Dragon Tamer

by Jane Bonander

  Eleanor screwed up her face. “Well. I thought you were nothing but a predatory, painted peacock.”

  “I remember,” he answered, a smile in his voice. “You nearly fainted.”

  “I didn’t,” she argued, although she remembered being quite light-headed at the sight of him standing before her, his chest blatantly bare. “I merely thought you were uncivilized, that’s all.”

  “And I thought you were a prim, prissy prude.”

  She nodded and sighed. “That’s why I need your help.”

  He gave her a cautious look. “You want me to help you, how?”

  “Help me understand what makes some women enjoy…mating.” The flush crept into her cheeks again.

  “Mating?” His voice held laughter.

  “You know what I mean,” she admonished.

  “Like, what makes some women want to share a bed, and much more, with a man?”

  She expelled a sigh of relief. “Yes. Thank you for putting it so delicately. And,” she added, “explain to me what it is that men want.”

  “What do men want in bed?”

  Eleanor was impatient now. He was acting as dense as a stone. “What is it that your mistresses do that gives you pleasure, you dunce, and why are they willing to do it!”

  He laughed out loud. “First of all, they don’t call me unflattering names.”

  “Well, you seem inordinately thick-witted,” she remarked.

  “And you aren’t being particularly clear, Eleanor.”

  She blinked and cast a nervous glance at his bare chest, then at the ground. “I know. It’s just very hard for me to ask such a favor of you.” His gaze was on her, and in spite of the buzz in her head, she was embarrassed.

  “You want to know how to please a man.”

  “Exactly,” she responded, relieved.

  “And what makes you think—”

  “I know, I know,” she interrupted. “What makes me think I even have the capability for such a skill. I’m a plain woman, and I’m outspoken, I despise empty conversation and, according to you, my intelligence and sarcasm are huge obstacles for me to overcome.”

  “That wasn’t what I was going to say, Eleanor.” His voice was soft.

  She frowned. “It wasn’t?”

  “No. I was going to ask you why you thought I could help you.”

  “It’s rather obvious, don’t you think? I doubt that you are ever without a mistress. From what I’ve heard, women practically swoon at your feet. You have an extraordinary affect on them. Why, you even had an effect on me, until I realized that you were just trying to embarrass me.”

  His expression was puzzled. “When did I try to embarrass you?”

  “The night of Calvin’s party. In my bedroom.”

  He smiled grimly, remembering. “Ah, yes.” He studied her, his expression curious, almost teasing. “Did my kiss affect you?”

  “I will admit that it did, at first.” She remembered only too well how surprised she had been after the kiss, waiting for a revulsion to sweep over her that never came. Instead there was an exciting tingling of her lips, and the brisk tempo of her heartbeat.

  “And then?” he probed.

  “And then I realized that you had done it to shock me, and that you weren’t interested in me as a woman. Once I understood that, I could sweep the entire incident aside.” And she would never allow herself to dwell on “what if’s.” She was too practical for that.

  “Besides, no one hangs erotica in their bedroom unless they mean to take advantage of it.” After all, it had worked on her, and he hadn’t even been in the room.

  He chuckled that deep, husky sound again. “Dear, sensible Eleanor. You’ve thought this through quite thoroughly, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. Now, will you help me?” Her buzz was wearing off.

  “If I do this,” he began slowly, “you must promise not to become offended by anything I say or do.”

  “I won’t, I promise.” And she would try. Truly, she would.

  “Things could get quite intense, Eleanor—”

  “Intense?”

  “Even though we are just friends, there are feelings and desires that may be dredged up that could make you uncomfortable.”

  She swallowed. “Desires? But you’re not in love with me. How can those desires surface if there’s no love?”

  “Desire, need, eroticism, hunger, these are feelings that will be awakened, Eleanor. They have nothing to do with love,” he explained.

  Eleanor suddenly remembered the erotic dream she’d had shortly after she’d met him. She had awakened feeling very needful, indeed.

  “And if I do this, I’ll have to touch you,” he warned.

  She hadn’t thought about that. But he would be the teacher and she the pupil. She would learn from him, then, one day, she would use what she had learned on her husband—whomever that might be.

  “All right,” she said, convinced. “Now, will you help me?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  His answer was humble, but Eleanor sensed he could barely contain a belly laugh.

  She had shocked him. He could hardly hide his surprise at her request. He didn’t tell her so, but he knew she was going to be a tough pupil. He wasn’t even sure his manhood would survive, but here they were, alone on an island, surrounded by fog, with little else to keep them occupied. He could think of no better activity to while away the time.

  And this was strictly business, for although Eleanor was not the type of woman he was attracted to, he had not bedded a woman in months. Not that he couldn’t abstain. He did so every time he went to sea, and it hadn’t killed him. But there were no women aboard his ship, no temptations. And with time, even Eleanor could become a temptation.

  He released a sigh and glanced at her. In sleep, she looked youthful and vulnerable. He raised an eyebrow. Awake she could emasculate a man with her tongue.

  He turned on his side and rested his head on his arm. She made a little sound in her throat and turned away from him, presenting her back. He smiled. Not a problem. Perhaps he should see just how willing she really was.

  Eleanor woke, warm and comfortable, feeling a heavy weight across her waist. What—? It was Dante’s arm. With an exasperated snort, she lifted it off and flung it behind her.

  “See?”

  The sound of his voice so close to her ear startled her. “What?”

  “You won’t even let me put my arm around you.” He clucked his tongue then sighed. “I knew this wouldn’t work.”

  “No. Wait,” she pleaded. “Do it again.”

  He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She tried to relax, but it was such a foreign sensation for her.

  “This is called ‘spooning.’” His breath was warm against her neck. Because her legs were bare, she could feel the texture of his trousers against the backs of her thighs and calves.

  “Spooning,” she repeated, attempting to ignore the heat that stole over her. “Do people actually sleep this way?”

  “I do,” he said simply. “I like it.”

  She stayed very still. “Why?”

  “Because it keeps both of us warm, and I have access to your body,” he explained.

  “Access?”

  “I’ll show you, but promise you won’t jab me with your elbow.”

  She realized that she had given him every reason to believe she was nothing but a harridan. “Go ahead. I promise.”

  His hand moved slightly, and it splayed across her stomach, moving in small circles over her shirt. That seemed harmless enough. She relaxed.

  “That’s…nice,” she murmured, snuggling against him. “Is there more?”

  “There can be much, much more,” he promised.

  “Show me.” She stiffened, ready for the assault.

  His hand moved slowly toward her ribcage. “Relax, Eleanor.” His voice shook.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  Laughter escaped. “I can’t help it. You act like I’m going
to poke you with a sharp stick.”

  She tried to do as he asked, but when his fingers grazed the underside of her breast, she inhaled sharply. Instinctively she tried to move away.

  “You want me to stop.” It had been a statement, not a question.

  “No. No, I…I was just surprised.” Her heart was beating hard.

  His hand cupped her through the flannel shirt, and she not only felt her nipple harden, but her entire breast as well. A warmth seeped into her belly, too, and she had the urge to spread her legs. Never, ever before, had she felt anything at all in that place between her thighs.

  He continued to caress her breast and she thought she might fly apart from the pleasure. How could this be? She barely liked the man, and didn’t always respect him. How could his touch do this to her?

  She couldn’t let him proceed, but she couldn’t push him away, either, for she had promised not to. She turned quickly, facing him. “That…that was nice.”

  He grinned down at her, his eyes languid. “Nice? Your nipple was as hard as a diamond, Eleanor.”

  She swatted his chest. “Don’t talk that way.”

  “That’s how lovers speak. Candidly. Openly. It heightens the desire between them.”

  She straightened so her body didn’t touch his. “Well, we’re not lovers, Dante.”

  He rolled onto his back. “But you wanted to learn how to become one, didn’t you?”

  “I guess so, but do all lovers talk that way?”

  “I have no idea. I just know that I do, and I like it.”

  Her gaze roamed his face, then slid to the healed lash marks on his chest. They glowed in the firelight. Releasing a sigh, she touched one of them. He flinched.

  “I’m so sorry.” She felt like crying, not because of who he was now, but who he had been when he’d felt the need to put himself through such punishment. And although she sensed that he wanted to move away, he didn’t.

  “You didn’t do it.”

  “At one time you blamed me, though,” she responded, remembering his outburst in the music room.

  “I blamed you the day I met you.” The words were harsh, but his tone was not.

  A tear slid down her cheek, again for the sad, angry boy he had been. “And I couldn’t understand why you hated me so.”

  “I was filled with rage for years,” he admitted. He hoisted himself onto his elbow and studied her. “How did you feel when he died?”

  She gave him a sad smile. “I tried to mourn him properly.”

  “You tried?”

  With a nod, she murmured, “I couldn’t. I felt like the worst person in the world because I’d experienced more sorrow when I lost my baby than when I lost my husband.”

  “You didn’t love him, then.” Again, not a question.

  “No. But to be fair, I don’t think he loved me either.” She gazed at the smoke that drifted upward into the foggy early morning air. “There was always something between us, like an impenetrable wall. I don’t know how to explain it. Maybe it was because we were together so seldom and just didn’t have a chance to learn about each other.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  She moved closer and traced the dragon, from the flames at Dante’s neck to the dangerous tail that curved over his ribcage. “Was it very painful?”

  “The beatings, or the tattoo?”

  She gave him a shaky smile. “I’m sure the beatings were.”

  “I was into pain back then,” he said, with a self-deprecating grin. “Come here,” he ordered, motioning to his outstretched arm.

  As Eleanor snuggled against him, he put his arm around her. Oddly, it seemed the most natural position in the world. She rubbed her palm over his chest and stomach, feeling the coarse ridges of his scars. Her hand moved lower, over his navel, and she discovered a thick patch of hair. She felt an odd quickening in her stomach. “You don’t have hair on your chest,” she observed. “Is that because of the scars?”

  “I don’t know.” He squeezed her. “But never fear, dear lady,” he intoned with the flare of a Shakespearean actor, “I have plenty of hair everywhere else.”

  “Oh, stop it,” she answered with an embarrassed laugh.

  They were quiet for a moment, and Eleanor wondered, again, how he’d become the success he was. “What did you do after Damien died, besides get yourself tattooed?”

  “I signed on to a merchant ship. The captain was, unlike your late husband, a kind and gentle man. He was an amateur naturalist, of sorts, and got me curious about the natural order of things, and how fragile it all is, especially with the whalers and hunters killing everything in sight.”

  She absently ran her palm over his chest as she listened. “It’s none of my business—”

  “Since when has that stopped you?”

  The humor in his voice prevented her from pinching him. “It’s not my concern, I know, but how did you become so wealthy?”

  “The merchant captain had no heirs. When I learned that I had inherited his modest wealth, I realized that I had a good head for business. I invested well,” he finished.

  “And you support the orphanage.”

  “I do what I can.”

  His modesty was a surprise. She’d always thought he was simply arrogant and vain. Her fingers found his ribs, and she traced them around to his back, which brought her closer to his side.

  All of a sudden, he rolled away from her and stood.

  She looked up at him, disappointed. “What’s wrong?”

  He nodded toward the fire. “It’s almost out. I need to get more firewood.” His voice was gruff.

  “Are you angry with me? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No,” he answered brusquely, then strode off.

  She stared after him, puzzled and disturbed.

  Thirteen

  Dante strode through the small woods, picking up branches, breaking some off from dead trees.

  What in the hell had happened? She’d aroused him, and she’d done nothing more than innocently touch him and listen to him talk about his past.

  But this was Eleanor, for Christ’s sake, not bawdy Marguerite, or seductive Theresa, or lusty Lorraine. This was a woman who didn’t know the first thing about seduction. Not the first thing!

  She didn’t know that to arouse a man, she could lodge a plum in the entrance to her vagina and insist that he suck it out with his mouth.

  She didn’t understand that all she needed to do was spread a drop of honey on each nipple, and a man would go wild licking it off. Or drizzle liquor between her breasts, allowing it to pool in her navel, and lower, then demand that a man lap it up.

  She didn’t know that there were more positions to making love than even he could count.

  He doubted she was aware that one way to please a man was to take his erection into her mouth and slowly move it up and down, occasionally flicking the end of it with her tongue. She surely didn’t realize that all she would have to do was ask, and a man would use his tongue on her as well. Gladly. Happily.

  But he also knew that mistresses were best used for such purposes. Seldom had he heard of a man who did such things with his wife, although surely, if he were married, he would insist on it.

  And she didn’t realize that so much of what he had learned about sexual pleasure had come from the writings and carvings of wise old men who had lived in India and China centuries ago.

  He stopped and drew in a breath, adjusting his erection behind his trousers. Just thinking about having sex aroused him so much, he almost felt like spending like a boy. He cursed Eleanor for making him think about it, talk about it, yet be unable to do it.

  With an armful of branches and twigs, he started back toward their camp. But when he cleared the trees, he stopped and stared. Through the fog, he saw that Eleanor was shedding the flannel shirt. Dante stood, silent as stone, and watched, marveling at what had, until now, been hidden beneath layers and layers of starchy, black clothing.

  She bent to pick up her chemise, her full, round
breasts jiggling slightly as she moved. They were perfect. And in the cool morning air, her nipples tightened into nubs—as hard as diamonds, he recalled.

  Briefly she turned toward him, and he saw the dark patch of hair between her thighs. His arousal grew. He swallowed hard, ordering himself to turn away.

  With a wry smile, he realized that he never had taken orders very well.

  Her legs were long and slim, her ankles delicate and feminine. Her waist was small; her hips ample. Her buttocks round, dimpled, and delicious enough to eat. He was amazed, even shocked. He had never imagined she would be so dainty and appetizing, for he was always doing battle with her mind, and there was nothing fragile or fainthearted about that.

  He gritted his teeth, for he grew harder and larger behind the worn trousers.

  Muttering a curse, he decided he couldn’t go through with her request. She was a woman, after all, and one he had just discovered was somewhat desirable. He’d have to tell her. He would rather she hated him for not going through with it, than for what could happen if he did.

  He retreated slightly, then returned and made enough noise so she could hear him approach.

  She quickly slipped into her underclothes, and donned the shirt over them.

  “You’re back,” she said, inanely, hurrying to cover up.

  Too late, he thought, clearing his throat. “We’re going to have to look for water soon. There’s a freshwater marsh on the east end of the island. We might be able to extract some water from there.”

  “What about our food supply?” She fiddled nervously with the shirt buttons.

  “What’s left in the basket is inedible, but fish and lobster are abundant off the craggy rocks.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” she expressed, a little too enthusiastically.

  “Eleanor,” he began, unsure of how to continue.

  She combed through her long, dark hair with her fingers, then flung it behind her. The innocent motion was more seductive than a row of lusty mistresses spreading their anxious thighs before him. “Yes?”

  He drew in a breath, then exhaled. “Eleanor, I don’t think this…teacher-pupil relationship is going to work.”

  Her quizzical expression changed, becoming crestfallen. “Oh, Dante, I know I’m not someone you could be attracted to, that’s why I thought it would.”