well-practiced tongue.
Instead, he was forced to wait for her fumbled explorations, bound by what damned little honor he possessed to do no more than stand and watch the combination of frustration and dawning passion stretch across her face. Her fingers slipped beneath the cotton fabric and disappeared into
the place where David wanted to lose himself.
He stared, committing the act to eager memory, knowing he would be tortured by this scene for the rest of his unnatural days. Eventually, he saw the hitch of her shoulders that told him she was close, felt the strain of her breathing as she flew closer to oblivion.
And then she stopped, a groan of frustration on her lips.
“Don’t stop, lass.” His words came out ragged. “There’s more, if only you’ll trust me.”
She opened her eyes, shattering the moment. “ ’Tis not a matter of trust. I just don’t know what you are trying to have me do.” Her hand fell away, clenching empty air. “I want . . . something. But I know not what.”
David gritted his teeth, knowing the reward, once abandoned, was now out of easy reach. “Our time is up anyway,” he said, readjusting his body’s interest against the prison of his wet trousers. “It takes a bit longer the first time.”
“What takes longer?” She struggled to sitting.
David permitted a smile to steal across his face. Could she really be this naïve? He reminded himself that two weeks ago she had been gifted her first kiss at the hands of a rakehell like Dermott. She might touch herself on occasion, but it seemed clear she had never found herself. “You . . . er . . . might want to consult that naughty book of your sister’s.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Which naughty book?”
“The one that taught you the word ‘celibate.’ ”
Her lips finally pursed around the edge of her own smile. “It is a medical text, David. My sister is a proper sort of lady. She does not have books of that nature.”
David raised a brow. “If you insist.”
“And if there had been a section on this,” she ground out, “not that I know what ‘this’ is, I would most assuredly have not just failed my first lesson.”
At her miffed retort, David’s whole body shook with suppressed laughter. God help him, he wanted nothing more than to stretch her back down on the rock and dive in and not come up for air until she was thrashing about, lost in her pleasure.
But he could not help her with this.
Summer Is for Lovers Page 21