Captured

by Victoria Lynne

  Shock and delight screamed through her as Cole shifted from one breast to the other, giving each the same loving attention. Unlike the rough, gentle touch of his hands, his mouth felt slick and hot as he licked and teased and suckled. Then, when the pleasure became so great that Devon thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, he moved lower, trailing hot, lavish kisses over her ribs, across her stomach and the tops of her thighs. He covered her body with his mouth, claiming her with a savage hunger that found every sensitive inch of her.

  She echoed his movements, letting him lead, worshipping his body as he was hers, loving him with her mouth, her tongue, her hands, lost in the sensations she was giving and being given. It was all so new, so amazing, and yet so incredibly right. Skin on skin, male to female, touching, tasting, feeling. Primal passion and hot sensuality… Cole’s hand drifted between her legs, his fingers gently probing the warm wetness he found there.

  Devon tensed. Heat coiled tightly in her belly and then spread, making her limbs quiver, shaken by a desperate need she could feel but not identify. As Cole captured her mouth with his, she locked her arms around his neck, returning his kiss with a fervent, wanton longing. Her body molded itself to his, as if begging for more. Hunger she barely recognized rose within her once again, laced now with stunning urgency and sweet, possessive fire.

  Cole drew back and raised himself on his forearms above her, the tip of his erection poised at her entrance. His eyes locked on hers, he slowly inched his way into the warm, wet place deep inside her. Devon’s eyes grew wide with wonder as she felt her body stretch to accommodate him. Then, as quickly as she adjusted to the incredible sensation of having him inside her, he pulled back, leaving her achingly empty. “Devon, I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, his breath fanning her neck. Before she could figure out why he was apologizing, or why he’d stopped, he lifted his lean hips and pushed forward, filling her completely.

  A sharp, stinging sensation tore through her. Devon froze, shocked by the intrusion of pain, realizing belatedly why Cole had stopped. Even now, he was poised above her, not moving, as if afraid he would hurt her again, the strain of holding back etched on his features. Tenderness poured through her, along with the driving desire to give him everything he was giving her. As the pain ebbed away, she reached up, running her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. “Cole,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”

  An expression she’d never seen before crossed his face. Something darker than passion, deeper than lust. He stared down at her, his eyes burning with golden fire. He leaned down, his lips slanting over hers in a kiss of such heat and passion, such silent eloquence of need, it seemed to scorch her very soul.

  Then he began to move. Slowly at first, moving almost teasingly within her, until they found the ancient rhythm that brought them together as one. Silent wonder exploded within Devon as she arched her hips to meet his. She felt her body straining, aching for something she couldn’t define. Each long, loving stroke carried her closer, nearer to what she needed.

  She dug her fingers into Cole’s shoulders and he moved faster, deeper, responding to her silent plea. At last he sent her over the precipice she’d been struggling to reach. Every nerve in her body seemed to take flight, exploding in a wonderful, shattering bliss. Pleasure shot up her spine and raced down her legs. She called out Cole’s name in a low, throaty groan she barely recognized as her own. The moment she did, he tightened his arms around her, then drove deep inside her, a shudder running through his large frame as he poured himself into her, at last finding his own release.

  Cole abruptly collapsed on top of her, then rolled over, taking Devon with him. She lay splayed across his chest, still intimately joined. His heart was pounding in rapid tempo beneath her ear, his breath coming in deep gulps. He ran his hands gently over her back, as if memorizing the feel of her soft curves. After a few minutes, he asked softly, “Did I hurt you, Devon?”

  “No,” she whispered, her throat aching at the concern she saw in his eyes. In fact, just the opposite was true, she thought, filled with bittersweet regret. He’d given her more than she ever could have imagined. While she lay in his arms like this, she felt so safe, so protected, so… loved. There was no other word for it. Loved. As if every silent wish she’d ever wished had momentarily come true. Devon was overwhelmed by the emotions bubbling to the surface, like a pot that had been left too long to boil. She felt tears sting her eyes and quickly lowered her head before he could see them.

  She was too late. She felt Cole tense beneath her, then he gently tipped her chin up. His face went dark with regret at the sight of the wet tears streaming down her cheeks. “I did hurt you—”

  “No.” She shook her head, fighting to control her emotions, trying to find the words to express herself. “I wasn’t prepared, I didn’t know… I didn’t think you would touch me like that.”

  Panic and self-loathing filled Cole’s eyes. “Devon, I’m sorry, I thought you said you knew how it was done. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, not the way you touched my body.”

  He studied her, clearly upset and thoroughly confused. “Then what—”

  “The way you touched my heart.”

  Cole stared at her, completely stunned. Finally he seemed recovered enough to speak. “Devon,” he began softly, reaching for her.

  “Cole,” she said, smiling absurdly through her tears. She knew she was making a mess of things, but she didn’t care. “Do we have to stop?”

  Devon shifted onto her side, watching Cole as he slept. They’d made love a second time, with exquisite tenderness, slowly and gently, with less of the explosive passion of the first time. Much to her relief, she’d been able to keep her emotions under control. She wondered if it was simply the pure physical release that had shaken her so, but discarded the notion as quickly as it had occurred.

  What had shattered her composure was an emotion that felt incredibly like love, bursting open within her. She hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t expected it, and certainly hadn’t been prepared for it. She had no place for that emotion in her life. And neither did Cole‌—‌at least not as far as she was concerned.

  Devon slipped out from beneath his arm, which was flung casually over her waist. She stood and padded softly around their camp, allowing the light of the moon to guide her as she collected bits and pieces of her scattered clothing. Her body, sore from making love, ached in unfamiliar places as she dressed. She ignored the discomfort and saw to her horse, using her already strained muscles to lift and secure the saddle.

  That task quietly finished, she walked back to camp, staring at Cole where he lay sleeping. His breath came deep and regular, telling her he hadn’t been disturbed by her motions. She knew he hadn’t slept at all the night before, and suspected he’d slept very little at the boardinghouse. No wonder he was so exhausted. He’d probably passed those nights trying to decide what was the right and honorable thing to do about her.

  The only trouble was, Devon couldn’t abide by his decision. If Cole didn’t deliver her to Old Capitol, he would likely face court-martial, and that was a risk she couldn’t let him take. Nor would she let him become a laughingstock by trying to pass her off as a lady among his friends. No matter what Cole said, Devon knew better. For a few days, they might believe it, but with time her past would come back to haunt her. It always did.

  She wouldn’t burden Cole with that. She owed him at least that much. If she escaped, he might face a slight reprimand, but that would be it. Perhaps he’d be angry at first to discover that she’d left, but in time he would be thankful. It relieved him of any obligation he might feel toward her. He could dismiss her completely and get back to his own life, back to the world where he belonged. A world of which she would never have any part.

  She glanced up at the night sky and saw that she had a few hours left until dawn. Devon stared at Cole for one last time, committing every line and detail of his rugged face and glorious body to her memory. She walked to where she’d left her horse
and mounted quietly. Her final words were a whisper, barely audible above the wind. “Good-bye, Cole McRae.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The Pig’s Head Inn was no different than any of the other dozen or so waterfront taverns Cole had visited since reaching St. George two days ago‌—‌dirty, crowded, teeming with people from all walks of life. Rebel sailors on shore leave mingled with blockade runners, businessmen, prostitutes, and Yankee spies. They all merged together in the giddy atmosphere created by tremendous risk and sudden riches. This small Bermuda tavern did have one particular distinction, however: it was Cole’s last chance to find Devon.

  He’d already scoured every other waterfront dive, hotel, and restaurant on the island, coming up without a trace of her, which only served to intensify his nagging fear that perhaps he’d been wrong in coining to Bermuda. Perhaps Devon had gone to Nassau in the Bahamas instead, another notorious port for blockade runners. There, as here, she’d have her choice of dozens of wide-bellied cargo ships to take her back to England, along with the cotton they’d smuggled out of the South.

  She’d left no trail, disappearing from his life with the same explosive intensity with which she’d entered. Cole remembered with grim clarity the morning he’d awakened back in Virginia when the emptiness beside him told him she was gone. Christ, did she still believe that he was taking her to Old Capitol? After the night they’d spent together, how was it possible for her not to trust him?

  The questions were eating him up inside. It was the middle of the damned war, for God’s sake. He didn’t have time to chase after her. But his only other alternative, to forget her and go about his business, was unthinkable. Not until he knew why she’d left him. Not until he knew she was safe.

  Not until he got her back.

  It had taken him a week to return to Fort Monroe. There he had spent an additional two weeks overseeing the completion of repairs to his ship. That totaled three weeks: more than enough time for Devon to have slipped past him, for her to be well on her way to England by now. He’d spent his nights prowling the docks, interrogating any sailor he could find for news of runners that had slipped through the blockade. Hoping for word from someone who might have seen Devon. In the end, he’d found nothing. Nothing but blank stares and negative responses.

  When Cole left Fort Monroe, Admiral Billings had given him one month’s leave to pursue Jonas Sharpe. After that, he was required to return to blockade duty. One month. That was all the time he had.

  Cole pushed open the doors to the Pig’s Head Inn and made his way through the tavern. He found a table near the back, kicked out a chair, and sat down. Despite the fact that it was midday, the bar was teeming with drunken revelers. Thick plantation shutters at the doors and windows filtered the light and air, allowing entrance to the salty sea breezes that blew from the harbor, but it wasn’t enough. The air stank of the hot press of bodies and stale alcohol. A man who looked to be the owner approached his table. He wore a coarse apron blotched with stains, no shirt beneath, his skin glistening with sweat. He flicked a greasy rag across the table and asked Cole for his order.

  “I’m looking for a woman.”

  The man glanced up, studied Cole for a minute, then nodded. He motioned across the room to a dusky-skinned beauty whose dress was split open nearly to her waist. “Her name’s Bettina,” he said in a bored voice. “You can have her for an hour. Pay me when you’re finished.”

  Cole shook his head. “Not her.”

  “You prefer yellow hair?”

  “The woman I’m looking for is English, small, with dark hair and green eyes.”

  The man shook his head. “No,” he said, flicking his rag once again over the table. “I have thirsty customers to attend. Do you drink or not?”

  Something in his voice, or perhaps the furtive glance of his eyes, gave him away. Cole felt a tightening deep within him. “Where is she?”

  The owner studied him once again, then finally asked, “What do you want with her?”

  Cole didn’t answer, but simply opened his billfold, removed a crisp hundred-dollar Federal note, and set it on the table before him. “Where?” he said, his tone cold and flat.

  The man stared at the money, his eyes dark with greed, but shook his head. “She makes more for me than that. More than even Bettina makes.”

  Cold fury shot through Cole. “The woman I’m looking for isn’t a whore.”

  “No,” the owner quickly agreed. “No, not a whore. She… brings in customers. Fancy customers.” It took Cole a minute to follow the man’s meaning, then understanding slowly dawned. Not bad. Devon lured the marks in, coaxed them into getting drunk and running up lavish tabs, then freed them of their watches, wallets, and any other sparkling fob they might possess. The owner not only got the additional business, but presumably a hefty share of Devon’s take as well. He coolly eyed the owner, testing his theory aloud.

  The man promptly began to look uncomfortable. “I ran a proper establishment—”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Cole said in disgust. He set another hundred-dollar note on top of the first. “Consider that a reward for your honesty and integrity. Now tell me where I can find her.”

  “I don’t want any trouble—”

  “Where?”

  The owner reached out, grabbed the money, and shoved it deep within his pocket. “Wait here. She’ll be back in an hour, maybe two.”

  Cole settled in his chair, refusing to let himself build any false hopes. The man could be lying, or he could simply be wrong. Or perhaps there was another woman who fit Devon’s description. He ordered a glass of whiskey and nursed it as he waited, watching the crowd. The war had temporarily lifted all societal boundaries, he noted. Every section of society, both men and women, seemed duly represented. Rich patrons from the pompous enclave of Rose Hill mingled with lowly wharf rats. All were anxious to partake in the excitement that surrounded them, reeling with the thrill of misbehaving, intoxicated by the jubilant pandemonium that had overtaken the tiny island.

  He watched as another high-society group entered the door, then he turned away, only to snap his head back to the scene, his gaze focused on the woman in their party. His breath caught in his throat as he stared.

  Devon.

  He almost didn’t recognize her.

  She wore an emerald-green silk gown edged in black lace and carried a matching parasol. Her hair was coiffed in an elegant chignon. She looked poised, polished, and absolutely, stunningly beautiful. Another fact struck him at the same time: she was standing altogether too close to the two men who escorted her into the tavern.

  He quickly sized them up. Judging by their meek builds and fancy frock coats, she’d found a couple of dandies out slumming. Cole nodded in approval; she chose her marks well. He felt his heart constrict as he watched her walk gracefully across the room. He didn’t move or make a sound, but simply watched as they settled into a table. For the first time since she’d left him back in Virginia, he felt as though he could breathe again.

  After a minute, he stood and made his way through the crowded bar toward them. He didn’t take his gaze off her, half-afraid that if he blinked she would disappear again. She was smiling and laughing, but he knew it was all a performance. None of it reached her eyes. He stopped just short of their table, listening as one of the men recommended the house brandy.

  “Actually,” Cole said, his eyes focused entirely on Devon, “brandy doesn’t agree with the lady.”

  He watched her freeze, then she slowly lifted her gaze to his. A myriad of emotions flashed across her face, all passing too quickly for him to read. Her mouth dropped open, but it was a moment before any sound followed. When she finally spoke, it seemed one word was all she could manage. “Cole.”

  He politely inclined his head. “You remember my name. I’m flattered.”

  “You‌—‌you thought I would forget?”

  “In light of the other things you forgot, such as the proper way to say good-bye, yes, it occurred to me that you might
.”

  The two men with whom Devon had entered watched the exchange in stupefied silence. Finally one of them rose nervously to his feet and cleared his throat. “Pardon me, sir, but this is a private—”

  “You’ll excuse us, then,” Cole said firmly, reaching for Devon. “The lady and I have unfinished business to attend to.”

  The dandy sputtered in outrage, but after sizing up Cole’s powerful build and angry demeanor, he wisely made no move to stop him as Cole escorted Devon back to his table. They sat opposite each other in silence, as if taking each other’s measure once again. Cole still hadn’t adjusted himself to this new side of her. In the dim light of the tavern, her eyes were no longer a soft green, but a deep, glittering emerald. Her skin glowed‌—‌delicate ivory with hints of rose. Every strand of her dark, silky hair was neatly coiffed. She’d looked pretty in her indigo calico, but nothing had prepared him for this.

  This was a Devon he’d never seen before‌—‌certainly not the Devon he thought he’d find. In his mind, he’d pictured her wild and reckless, tossing his threats and insults back in his face. He remembered the way she looked the morning when they broke camp, all soft-eyed and sleepy, her hair mussed and adorable. And most of all, he remembered the way she’d looked when they’d made love, her body bathed in moonlight, her skin soft as satin to his touch. Now she looked so prim and proper, so untouchable. He frowned. “You’re wearing one of those corset things, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes went wide. “That’s what you have to say to me?”

  No. As a matter of fact, Cole didn’t give a damn about what she was wearing. He had rehearsed dozens of stinging lectures and gentle discussions in his mind, but now that she was here, he couldn’t remember a word of any of them. Instead all he could focus on was the one question that had been burning through his soul for the past three weeks. “Why did you leave me, Devon?”

  She stared at him silently for a moment, then sighed. “You’re angry, aren’t you?”