Lauren pressed even closer, tangling her fingers in his sun- kissed hair. It was hard to convince herself she was doing this for a debt owed. She wanted to kiss him. The vital current that flowed between them was warm and vibrant and infinitely arousing, and she wanted it.
She could feel her pulse beating wildly as Jason's hands slowly stroked her back, gliding effortlessly down the smooth satin to caress her buttocks, and up again, to fondle the silken skin at her nape. And by the time his fingers gently cradled the back of her head, she was trembling. His arousal pressed against her thigh, hard and demanding and urgent. . . .
She was startled when Jason lifted his mouth, breaking off the heated embrace.
He was breathing heavily as he cupped her face in his hands. "Lauren," he said hoarsely, urging her to look at him, "before this goes any further . . ." He wanted her to understand why he had been so angry. And he needed to explain his reasons for bringing her on board the Siren before he lost control of himself again. He had known where a kiss would lead.
His searching gaze caressed the perfect oval of her face, the golden-green cat-eyes, the lips that had tasted like wine. "I have a confession to make. I never intend for you to return to the gaming house tonight. And when I demanded a night with you in exchange for my silence, I wasn't being completely honest. I want more than a night with you. . . . I want all of you.
Lauren gazed up at him with passion-glazed eyes. "I know," she replied, her voice a husky murmur. "You are very obvious about what you want, Jason Stuart."
The same passion flared hotly in his eyes. "And you want me as well," he said softly, his thumbs brushing her delicate cheekbones. "Say it, Lauren. You want me, too."
Her soft smile made Jason's heart stand still. "I . . . I want you, too."
He never completed his explanation. His intentions of telling her about Burroughs and the Carlin Line fled as he began to press small kisses randomly over her forehead, eyelids, cheeks, chin, before at last he captured her mouth again.
This time when he made love to her, however, he was infinitely gentle and patient. He took the time to remove her gown, to loose her flowing hair from its pins, to divest her throat of the glittering gems, before lifting her up and carrying her to the wide bunk. And this time, as he stood over her, drinking in the sight of her naked beauty, his senses were drugged, not with an opiate, but with the headiness of passion.
He stepped back to shed his clothes, and Lauren lay silently watching him, a mixture of desire and wonder in her eyes. His waistcoat went first, then his shirt, exposing powerful shoulders and corded arms. His broad chest was lightly furred beneath a golden tan, and tapered to a flat, hard stomach and lean hips. Then he removed his boots and trousers.
The sheer magnificence of his body took Lauren's breath away. In the golden glow of lamplight, he looked vital, bronzed, beautiful. Yet beautiful in a supremely masculine way. His powerful, sun-gilded body was sleekly muscled and superbly sculpted. And he was undeniably aroused. Lauren couldn't stop her gaze from dropping to the place where his tan ended, where his virile hardness leapt proudly from a dark nest of curling hair, overwhelming in its size and power.
The Sun-god Apollo, Lauren thought, startled by the sharp stab of desire that filled her. She wanted to touch him, to move her hands freely down the length of his magnificent form that was so different from hers.
Flushing, Lauren lifted her gaze to Jason's face and caught her breath. The sapphire eyes seemed to hold great tenderness even while they regarded her so intently. No, his eyes were smoldering, and she felt the heat of his gaze where it touched her. There were flames in his eyes. She was drowning in a deep blue sea of fire.
He came to her then, moving with fluid masculine grace as he stretched out beside her. Lauren gasped when he drew her against the full length of his hard body. The fine hair covering his chest rasped sensuously against her breasts, while his long steel-muscled legs molded against hers, sending heated stabs of awareness throbbing through her.
He didn't speak as his warm hands stroked her silken back, nor as they slowly began winding tortuous paths over the rest of her skin. Lauren quivered as she submitted to his sensuous caresses, yet she wanted to explore Jason, too. Breathlessly, boldly, she began to reciprocate, letting her touch roam at will.
His body seemed to have been hammered from pure steel. His skin was rough and smooth at the same time, the texture of raw silk, with rippling sinew beneath that suggested superb physical conditioning. He closed his eyes and shuddered when her slender fingers discovered unknown territory.
Her hand froze when she felt his response. She had only wanted to satisfy her natural curiosity about the swollen hardness that had given her so much pleasure, and was surprised to find it felt like heated satin. But when she saw Jason's face contort in sensual pain, she slowly began to stroke his arousal, needing to give in return.
The next instant Jason groaned and grasped her ministering hand. Lauren glanced at him questioningly when he shifted from her reach. "This time is for both of us," he rasped, his voice unnaturally husky.
Gently he pressed her down upon the pillows while he supported himself on one elbow. Gazing down in eyes of golden emerald, he traced the outline of her parted lips with his fingers. "My beautiful Lauren, why did you run from me?" His murmur was nothing more than a whisper, and sent shivers of longing racing through her. "Ah, hut it doesn't matter. Nothing matters but this night."
Lauren returned his gaze, her hand moving of its own volition from his cheek to his strong jaw. "No, nothing else matters," she breathed as she drew Jason's head down, seeking his mouth.
Their breaths mingled, then lips, then tongues. And as Jason kissed her with slow, savoring possession, the embers started to smolder again. Lauren moaned against his demanding mouth when his muscled thigh began moving between her legs. He was touching her everywhere with expert caresses, his hands warm and knowing.
She moaned again when his mouth traced a heated path down her body to her lush breasts, and when he paused to fondle tight, rosy nipples with his tongue, she felt as if flames were licking her skin, scorching her.
And then he was shifting his weight, settling himself between her thighs, sliding into her welcoming heat, filling up every inch of her. Lauren arched against him, wanting him with a fierceness that shocked her.
But Jason refused to hurry. "Not yet, my love," he said, pressing a light kiss on the corner of her mouth.
"Please, Jason. . . ."
"Patience, sweetheart."
He moved with exquisite slowness, letting the heat of passion build. Lauren had to be content with moving her hands feverishly over the flexing muscles of his back, urging him on.
Only when shimmering heat waves danced around her did his rhythm slowly escalate, and that by that time, Lauren was whimpering with need. At last his thrusts increased in power and urgency, and he arched into her with unrestrained possessiveness, his forceful tenderness making her gasp.
A white-hot explosion racked Lauren's body. She rose up against him, crying out his name, while Jason shuddered, groaned, and twisted his fingers in her hair.
They both floated down with the warm ashes of the aftermath.
"Lauren, my beautiful . . . precious Lauren," he murmured, pressing soft, tender kisses against her mouth. "You are fire . . . and ice."
She heard his husky words through a haze of contentment. Not wanting reality to intrude, she wrapped her arms around Jason's neck and buried her face in the sweat-dampened hollow of his throat.
Jason didn't even try to pry himself away. Instead, he rested his cheek against the golden silk of her hair, savoring the joy of meeting some unspoken need of hers.
Only when her fervent grip relaxed somewhat did he ease his weight from her and roll on his back, gathering Lauren in his arms. His fingers threaded through the tangled veil of her hair as his free hand stroked her bare shoulder.
After a time he sighed. "My love, we must talk," he said, knowing his revelations woul
d shatter the peacefulness of the moment. Yet when Lauren raised her head from the comfortable curve of his shoulder and returned his gaze so trustingly, Jason hesitated. He was reluctant to sever the tenuous bond that had sprung up between them. He found himself, instead, asking about her fear of the dark.
Lauren regarded him uncertainly before resting her head again on his shoulder. She was surprised that his question engendered no frightful memories; the specters seemed to be held at bay when she was lying safe and warm in Jason's arms. She found that the words came easily. "It isn't darkness I fear, but close, confined places," she said quietly. "I see these hideous images . . . like evil shadows . . . and I hear screams. It's like a nightmare, only worse. I'm so terrified that I can't move. And then I go cold all over and my throat closes up, like someone is choking me."
"Have you always reacted this way?" Jason asked quietly.
"Yes, as long as I remember. I've tried to conquer my fear, I truly have, but I can't seem to control it. I can't even ride in a closed carriage or lock the door to a room without seeing those phantoms and hearing those ghastly screams. They petrify me. I even dream about them. Sometimes I think—"
When Lauren broke off, her voice shaking, Jason pressed his lips to her brow. "Tell me," he urged.
"Sometimes I wonder if I truly am going mad."
Jason's arms tightened about her. "You seem very sane to me, Lauren. From your description, it sounds rather like you suffer from a phobia, perhaps brought on by some unpleasant experience. Your situation isn't so unusual."
Lauren shuddered at the memory. Not wanting to discuss the disturbing topic further, she abruptly changed the subject. "Jason, why are you here? In New Orleans?"
"I could ask the same of you," he countered. "Is this where you've been hiding out all these years?"
She nodded, then sat up, her eyes searching his face. "Did you mean it when you said you wouldn't give me away?"
Jason was distracted momentarily by the sight of her disheveled hair tumbling around her shoulders and a tress that curled around her bare breast. He wanted to reach out and fondle the ripe flesh, but he had noted the gravity in her tone. "What must I do, Lauren, to convince you that I care what happens to you?" Jason said slowly. "Do you realize that it sickened me to discover you working as a doxy in a gaming house? Selling yourself like used goods at a market? Don't you know I feel guilty as hell for having been your first customer?"
The throbbing anguish in his voice touched a sensitive chord within her. She hadn't intended to divulge anything about her past life, for with his perceptiveness, Jason might guess the secret that she had hidden for so long. But, inexplicably, she didn't like having him think her that kind of woman. She had to tell him about her reasons for working in the gaming house. She had to explain—as much as she could.
"It isn't what you think," she said in a low voice. "I have an arrangement with Madame Gescard."
"I can just imagine."
His sardonic tone made Lauren stiffen. Her lashes fluttered down to veil her thoughts as she responded with her own brand of sarcasm. "But of course you can," she returned sweetly. "You know all about such things, don't you, Jason Stuart? Tell me, how do you find the 'goods', now that you have had a sample? How do I compare to Lila, or to the girls who work for Madame Gescard? Or to any of your other women, for that matter?"
Jason's mouth tightened. "There is no comparison." He reached out to place a warm, possessive hand on her breast. "I don't want you returning to the gaming house, Lauren." He felt the sudden leap of her heart against his palm before she quickly drew back.
"Are you asking me or telling me?" Lauren said in a calm tone that carried no trace of her underlying bitterness.
"I'm asking. I'll kneel at your feet and beg, if I must."
"Why?"
The question was casual and indifferent, yet Jason was aware that he must tread cautiously. He searched her beautiful face, looking for some trace of emotion behind the cool, expressionless mask she wore. He could find none, nor any sign to betray her sudden wariness; she returned his gaze steadily. Even so, he sensed the tenseness in her body. And he knew that even after the passion they had shared, even after she had confided her deepest fears to him, she still didn't trust him. She had retreated from him—not physically, for she was trapped in the narrow space between himself and the bulkhead—but emotionally. She stood remote and untouchable on the far side of a gaping chasm.
Determined to bridge it, Jason reached up and curled his fingers behind Lauren's neck, drawing her face down to his. When she strained away, averting her mouth, he began planting delicate kisses on her throat and nibbling his way to her ear. "Why? Because I'm jealous of any man who touches you," he murmured huskily. "Every time I picture you with Duval, I want to do something highly uncivilized, like bash his face in." Gently then, Jason grasped Lauren's chin, forcing her to look at him. "When you give yourself, I want it to be my gold that matches the gleam of your hair, the glitter in your tempting eyes."
The sensuousness in his voice made Lauren shudder. She sighed heavily as she laid her head on his shoulder. "There have been no other men, Jason," she said quietly, feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath her cheek. "Not since that night in London with you has any man—"
She wasn't even given time to complete the sentence before Jason reacted with startling swiftness. Lauren found herself on her back once again, this time looking up into eyes that blazed with anger, not desire.
"You can save your lies," Jason said between clenched teeth. "I've already agreed to pay. I'll meet your price willingly, without any strings attached. But hear me well, Lauren. The one thing I'll always demand from you is honesty. Total and complete honesty."
Taken aback by his sudden fierceness, Lauren stared at him. "You have no right to demand anything of me," she returned. "But I'm telling the truth. Felix isn't keeping me. I'm a seamstress at the casino, and occasionally I play the piano—nothing else. And I've known no man but you."
Jason's blue eyes narrowed to mere slits as he seized her shoulders. "You allow me to take you like a common trollop and then expect me to believe you?"
"You said I wasn't common."
She gasped as Jason's fingers bit into her skin. She thought he might shake her, for his powerful body had gone rigid and his handsome face was dark as thunder. "I'm telling . . . the truth!" she managed to say between breaths. "Madame Gescard . . . pays me to entertain . . . the guests by singing and playing. You're . . . hurting me," she protested when the pressure of his grip increased painfully.
He released her shoulders, but his teeth remained clenched. "Think yourself fortunate, sweetheart. I'm trying very hard not to wring your neck."
Before she could reply, Jason had flung himself from the bunk. Lauren shivered, immediately missing the warmth of his large body. Covering herself with the quilt, she lay curled on her side, watching him warily as he sifted through the garments strewn on the floor.
"Why . . . don't you believe me?" There was no answer. "Tell me," she challenged as his silence stung her, "do you treat all your women so violently? Lila never mentioned it."
Jason's gaze sliced to her as he pulled on his breeches, making Lauren aware that his anger hadn't abated one degree. He didn't reply, though, and his grim silence disturbed her. She couldn't understand what she had done to provoke him, but oddly enough, she preferred facing his wrath to being ignored.
She knew she was playing with fire when she smiled tauntingly, yet she did it to cover her own hurt. "Are the wages for a night's work always so generous, monsieur?" she asked, adopting Marguerite's French accent. "If so, I might consider a full-time position as your chere amie. Unless you mean to cover me with bruises, of course. Please tell me. I should like to know what your paramour can expect."
Her inclusion of the accent had been calculated to wound, but she dropped it when she got no response. When Jason jerked open the lid to a large chest and selected a fresh shirt, Lauren offered hesitantly, "You said you
wanted honesty. Very well, I thought your lovemaking . . . quite enjoyable." Nothing. Not even a glance.
"Perhaps I will accept the money you offered me tonight, after all. I could buy the satins and jewels you suggested. In spite of what you think, I'm not wealthy."
Still there was no answer. "Won't it help assuage your guilt if I take your money?" Lauren said in her most sarcastic tone. "I no longer feel such things as guilt, you see. I lost my heart long ago. George Burroughs saw to that."
That succeeded in getting Jason's attention for a moment. But then he stooped to pick up the bag of coins. He eyed the leather pouch intently before locking it away in the bureau. Then he proceeded to lock every cabinet and drawer in sight.
Lauren watched his actions, first with wariness, then with increasing alarm. "What are you doing?" she exclaimed, already regretting having taunted him.
"I'm securing the cabin."
"You can't mean to keep me here!" Lauren cried, her voice holding a definite trace of panic. He couldn't mean to make her a prisoner. He couldn't!
"I do," Jason admitted with tight-lipped control. "But please feel free to make yourself at home. I'll leave the lantern if you give me your promise not to set fire to the ship."
"Yes, but—"
"Have no fear that I'll lock you in to prevent you from running away. I can't trust you not to attempt an escape, but I expect that not even you would try to leave with only a quilt to hide your nakedness." He scooped up her gown and necklace and slippers, then strode to the door and jerked it open.
"But where are you going?" she nearly shouted.
Jason spared her one brief scowl. "I presume Lila can confirm your story? Well then, you have nothing at all to be worried about, do you?"
The reverberation seemed to echo loudly about the cabin as the door slammed shut behind him.
Chapter Nine
Lauren stared at the closed portal in disbelief. She had pushed Jason too far, she knew, but that didn't explain why he had been so angry to learn she wasn't a harlot. Nor did it excuse him for storming out like that, leaving her without any clothes, a virtual prisoner on his ship. And he had reneged on his last promise, as well. She had been willing to give him the night he demanded, but he hadn't allowed her to fulfill her part of the bargain and end his claim to her. But Jason Stuart had underestimated her if he thought he could keep her captive for long.
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