Shana Galen

by When Dashing Met Danger

  “I ordered some water for a bath.” He pulled away from her quickly, jerking the sheets over her. She blinked at him, then nodded. Reaching for the pistol in his tailcoat, he opened the door.

  “Here you are, sir.” A large man and an equally hefty woman lumbered into the center of the room carrying a brass tub. They dropped it with a thump. A serving girl followed and poured several pitchers of steaming water into it.

  “Would ye like me to light a fire?” the woman asked when the girl had finished with the water. Alex nodded, paying her a few francs after she had done so.

  “No more interruptions,” he told the woman as she left. Lucia was standing near the tub, sheet clutched around her, and poking at the soap and towels with her toe. She was also frowning. Now what?

  “Why did you kiss me just now?” she said, not looking at him.

  He opened his mouth, then shut it again. “I don’t know,” he answered finally.

  “Is it because I was convenient?”

  “Convenient? What does that—” Then he remembered. Camille. “Lucia, don’t tell me you’re angry about what I said to Camille.”

  “Shouldn’t I be?” She poked the towels with her foot again.

  “If I’d meant it, but I was saying what she wanted to hear.”

  “And do you do that often?” She gave him a penetrating look.

  “Do what?” The sheet she’d draped over her shoulders had fallen open, and the creamy white skin of her breasts and the light pink of her nipples was visible through the gauzy material of her chemise.

  “Tell women what they want to hear.”

  He scowled. “Are you are implying I’ve done so with you?”

  “No. I asked for nothing, and you’ve given nothing. We should leave it at that.”

  “I agree.”

  “Good. Then don’t touch me again.”

  “Fine,” he said, but was vaguely aware that her dictate irritated him. “The water’s getting cold.” He nodded to the tub. “Take your bath.”

  Lucia looked at the water and then at him. “And where will you be while I bathe?”

  Alex started to feel slightly less irritated. “I’m staying right here.” Watching was not touching. He strode to the bed and, crossing his arms, lay back, resting his shoulders against the wall.

  Lucia shook her head. “You can’t stay.”

  “Lucia, I’ve seen you naked before.” His eyes slid over her in blatant perusal, and she pulled the sheet tighter.

  “That was different, and it was days ago.”

  “You think I’ve forgotten what you look like?”

  She frowned and bit her lip, apparently at a loss for words. He liked her speechless—liked it even more when he’d made her so. It was no use. All her dictates and his resolutions were for nothing. They were going to make love. It seemed an established fact, something neither could control or decide. It would happen.

  And he needed her tonight. Needed her innocence and her openness. With Lucia he could forget the world he lived in—the rank deceit and betrayal, the murder and ruthlessness. With her he was the man he wanted to be, not the man he so often played. He could almost forget his cynicism and believe in love. Sitting forward, he reached out and took her hand, pulling her to him.

  “I haven’t forgotten, you know. I remember the little mole you have on your hip here.” His hand caressed her hip lovingly. When he looked up, she was watching him intently, her pupils wide. His hands skimmed over her stomach, and he felt her shiver. Her arms were still crossed over her breasts, so he stroked her shoulders. “And the color of your nipples, pink like the dress you wore that night.” Lucia swayed as his hands descended. “And the inside of your thigh—” His hands were creeping up her thighs, and she jumped.

  “Stop!” She sounded breathless. “I believe you remember.”

  “Good.” He grinned. “Now get in the water.” He gave her a little push toward the tub.

  “Are you going to watch?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Her face flooded with color.

  “But—but—”

  “But?” he said coolly.

  She seated herself regally beside him. “I think you should go first,” she announced.

  He arched a brow. “The water is clean and warm now. You should go first.”

  “Thank you for the courtesy, but I’ll wait.” She jerked her chin.

  He shrugged. “Very well.”

  Standing up, he quickly undid his shirt and tossed it on the bed next to her. He felt the strength and heat of her gaze on him. He continued to face away from her as he reached for the buttons to his trousers, but when he began to unfasten them, he tossed her an invitation over his shoulder. “Would you like me to turn around?”

  “No,” she said quickly, looking away. “Of course not.” She swallowed hard, looking at everything but him. “I will—I—I’ll lie here and rest!” She smiled. “When you are done, let me know, then I’ll bathe.” She flopped down and closed her eyes tightly.

  Alex smiled. Her response to him hadn’t changed. She wanted him, and his own desire had begun the moment he’d seen her again in the Pools’ garden. She was like a drug, subtly addicting him, until, before he knew it, he was craving her. He could not exist without her.

  He removed the rest of his clothing, and though she must have heard the rustle, she kept her eyes firmly shut. But when he put one toe in the water, splashing purposely, her eyelids opened just a crack. He grinned.

  Alex lowered himself into the tub, flexing his arms as he did so. He heard her take a long, shaky breath. Moving slowly, aware she was watching him, he waited for her to give in.

  The tub was small, and his knees barely fit. He had to pull them up almost to his chest, and the water slipped out of the tub as he dunked his head under. When he came up, he slicked his wet hair back.

  She was watching him unabashedly now, apparently having forgotten to feign sleep. As he reached for the soap on the floor, he turned to look at her. She snapped her eyes shut.

  “By all means, if you want a better view, come closer.”

  “I wasn’t watching,” she squeaked, shutting her eyes again.

  “Of course not.” He soaped his arms and legs, the water rolling down his skin in rivulets. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her peek again.

  “Lucia,” he said, his voice low, seductive.

  “I wasn’t!”

  “Come here.”

  “No, Alex. My brother is just next door!” she hissed.

  “I just want you to wash my back.”

  “Wash your—” She sat up. “Men!”

  He grinned and waited for her to protest further, but instead she rose, leaving the sheet behind, and stomped over to kneel beside the tub.

  “Oh, all right. Give me the soap,” she said huffily. He chuckled, handing it to her.

  Lucia rubbed the soap across her palms, lathering it richly, then glossed her slippery hands across Alex’s back. He leaned forward, and her knees were instantly soaked by the discharge of water. She ignored it, running her hands over his muscles, then massaging his shoulders.

  He groaned in response, and she liked that.

  Lucia massaged his back, spreading the soap down to his waist, then dipping her hands in the water and rinsing it off again. She saw his muscles tense at her light touch, and she was intrigued at the effect she had on him.

  She ran her fingers lightly down his back, and when she had made her way up again, marveling at the way his muscles flexed under her strokes, he caught her hand, jerking her forward so she was pressed tightly against his back.

  “You are killing me.” He pronounced each word acutely. “If you don’t stop now, I’ll have to throw you on the floor and make love to you.” His voice was strained and husky, and it sent spirals of pleasure swirling through her. It made her bold, too.

  Her face was next to his, and she turned to kiss his ear. It drove her wild when he did it to her, and she wondered if it would have the same effect on
him.

  Apparently it did.

  His whole body tensed, his hands gripping the sides of the tub, his jaw clenched tightly. Finally he seized her chin and kissed her properly, his tongue meeting hers and thrusting deeply. She sighed with pleasure, matching his every erotic effort.

  Her breasts were pushing against his back, and under the wet chemise her nipples were hard and sensitive. She rubbed tentatively against his back, and his fingers spread over her cheeks, cupping her head so that he could kiss her more deeply. When the kiss ended and he pulled away, she scanned his gray eyes, then allowed her gaze to slide down his body toward his hard member.

  He watched her, the heat in his look searing her. Shakily she retrieved the soap and lathered her hands with suds. His back was unarguably clean, so she scooted to the side of the tub and ran her hands over his chest, careful of the fading red gash from Décharné’s sword.

  His hands tightened on the sides of the tub again, and when she followed his hungry gaze, she saw he was staring at her wet chemise. The material clung to her breasts, outlining every curve.

  Lucia’s hands stroked his stomach, then moved lower. With a jerk Alex grabbed her wrist, and their eyes met.

  “I want to touch you,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “Lucia—”

  “Let me touch you.”

  After a long moment he released her wrist, and she smiled at the battle-ready position he assumed: eyes shut tight, body tense, hands fisted.

  She stroked his chest, then slid her fingers down his hard abdomen, whisper-light, then skimmed lower.

  He groaned, but she hardly noticed. He was silky and hard, firm and yielding, alive beneath her touch.

  Finally, with a shudder, he caught her wrist and kissed her palm.

  “It’s your turn.” His eyes glinted.

  The next moment he was standing, dripping wet, pulling her beside him. Without releasing her, he stepped out of the tub and tugged her hard against him. He leaned down to kiss her neck, his face and hair tickling her cheek.

  “Get in the tub,” he whispered.

  Lucia’s heart hammered in her chest as she felt his hands strip away the chemise. His body was moist, and her own seemed to cling to it. The feel of his bare skin against hers aroused her further, and she luxuriated in the feeling.

  All too quickly, he moved away. Lucia sat down abruptly, feeling lost without his body touching hers. She reached for the soap, but Alex already had it in his hands and was moving behind her.

  With exquisite slowness, he brushed her hair aside, and his slippery fingers caressed her back. She shivered at his gentle touch when he massaged her muscles, kneading his hands into her sore shoulders and arms. Lucia closed her eyes and sighed.

  Without a word, he directed her to dunk her head under the water. She soaked her hair, and when she came up, Alex put his hands in the long, tangled tresses. Tingles raced through her as his firm fingers began to massage her scalp. He worked the lather of the soap through her heavy mane, kneading the last of her tension away.

  When she opened her eyes again, he was kneeling in front of her. He gave her a seductive smile, then lifted one of her feet. Lifting the foot to his bare chest, his fingers pressed firmly against the tender, swollen pads of her heel and arch. He even rubbed each toe gently between his fingers. Lucia had not realized how sore her feet were until his ministrations began. He repeated his actions with the other foot, finally rinsing it clean. She wiggled her toes against his smooth muscles, and he kissed each one, lingering until her legs began trembling.

  Then his hands glided over each of her legs, spreading the silky soap over her calves. When he’d finished, he propped her foot on his shoulder and lathered her knee, then her thigh, reaching higher until his hands grazed the juncture between. She was trembling violently.

  His fingers brushed against her, and Lucia couldn’t suppress a moan. The pressure coiled inside her, growing when he reached deeper to caress the small nub at the center of her folds. She bit her lip hard to keep from crying out.

  And still the torture continued.

  He stroked her until she was writhing and pushing against him. Then his fingers entered her. She let out a gasp, and when he slowly, tantalizingly withdrew, she took her opportunity. She grasped his shoulders and rose to her knees, kissing him ravenously, biting his lips, rubbing her breasts against the hardness of his chest.

  She didn’t know how, but a moment later they were in bed, hot and wet, and Alex’s body was wonderfully heavy above her. He was kissing her, stroking her, touching her in ways she never could have imagined. Then he stopped, and when she opened her eyes to look at him, he was staring at her face.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, voice strained. “If not, tell me now. Stop me now.”

  She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but she already knew. Nothing had changed. He wanted her, and there was nothing beyond that.

  Lucia studied him, his pewter eyes, his dark lashes, his tense mouth that was so soft and supple when he smiled…or kissed her.

  She loved him. Of that she was sure. But this—this here and now—was all he could offer her.

  She closed her eyes. For the moment it was enough.

  Being with him was enough.

  But then he pulled away again, taking her hand in his. He held it to his lips, turned it over, and kissed her palm, then her wrist, then the too tender skin inside her elbow.

  She was quivering with need when his lips finally reached her neck. And when his tongue made a wet path from her collarbone to her breasts, a tremor of delicious anticipation rushed through her. His chin on the soft flesh of her breast was scratchy, tickling her until his tongue found her nipple. Then she could only moan at the throbbing between her thighs.

  He was hard against her, and she reached down to stroke him, wanting him inside her. Her body ached with need for him, and when he finally entered her, her whole being arched to receive him. She was complete. Whole. She wrapped her legs around him, taking more of him inside, her breath catching as he embedded himself fully.

  He was breathing hard, trying to control his actions, but she wouldn’t allow it.

  She moved against him, and his arms tightened around her. His gentle assault continued, and she was helpless, capable only of holding him tightly. She never wanted it to end. Never wanted to be outside his arms. When she found fulfillment she pulled him close, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was shaking, and she felt him trembling, too.

  He rolled away, pulling her into his embrace. Her back was pressed against his chest, so he did not see the tears she wiped away. After a few moments his grip relaxed and his breathing deepened.

  She turned in his arms, studied him by the dim light of the hearth. Eyes closed, mouth slack, he looked so vulnerable, younger than his twenty-nine years. It hurt to look at him. It hurt because she knew.

  She was going to lose him.

  When Alex woke her it was still black outside. Lucia blushed just looking at the tub, still half full of water, but Alex made no mention of their lovemaking. He barely acknowledged her, just encouraged her to hurry with her dressing.

  When she was ready, they went through the silent inn and into the dark night, where Freddie stood with a waiting carriage. John was already within, and her brother looked rested, but his jaw was firmly clenched and his hands fisted. When she took the seat next to him, he didn’t look at her. Lucia looked away, wondering how thick the walls of the inn were. She had a feeling they were not thick enough.

  She heard Alex and Freddie clamber onto the driver’s box and urge the horses into motion. They were only a few miles from Calais, but the ride seemed an eternity. The road was bumpy and poorly maintained, and by the time they arrived at the docks, John had forgotten his anger and was leaning against her for support. The coach slowed and stopped in a dark, nearly deserted area, and Freddie pulled open the door.

  “Can you walk, old boy?” he asked John immediately.

 
“I think so,” he said faintly.

  Alex came up behind Freddie, and Lucia gave him an imploring look.

  “Freddie, get on one side and I’ll take the other.”

  With John supported between them, Alex and Freddie made their way to a rowboat. As they rowed toward the waiting ship, Lucia was glad for the thick fog enveloping them.

  Please, please, she prayed.

  They were so close to safety.

  A man Lucia assumed was the captain of the vessel met them as they boarded. “You’re late,” he said in French.

  “We’re here.” Alex helped Freddie get John below deck and into one cabin, then steered Lucia to another beside it.

  It was scantily furnished with two cots and a table, all nailed to the floor. On the table was a pitcher of water, a bowl, and hanging above it a lamp, giving her enough light to see that everything was clean, at least.

  Lucia crossed the room and leaned on the table for support. “I can’t believe we finally made it.” She turned, beaming at Alex. “That we’re safe.”

  He nodded, but his look was grim. “If you need anything, ask Dewhurst or the captain. He’s an old friend of mine.”

  “Will we be sailing soon?”

  “In the next few minutes. The captain will want to take advantage of the darkness and fog to run the British blockade.” He leaned against the door and crossed his arms.

  “Blockade?” She’d forgotten for the moment that the British navy had sealed up the French ports. She gripped the table. “What if we don’t get through?”

  “You’ll make it. The captain is the best. He’s done this dozens of times. You should have no problems.”

  Lucia frowned, noticing now that Alex wasn’t including himself. Her nails bit into the wood of the table. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  She gripped the table with her other hand.

  “Someone has to take the information John gleaned to Nelson. The Incognito is anchored a few miles up the coast. As soon as I gather provisions, I sail for the West Indies.”