First Comes Desire

by Tina Donahue

  “I’ll be taking her in here.” He regarded his mates. “Clear out. Now.”

  The others streamed from the room.

  “Enjoy yourself.” Tristan pushed Diana into James Sullivan.

  She wheeled around to strike Tristan.

  He caught her wrist easily and glanced over her head. “Do her well, James, so some of her fight’s gone when it’s my turn. Miss Fletcher.” He lifted her hand to his lips.

  She yanked free and scratched his cheek.

  He gave her a rough look. “You will regret that.” On the way out, he slammed the door, leaving her to James.

  He crowded her before she could blink.

  She kicked his shins, clawed his neck, and tried to ram her knee into his groin.

  He tightened his arm around her waist and finally slammed her onto the mattress.

  Her breath whooshed out.

  He trapped her beneath him, his hand over her mouth.

  She bit him hard and tasted blood.

  “Goddamn.” He yanked his hand away, slapped his other one on her mouth, and pressed his lips to her ear. “Keep still, damn you. If Tristan sees one mark on you, only one, he’ll have my head. Understand?”

  Diana did. Tristan wanted this first act to go smoothly so she’d be unmarked for him, yielding and meek. Like bloody hell. Still, she nodded.

  James gulped air and withdrew his hand slowly.

  She dug her nails into his neck.

  “Damnation.” He twisted and squirmed against the scratching and her knee ramming into his inner thighs, heading for his groin. “To hell with this. You draw another drop of my blood or hit me where it truly hurts, and I’ll not help you escape.”

  She stopped clawing and kicking him, though she didn’t let go of his hair. “What are you saying?” She yanked hard to make certain she got an answer. “What do you mean?”

  He pulled his hair from her fists and rolled off her. Sprawled on the mattress, he stared at the ceiling. His clawed chest pumped with his rough breaths. “No one on this ship will have you, except for Tristan, of course.”

  She’d been ready to kick James’s ribs. She pulled back her foot and pushed up, uncertain how to react, bombarded by too many emotions. Relief because Tristan hadn’t betrayed her after all. Shame for having doubted him. Confusion as to what this meant.

  She wanted to believe Tristan’s decision to trick the men went beyond carnal desire. He’d begun to like her as a woman and person. Good sense told her he probably didn’t want any man taking her before he did, his pride not allowing such a thing.

  Hopelessly confused, she squeezed her fists so much they hurt. “He wants me for himself? Like bloody hell.”

  “My duty’s to protect you from the crew, not from Tristan. With him, you’re on your own. Though I would advise you not to fight your husband. It ain’t right. It surely ain’t natural.”

  “I’m not wedding him.”

  “You are. Quit resisting what’s going to be, whether you want it or not. Tristan’s bringing Peter down here as we speak. When the time’s right, we’ll leave the ship.”

  “Why are you helping him?”

  “Tristan?” James smiled. “He’s my friend. Even if he wasn’t, he saved my life. I’ll owe him forever.”

  Diana lifted her face. Footfalls and loud laughter sounded from the main deck. The pirates possibly drinking as they had on the beach, egged on by Tristan.

  He’d saved James’s life, yet earlier Tristan had said the man had done the same for him. “How did he save you?”

  James spit on his fingers and wiped blood off his chest. “No time to get into it now.”

  “Then how did you save Tristan? He told me you had.”

  “He would. That’s the kind of man he is.” Finished with cleaning his chest, James grabbed her arm.

  She pulled back. “What are you doing?”

  “Checking for marks.” He shoved up her sleeve, studied her forearm, and nodded. After examining her other arm, he tugged her shirt over her right shoulder, exposing her breast to the edge of her nipple.

  She squirmed away. “Stop it.”

  “Quiet. You want the others to come in here to watch?”

  “No, only Tristan so he can see what you’re doing.”

  James’s face flamed bright red. “I’m not trying to rape you. Now be still.”

  Wasn’t easy. He pulled her shirt over her shoulders and viewed her bare skin as a physician might.

  At last, he nodded. “No harm done.”

  To her. The scratches she’d left on him were deeper than the ones she’d given Tristan. “I suppose I should apologize for what I did to you.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve known worse.”

  She believed him. “Who lashed my brother?”

  Footfalls neared the door. James glanced over.

  She tapped his hand. “Who harmed him?”

  “Ask Tristan. It’s his place to tell you, not mine.” He stood and faced the door.

  Peter slipped in first, followed by Tristan. He stared at the claw marks on James’s chest and neck, then frowned at Diana.

  She deserved his anger for doubting him but wasn’t in the mood to ask for his forgiveness. She padded to Peter. “Are you all right?”

  “Peter’s fine.” Tristan pulled her to the other side of the room.

  “Let go of me.”

  He tightened his grip, not enough to bruise but enough to imprison.

  She yanked her arm. “I want to speak to my brother.”

  “Speak to me. You’ve yet to thank me for saving you.”

  “I shall when you promise to return Peter to England.”

  Tristan released her arm and looked over. “Peter, come here.”

  He did so without pause.

  “Even if it would be safe for you, do you want to go back to England?”

  “No.” Peter glared at her. “You ain’t making me, neither. You try, I’ll run away to be with me captain.”

  This was a nightmare she couldn’t awake from. “You can’t be serious about staying in this uncivilized land.”

  “I’m a man, Diana. You’ll not tell me what to do.” He made a face like a petulant child, but lost his nasty expression before he faced Tristan. “Anything else?”

  “Stay in here until I tell you otherwise. Keep close to James at all times.”

  “Aye.” He joined the man.

  Diana strode to the cabin’s windows.

  Tristan followed and touched her arm.

  “Don’t.” She pulled away. “You’re not my husband.”

  “I will be.” He spoke as a pirate would but there was also yearning in his eyes.

  Her frustration warred with desire until she recalled what Peter had said about Canela. Diana had no idea whether the girl was the only woman Tristan had or if there were a dozen more. Nor did she know the life he led, except as a pirate. She doubted marriage would make him want her and no one else. She wrapped her arms around herself. “How right you are.”

  “About what?”

  “That you’ll be my husband. However, only because you’ve given me no choice in the matter. By poisoning my brother’s mind against his own country and taking over my crew, you’ve forced me to remain here. I’ve no means of returning to England without this ship. I’m quite certain your mates intend to take or scuttle it. So, I will be your wife, Captain Kent. But by no means will you have me. You will never have me. Take what you wish, use me as a husband uses a wife, for it will surely be your right, but it’s all you’ll get.”

  He lifted her braid and kissed the ends. “If I demand more?”

  Her belly fluttered when she should have been immune to his charm. “You’ll be sorely disappointed.”

  “Is that what you think?” He stroked her bottom lip. “Know this. I’m never discouraged because I never give up until I get exactly what I want.”

  Warmth flooded her.

  “Tristan
.” James motioned him over.

  He crossed the room.

  * * * *

  Tristan huddled close to James who had his ear to the cabin door. “What is it?”

  “Some of the men are back and drawing straws to see who’ll have Miss Fletcher after we’re supposed to.” He spoke as quietly as Tristan had. “Best you herd them to the main deck and get as many spirits into them and the others as you can. Otherwise, I may have to put my back into this.”

  “Allow me a moment with the lady first.” He joined Diana. “In my absence, do whatever James says. He’s helping us escape. Don’t fight him, and no matter what he does to the others, don’t scream.”

  She looked appalled. “What is he planning to do?”

  “Just follow his orders and keep quiet. Now give me a fond farewell.” Without waiting for her to obey, he slanted his mouth over hers and slipped his tongue inside, enchanted at her glorious heat and wondrous taste.

  Soft moans escaped her. Their tongues danced. No matter how close she was to him, she was still too far away. Her scent captivated, making him long for more than a simple kiss. When he angled his head for greater access, she pressed against him, her mouth willing and wanton beneath his, denying him nothing.

  His ears buzzed.

  At last, Tristan needed a full breath and so did she, their mouths parting. His cock was painfully hard, his balls so tight they ached. She stroked his chest like a woman born for the task.

  He kissed her velvety cheek. “Well done.”

  She fought a smile. For him, the first of many.

  He released her and motioned Peter over. When the boy was at his side, Tristan clamped his shoulder. “Guard your sister well.”

  * * * *

  The moment Tristan left, his loud laughter sounded outside the door. Whoops and hollers from the men followed, along with crude comments.

  She leaned close to Peter. “What’s he up to?”

  “Fixing this mess you put us in.”

  “Miss Fletcher.” James spoke softly. “It would be best if you wait on the mattress with the blanket over your trousers and your shirt pulled off your shoulders, baring them.”

  “What?”

  “You need to look as if we’ve had you. Unwind your braid and muss your hair too. No matter what happens, don’t scream.”

  Peter grabbed a shirt off the floor. “Should I gag her?”

  She frowned.

  James smiled. “No need. She’ll keep quiet if she wants to escape.”

  Although Diana longed to flee this wretched ship, she feared what would happen next. Fighting panic, she loosened her hair, bared her shoulders, and perched on the bed.

  The cabin door flew open. The pirate wearing the yellow scarf reached her in an instant and grabbed her shirt, ready to tear it from her.

  James slammed his pistol butt against the man’s skull with a sickening crack. The pirate crumpled without a fight, or words, or even a cry. After James had bound and gagged him securely, he and Peter pulled him to the far corner from immediate view.

  Another pirate staggered inside, drunk but offering more fight, throwing wild punches, kicking and scratching as she had.

  Peter swore and hit him soundly in the jaw.

  He collapsed.

  James slapped the boy on his back. “Well done.”

  “I’ll do even better with the next one.”

  Diana shuddered. “I thought you said these men were your friends.”

  “Not him.”

  James chuckled. He and Peter gagged and fettered the pirate, then returned to their posts. The next man and the next came inside.

  Soon, felled pirates filled the cabin to near overflowing.

  Joining them, Tristan viewed the carnage and nodded. “Good work.” He tucked his volume beneath his arm, helped Diana with her shoes, then to her feet. “Peter, her jacket.”

  He tossed it.

  Tristan handed the garment to her. “Put this on. Time to go.”

  He led her through the ship and across the moon-washed deck littered with bound-and-gagged men, all unconscious.

  She stepped around their bodies the same as the others. “You plan to leave them here?”

  Tristan stopped. Moonlight silvered his eyes and hair, turning his eyebrows and stubble even darker, making him look like a dangerous angel.

  He glanced around. “Would you prefer to take a few with us?” He made an elaborate bow and gave her a roguish grin. “Your wish is my command.”

  She nearly laughed. “I was wondering if you’re leaving them here to die.”

  “Hardly.” He pulled her toward the rail and a skiff.

  She held back. “Are we taking this to the beach and your ship?”

  “No.”

  “Then where?”

  “You’ll see.”

  * * * *

  With three strong males to work the oars, they made swift progress away from the Lady Lark.

  Diana twisted in her seat, trying to determine their destination, since they appeared to be putting out to sea. Surely, Tristan hadn’t planned to row to the African coast. That would be madness. The skiff was far too small for the journey.

  James and Peter kept their peace, seemingly unconcerned.

  Diana wished she could trust as easily but wanted answers, and faced Tristan.

  He regarded her.

  Her pulse quickened and her limbs grew heavy with desire. When they’d been on the ship, she had no trouble denying he’d ever wed her. Now, the notion seemed inevitable and far less disturbing than living out her days with Bishop. Arousal blunted her caution at the man who would soon be her husband.

  He rowed with grace and power, his face damp from sea spray, neck and shoulders tensed. Hard labor had sculpted his strong arms and body. His direct, unashamed gaze spoke of things he’d seen that she could only imagine and might very well fear. Yet he still fascinated her, and she wasn’t certain why.

  She’d always hoped a quiet, unassuming man would woo, then bed her, pleased to have her make the decisions. Tristan would have great difficulty doing so. Yielding wasn’t in his nature. Ruling was.

  The wind pressed her shirt against her breasts. She didn’t bother to hide what he’d already seen. Soon, he’d be intimately familiar with her flesh, while she’d know his male passion.

  Carnal hunger crossed his face. “Best you get some sleep.”

  No need to ask why. Once they arrived at their destination, he’d take her, expecting her full desire and participation in every act. A dull ache settled between her legs, same as earlier. The feeling was frustrating yet oddly pleasant.

  Shaken from desire and uncertainty, she turned away.

  Moist air laced with salt pulled at her hair. The heavy moon sparkled on water that held more lights than the star-splashed sky. Sea and air stretched forever, one touching the other, making her feel too small and ache for the familiar.

  She had no idea where England was from here. Perhaps her homeland no longer existed. Her quest didn’t. She’d failed to rescue her brother whom she no longer knew or recognized. She’d offered her own happiness and freedom in exchange for Peter’s safety, protection he refused. Soon she’d be the wife of Captain Tristan Kent, a dangerous angel who caused her to want him so easily. Her passion was already his. Her heart, though, would have to resist.

  He’d said he wanted a taste of home, an Englishwoman, not necessarily her, since they didn’t know each other.

  Despite the longing she’d seen in his eyes, lasting love might not matter to him. She’d always yearned for someone to cherish her. Not likely in a marriage that had come about as theirs would. She’d know a few sensual nights followed by too many lonely days that she was afraid to face. The hours ahead were as unfathomable as where the sea touched the sky, as out of reach and unknown. She hadn’t an idea of where she’d be a day from now, much less a year, or when the moment would arrive when she no longer recognized herself, as she
no longer knew her brother.

  Heartsore and weary, she slid from the plank seat to the hull, curled up, and escaped into sleep.

  * * * *

  Tristan pulled in his oars and rested them to the side. He removed his waistcoat and draped the garment over Diana.

  She stirred a hunger in him he found nearly painful, as any man would, yet she didn’t flaunt her beauty. As a reverend’s daughter, she’d probably learned to be quiet and plain.

  Imagining Diana in either role was impossible. Her loveliness was undeniable, her courage nothing short of a miracle. Never had he known a woman to take the risks she had. Although her strong will rankled at times, her spirit mostly impressed.

  He captured a lock of her hair. Her tress whispered across his palm, then floated on the wind, black as night, smelling fresh and flowery, like a proper Englishwoman.

  Everything he’d left behind was here now with Diana, but only because of Peter and her sweet rescue. Back home, she would never have looked Tristan’s way. Circumstances wouldn’t have allowed a reverend’s daughter to wed a man who’d had nothing, once made his living as a mariner, and then was a pirate. Of course, no one expected more of someone who came from poor beginnings. He’d surely had the humblest.

  He lifted his face to the stars, knowing them far better than he had his father, a man who’d given him a name and nothing else. Best not to recall what his mother had done to fill their bellies. Most times, they hadn’t food or a place to live. They’d left Wales, which had been misery itself, and came to England and found the new land far worse. Going to sea at ten hadn’t posed a hardship for him. Working on ships was a way to eat and survive. In those early days, his shipmates hadn’t thought him strange for not being able to read or write, since most also lacked the skills. Eventually, he’d taught himself those things, craving knowledge only books could offer and wanted to use his newfound talents to get a better life. That’s when the men thought him odd.

  Tristan hardly cared. He wanted to be educated and clean. He needed to be free. He craved respect.

  Once, he’d even hoped for love.