How To Seduce A Pirate (The Hawkins Brothers Series) (14 page)

CHAPTER
21

Quincy dropped
his head back and groaned. His wife’s tight, wet quim gripped him with
insatiable need. He’d never experienced such profound pleasure. As the rain
battered him and her carnal cries filled his ears, he surrendered to the
madness: the sweet, sweet madness.

He thrust into
her, again and again, flexing his muscles, maintaining control of his depth and
rhythm so as not to cause her too much pain. Soon her body softened with every
sensual undulation. And her unbound passion disarmed him. As always.

Whatever had
possessed him to resist her? Whatever had possessed him to think he
could
resist her? From the moment he’d met her at the gaming hell, from the moment
he’d kissed her in his carriage, he’d known—intuitively—he belonged to her.

And she belonged
to him.

Holly opened for
him without resistance. She opened every part of herself. Her heart. Her soul.
Her womb. She took his breath away. And he anchored her hips in a firm hold,
rocking her faster and faster.

As her cries
strengthened, as her quim clenched and pulsed, he sensed her approaching climax
and quickened his penetration, pumping her even harder.

His heart raged.
His hips bucked. And then she shouted in pure ecstasy, her muscles throbbing
around his erection. She came so fast. Her warm fluids streaked his thighs. And
he blessedly released his own orgasm, pouring his seed into her, grinding her
arse in one final, desperate stroke of lust.

Quincy captured
the iron rail, gasping for breath. He buried his brow in Holly’s tangled hair
and covered her with his fevered flesh.

Soon she turned
in his embrace, her eyes smoldering, her lips flushed with blood. “Kiss me,” she
whispered, ransacking his soul with the impassioned entreaty. “Kiss me as your
wife.”

Another groan. He
gathered her in his shaking arms. Skin nestled skin. Not even raindrops slipped
between them. So close. That’s how he wanted her. Always.

Quincy took her
mouth in a gentle kiss, lingering over one swollen lip then the other. Again,
one lip then the other. And again. He tasted her. Explored her. He sensed her
every want—softness, intimacy, affection—and offered it all without hesitancy.
The kiss stripped him raw. She rent every last vestige of darkness from his
soul and inserted herself in its place. Christ, he almost broke under the
breadth of her love.

Deeper, he
kissed her. Ached for her. Every part of her. And she matched his growing
arousal, burrowing her fingers into his neck, tenderness giving way to fire.

“Oh, Holly,” he
murmured, reaching for the curvature at her throat. “Sweet Holly.”

 There, he rested
his lips. Her pulse thundered beneath his tongue, and he bussed and nipped at
the supple flesh, ravenous. He laved her shoulder, stroked her collar bone,
then caressed the hollow between her breasts.

Discovering his wife’s body was like
exploring an uncharted part of himself, and with each new, sensuous find he
took in more of her and revealed more of himself in return.

She trembled
under his ministrations, evoking his primal instincts. He dropped to his knees,
rubbing her shapely hips, bussing her taut abdomen . . . her moist thighs.

Holly clamped
her hands over the iron rail and arched her back. She offered him a divine
position to thoroughly probe and taste and know her.

And he accepted
her beautiful offer.

“Lift your leg,”
he bade in a desperate vein.

Slowly she
hoisted a quivering limb, hooking it over his shoulder.

His blood flowed
hot at the swirl of auburn curls shielding her quim. He parted the hair with
his thumb, exposing her sultry flesh, and a savage hunger quickly ravaged his
belly.

He cupped her
moist quim in his mouth, moaning in carnal gratification. As he sucked her sensitive
skin, she wetted in his mouth. He moaned louder, stronger. He thrust his salacious
tongue into her dewy folds. Her muscles constricted. He plunged even deeper.
Ravished her. Over and over.  

“Come, sweet,”
he begged, hoarse. “Come.”

And when she orgasmed
in his mouth, Quincy shuddered in violent satisfaction. His pulse pounded
between his ears with such force, he hardly heard the storm. But he heard
Holly’s sobs. Her sobs of pleasure.

“Come to bed,” she
enticed in a throaty whisper.

He looked up at
her, still struggling for breath, but there was no mistaking the inferno in her
eyes. She grabbed his hand, guiding him into the bedroom, and together they
tumbled onto the feather mattress.

Quickly he found
himself tangled in her arms and legs and hair. “Holly, are you sure? I don’t
want to hurt you.”

He had broken
her maidenhead, and he wasn’t certain she could endure another coupling so
soon, but when she scraped her fingernails roughly down his back and pumped his
arse, he growled, blood burning. “Blimey.”

“Trust me,” she
beseeched. “Touch me.
Be
with me,” she implored, mirroring her petition
earlier in the day.

And he groaned
in abject surrender . . . though he vowed to love her ever so slow.

~ * ~

Quincy opened
his eyes as morning light entered the room and spread across the bed. The white
light formed a fine line over a woman’s slumbering profile. It caressed her
throat and travelled down her chest and across the peaks of her naked breasts.

She stirred
under the warm light, turned her head away from it. Her lashes fluttered, her
dreamy green eyes appeared—and she smiled.

His chest ached
under the spell of her brilliant smile, more brilliant than the white light. A
hand reached for him and stroked his temple, his cheek, and he sighed at the
soothing touch. But when a finger traced the contours of his mouth, a simmering
heat stirred in his belly.

“Good morning,”
she whispered.

He was strapped
for breath, for words. Holly rolled over him, her red hair spilling around him,
sheltering him. Her smile never weakened. She brushed his chin with her thumb
before her mouth covered his in a sensual kiss.

When he opened
his eyes again, her beautiful smile remained. Beams of light pierced her hair
and flashed across her brow and nose. He wrapped his arms around her back,
holding her tight.

“Am I dreaming?”
he wondered, his mind cloudy with a sense of familiarity.

“I hope not.”
She bussed him again. “But if you are, don’t wake up. Don’t ever wake up.”

He dragged in a
draft of air as he remembered his dream—and the night he had almost perished
from opium. That he might have missed this prophetic moment—and every future,
loving moment—with Holly twisted his heart.

Her brow
creased. “Is anything the matter?”

He cupped her
warm cheek and pulled her down for another tender kiss. “Not a damn thing,
wife.”

EPILOGUE

Quincy gazed
around the sitting room, a drink in his hand. It was the eve before his
brother’s wedding, and the entire family had gathered for a late night supper
at Holly’s behest. She was being very secretive about the impromptu
festivities. There was a draped canvas in the corner of the room that drew
Quincy’s wary eye. His wife had cuffed him more than once for trying to catch a
glimpse of the artwork before the official unveiling. Though he trusted it
wasn’t another nude, her furtive behavior unsettled him just a bit.

Forcing himself
to avoid the mysterious painting, Quincy noticed his brother, William, also
regarding the family from afar. He wasn’t engaged in the spirited chatter,
though his expression remained thoughtful, even peaceful. The uncharacteristic
melancholy that’d overshadowed him had lifted, indicating his troubles had been
resolved. At least, Quincy hoped it the case. His enigmatic, impassive elder brother
was always the most difficult to read.

A cheerful Emma
bounded toward him next, her cheeks a rosy pink. He thanked the Lord each time
she greeted him with that beaming smile. And he shuddered at the memory of her
near demise, his own intoxication on the night she and his wife had so
desperately needed him. If he’d failed to treat the girl, or worse, if he’d made
a mistake to hasten her death, he would never have forgiven himself. Guilt was
a heavy, at times intolerable, burden, he knew.

“What do you
think it is?” she asked, pointing toward the veiled painting, the infernal
painting that was starting to gnaw on his nerves.

“I’ve no idea,”
he grumbled.

“She’s worked on
it night and day, every day. I’ve not seen her in weeks!”

“Nor I,” he
grumbled again, thinking of the quiet nights he’d spent pacing their bedroom,
restless and unable to sleep without Holly in his arms. On several lonely occasions,
he’d even found himself outside her studio door, listening to her creative
movements within. And on more than one occasion, he’d considered breaking down
the barrier and dragging her away from her obsessive work. He’d worried about
her health. He’d worried about her mind. He’d worried about
her
. About
being apart from her. On their bloody honeymoon.

But Holly’s talents would not be
suppressed. At year’s end, she would formally show a collection of her work at
an art gallery. Quincy had paid for the rental and publicity. His wife would
sign each piece with the enigmatic initials H. H. and allow the public to view
her work without any preconceived notions about her gender or station in life.
The critics would have to look at her work—and her work alone—and form their
judgments based solely on her talent.

As vibrant laughter
filled the room, Quincy turned his head and caught sight of his wife’s dazzling
smile. In an instant, his chest tightened. His thoughts shifted. And a healing
warmth spread throughout his body, seeping into his bones.

He marveled at
her brilliant smile: at its ability to chase away dark reflections and set the
world right in his heart. She cocked her head and winked at him, having sensed
his heated gaze, knowing he wanted her at his side. From the start of their
marriage, she’d had that uncanny knack.

After a few more
merry words with his kin, Holly excused herself and sauntered toward him with a
fire in her eyes that matched his own.

“
When
will you unveil the painting?” demanded Emma. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Soon, my dear,”
she assured her sister. “I just need a word with my husband.”

Emma sighed and
walked off.

As his wife’s
smoldering expression fixed on him again, his pulse quickened, and he had the
urge to express the very same demand:
When will you unveil the painting? It’s
almost midnight . . . And I want you in our bed.

“Well?” he
drawled.

She lifted a
teasing brow. “Well what?”

“You know damn
well ‘well what’.”

She chuckled, a
sensual sound. “I’ll show you mine when you show me yours.”

“I beg your
pardon?”

“The letter. I
know it arrived today. If you want to see the painting, show me the letter.”

His muscles
relaxed. And then he frowned at his shifty wife. How had she known about the
letter? Was she spying on him? The servants, he thought. She’d probably ordered
them to mole about on her behalf.

“Well?” she
drawled this time.

Quincy pulled
the sealed missive from his inner coat pocket, handing it to Holly.

“You haven’t
opened it yet?”

He shook his
head. “I was waiting until after the wedding.”

“But why?”

He shrugged. “I
didn’t want the disappointing news to distract me during the nuptials. I have
to be there for Eddie and Amy.”

“I have faith in
you,” she said softly, her voice rich with confidence. “Don’t assume the news
will be disappointing . . . Can I open it?”

After taking a
fortifying breath, he nodded in assent.

Holly carefully
broke the wax seal and unfurled the papers. She scanned the lines, her
expression blank.

“And?” he demanded
after several silent moments had passed.

She folded the
letter. “And what?”

“What does it
say, wench?”

She returned
coyly, “I thought you didn’t want to know until after the wedding? . . . Doctor
Quincy Hawkins.”

 He delved into
her shining eyes, searching for clarity. “Truly?”

She offered him
the papers.

Skimming the flourished
penmanship, Quincy read the announcement of his accreditation with the Royal
College of Physicians.

“Congratulations,”
she whispered.

He pocketed the
letter, rather bemused. “Thank you.”

Holly wrapped
her arms around his waist, squeezing him tight. He returned her joyful embrace,
still in disbelief. The idea, nay the desire, to work formally in medicine had
been stirring in his heart for some time. It was only after his sister-in-law’s
near death he’d realized just how much he’d wanted to improve his knowledge,
his skill and work in a hospital or perhaps even open a private practice. It
would mean leaving his post aboard the
Nemesis
, though. He would have to
tell his brother soon, after the wedding.