Too Great a Temptation (14 page)

Her back arched forward, thrusting the tantalizing coral peak deeper into his mouth. He sucked the generous mound, whipping his tongue over the puckering nipple in slow and sensual caresses.

He loved to hear her moan. To gasp. To cry out his name. Every wanton sound filled him with satisfaction. He loved to make her want him. He
needed
her to want him.

After thoroughly laving his tongue over the swollen mound, he moved to attend to her other breast, licking and kissing, giving it the same salacious rubdown as the first.

His lust sated—for now—he could look after any parts of her he had overlooked in their hasty coupling. And he did just that, massaging her backside, then skimming his fingers along her thighs in feathery strokes, making her shiver.

After he’d touched her everywhere, kissed her everywhere, made her sigh in total fulfillment, she rolled onto her stomach, wedging her elbows next to her large breasts. Propped up, she smiled down at him, a seductive smile that made him quiver with a frightening depth of emotion.

“I should be going before James wakes up.”

She kissed him. One quick peck on the lips before she moved off the bed to don her discarded garments.

He watched her dress from the bed. Studied her every movement in avid interest. She hopped to get into her tight-fitting trousers, her breasts bobbing. Then she stretched her arms high above her head to slip on her shirt.

He really should look away; this was too erotic to watch. But he did no such thing. He was transfixed. Something stirred deep within him. It rumbled and groaned and demanded satisfaction. Not lust. But…

He wasn’t quite sure. It was a familiar sentiment, though. Ever since he’d met Belle, the feeling had rooted itself in his gut, growing larger, stronger with each passing day. It alarmed him. It also made him feel almost whole. But he couldn’t keep Belle forever. And the constant wish to do so was only a distraction. A hope never to be fulfilled, for even after his mission was complete, he could not take Belle home with him. He was too much like his father—and he would hurt her as his father had hurt his mother. It was in his blood. In time, he would cause Belle great pain. And he didn’t want to do that. Ever.

When she was fully dressed, Mirabelle headed for the door, casting him one final, sensual look. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Damian.”

And then she closed the door.

D
amian had made a terrible mistake. It was one thing to flirt with a siren like Belle, it was another thing entirely to bed her. She had awakened in him the dormant demon of lust. Now the rutting instinct was so great, he was hard for Belle all the time. And if she didn’t visit him each night to slake his lust, he would tear the ship apart, plank by plank, in frustration. He had never felt this way about a woman before. So insatiable.

“Careful, Damian,” said Quincy. “The rope isn’t furled right.”

Damian glanced down to note the bundle of rope sagging in one direction. He quickly adjusted the overlap and continued to evenly roll up the yards and yards of rope.

The captain had deemed him back up to snuff and able to take on his roster of duties once more. Though no longer plagued by headache and vertigo alike, Damian was still forbidden to tend to the sails or any other chores aloft. Aside from navigational responsibilities, it was simple ship tasks for him. For a while at least.

He was also back in the forecastle, bunking with the rest of the men. There would be no more private rendezvous with Belle. That was a good thing, really. He had to stay away from the woman. He had already risked too much by being with her thus far. And since it was evident he had not the will to resist his enchanting siren, it was fortunate a material barrier was placed between them. One even he could not scale.

Yet the restless rumbling of lust was already howling in his chest, and he knew, despite all sound reasoning, he
would
find a way to be with Mirabelle. He had come to yearn for the peace and fulfillment she offered him in her arms each night. It was an addiction he could not shake—nor did he want to anymore.

“Damian?”

He looked up at Quincy. “What is it?”

“The rope.”

Damian glanced back at the rope, lopsided again. He heaved a sigh, and positioned the rope back to its rightful place.

“Something troubling you?” said Quincy, feeding him more of the cord, which Damian accepted and continued to wind.

“No.”

“A headache then?”

“No.”

“Clipped your tongue when you lost your footing the night of the storm, did you?”

Damian glared at the kid.

But an unabashed Quincy offered him a cheeky grin. “I only want to know what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s the matter,” he said gruffly. “I just don’t feel like talking.”
I feel like ravishing Belle
. But Damian kept that thought to himself.

“Well, then, I’ll talk,” a cheery Quincy quipped. “I don’t know about you, Damian, but I can’t wait to dock.” He leaned in closer to whisper, “There’s this wench in port, Tilly. She has the biggest pair of—”

“Quincy,” Damian cut in, his groin stiffening at the mere thought of a woman’s breasts. Belle’s breasts. Belle’s heavenly breasts. Belle’s heavenly plump breasts. “I need more rope.”

“Oh, sorry.” Quincy offered him more of the lead. “Now where was I? Oh yes, Tilly. A real wildcat. I could diddle away with her in bed for days. She does the most amazing thing with her tongue—”

“Quincy.”

“Hmm?”

“Is that a ship on the horizon?”

The kid glanced over his shoulder. “Looks like.”

“So that’s another one.”

“Another one?”

“I’ve seen a lot of vessels lately,” said Damian. “More than usual.”

“Really? I haven’t noticed.”

“I have.” Damian twisted the rope. “I rarely come across more than a couple of rigs during an ocean crossing.”

“And on this one?”

Damian thought back. “Maybe five or six sightings in the last three weeks.”

The kid quirked a brow. “That many, eh? I bet it’s the storm’s fault. It threw us for a big loop, more’n likely did the same to other ships. We’re all crisscrossing this way and that, trying to get back on course.”

“Makes sense to me.”

“Why?” Quincy wrinkled his brow. “Were you thinking something different?”

“Just the usual.”

“The usual?”

“Pirates…Quincy, are you all right?”

“Fine.” The kid made some garbled sound. “What makes you think it’s a pirate ship?”

Damian shrugged. “We’re at sea. It’s not impossible to meet a roving band of cutthroats.”

Quincy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “But a ship hunting its prey for three whole weeks?”

“Like you said, the storm threw us all for a loop. Could be the ship took a while to catch up to us.”

“Right,” Quincy mumbled. “You know, you have a real dire imagination.”

You have no idea,
Damian thought. “One has to as a sailor. Real dangers lurk the waves.”

Quincy presented him with more rope. “Damian?”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever come across a pirate ship?”

He looked up at the kid. “No.” But he intended to change that very soon. “I didn’t mean to worry you about pirates, Quincy.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” he said stoutly.

“I mean it, kid,” he emphasized, in case Quincy’s confidence was nothing more than bravado. “The ship is probably passing by, just like you said.”

“No, really, I’m not afraid of pirates.”

Damian grumbled, “Just like your sister.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, kid. I need more rope.”

The rope was handed to him. “You know, Damian, I think it’d be rather adventurous to be on a pirate ship.”

“I’m sure you do.” It was just like the foolish scamp to think such a thing. Only Quincy wasn’t privy to the brutality of the trade. Or perhaps he was, but figured it was overstated to deter young bucks from straying the moral line. Either way, he didn’t know what he was wishing for.

“You never thought it would fun, Damian? Being a pirate?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Damian cast him a sympathetic look. “I didn’t mean to dash your wild dream, kid. But being on a pirate ship really isn’t for you. You’re better off here with your brothers.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?”

Quincy shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Cheer up, kid.” Damian went back to work. “Think of home…and Tilly.”

Quincy quirked a half smile, then sighed. “I think you would have made a good pirate, Damian.”

“I might have a long time ago—but not anymore.”

Damian coiled the last of the rope. He stood up and arched his shoulders back to take out the chink in his spine.

Eyes on the horizon, Damian said, “That ship is awfully close.”

Quincy turned around to see for himself. “Oh, that’s nothing. You should’ve been out here a few nights ago. Within a league’s eyes of another rig.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yah. Never had a vessel come so close, ’cept when…”

“When what, Quincy?”

The kid suddenly scanned the deck. “I gotta go find the captain.”

“He’s down below,” said Damian. “What’s wrong?”

But Quincy was off. All Damian could do was stare after the kid in wonder.

Mirabelle was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the stairwell with salt and vinegar, when Quincy came bounding down the hatchway. He narrowly missed trampling her fingers, and didn’t even bother to pause and apologize. He just kept sprinting toward the captain’s cabin.

“Bloody numskull!” she cried. “Watch where you’re going.”

Quincy didn’t pay her any heed, though. He burst into the captain’s room without bothering to knock first. “I think we’re about to be attacked, James.”

Startled, Mirabelle dropped the scrub brush into the bucket and dashed down the corridor. But she was brushed aside when James came thundering out the door, spyglass in hand.

Quincy fell in step behind the captain, and Mirabelle behind Quincy.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, following the rushing pair topside.

“A ship keeps appearing on the horizon,” said a breathless Quincy. “She looks like she’s heading straight for us.”

Mirabelle couldn’t believe her ears. The
Bonny Meg
was about to be attacked? But she was a bloody pirate ship. No one was suppose to attack
her
. She was suppose to attack other rigs.

Poised on the poop, James lifted the spyglass to his eye and scanned the horizon. Mirabelle did the same, squinting. The other ship was still a good distance away, about five miles, she reckoned. Without a spyglass, though, the vessel was no more than a blot on the horizon, so Mirabelle couldn’t be sure of her direction.

“I was thinking, James,” said Quincy. “On the night we almost clipped another rig, maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe she was gunning for us.”

The captain didn’t say anything, deep in thought.

“I was also talking to Damian,” Quincy went on to state, “and he mentioned spotting a handful of ships on the horizon over the past few weeks. What if it’s not many ships crossing our path, but
one
ship tailing us?”

Still nothing from the captain.

“It could be the American authorities, James. After escaping the gaol, we might’ve been followed into port.”

Mirabelle watched the captain’s inscrutable features in anticipation. After a long pause, he slowly turned toward Quincy. “I’ll order the helmsman to keep a safe lead from the other ship.”

She recognized that mulish gleam in James’s eyes. He was being overly cautious for her sake. He wouldn’t dash headlong into battle if he could avoid it—not with her on board.

“In the meantime, let’s see if we can scare her off,” said James. “Quincy, fetch me the Jolly Roger.”

Mirabelle’s heart started to pound. “What about Damian?”

“That’s right,” said Quincy. “You haven’t told him who we really are…and I don’t think he’ll be thrilled to find out.”

“Why?” James demanded brusquely.

“Oh, just a hunch I have.” Then hastily he added, “But remember, James, Damian saved my life. You can’t hurt him, even if he doesn’t want to join the crew. You’ll have to find some other way to keep him from—”

“Lock Damian in the brig.”

James and Quincy glanced at her, puzzled.

“It’s simple really,” she said, heart pounding in her breast. She wasn’t sure whether the nausea swimming around in her belly was due to the thrill of a potential fight or simple fear. Fear of what, though? “Lock Damian in the brig and he won’t
see
anything. He’ll only hear the cannons. We can explain later how we were attacked and defended ourselves. He’ll never be the wiser about our true identity.”

“Um, not that I disagree with your plan,” from Quincy, “but how will we get Damian
in
to the brig?”

“Leave that to me,” she assured him.

“And how are
you
going to get Damian into the brig?” demanded James.

Oh, I have my ways
. “Just trust me, James.”

After a thoughtful pause and much glowering, James gave a curt nod. “See to it.”

Mirabelle scampered off the poop in search of the navigator, while Quincy headed for the captain’s cabin to retrieve the Jolly Roger.

As of yet, the cry to arms had not been given. First Damian had to be tucked away. Though perhaps a battle cry would not be necessary, she thought. Once the pirate flag was hoisted, the other ship might balk and run. Unless, of course, it
was
the authorities chasing after them as Quincy had predicated. Then a battle was inevitable. She would soon find out.

Scouring the ship, Mirabelle saw no sign of Damian and moved her search below deck.

Her queasiness grew worse. What the devil
was
she so afraid of? Losing her brothers? Bah! The men had been through countless clashes and survived each one. So that couldn’t be it.

Losing the treasured ship? Unlikely. The
Bonny Meg
was built like a rock. Mirabelle had confidence in the vessel’s strength. The ship had survived scuffles and storms alike and limped to sail another day.

So what was it then? Damian?

Her heart pinched at the thought of losing Damian to injury or to the sea. She had grown rather fond of the rugged bounder, if truth be told. She didn’t want to see him get hurt.

But, really, all these jitters just for Damian? Impossible! Wasn’t it?

Perhaps she was just anxious about participating in her first real conflict? That had to be it. Surely.

Well, she would find out soon enough, once the ordeal was over.

Mirabelle prowled the galleries below deck, looking for Damian. She turned the corner and smacked right into his chest.

“There you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Have you?” Powerful arms slipped around her waist. “Whatever for?”

But he wasn’t waiting for an answer. Ravenous lips pressed hard over hers, twisting her insides into a knot, taking her words and her breath and her wits away.

How she loved kissing him. It was never dull or predictable. It always felt like the first exhilarating time.

Damian broke away from the kiss to whisper raggedly, “I need you, Belle.”

She understood his meaning—and that this was her chance to get him safely out of harm’s ways.

Flicking her tongue over his lush lips to entice him even further—for she’d discovered last night that he
really
liked that—she purred, “I know a place where we can go.”

His dark blue eyes smoldered with a sensual look she had become all too familiar with. “Show me.”

Mirabelle took him by the hand and steered him through the passageway. She hated lying to Damian, really she did. It had never bothered her before, telling a fib. She was quite accustomed to it, considering who her brothers were, but she disliked having to lead Damian astray. Over the last few days a bond had developed between them. Each night she had come to him and trusted him to do whatever he wanted with her, to show her all the pleasurable sides to lovemaking. He had never hurt her. He had never disappointed her. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, her trusting him. She supposed it had come on the night he’d confessed his past to her. She had realized, then, that his brooding façade was nothing to be suspicious of, that he was just another lonely soul…like her.

Bloody hell. She was becoming too sentimental. She was on a pirate ship, remember? And while her dream of becoming a pirate had all but fizzled away, she should still act like one while she was on board, and do away with maudlin emotions that would only distract her. After all, her tryst with Damian would eventually come to an end. She didn’t want a lover or, perish the thought, a husband. She was just having a bit of fun with Damian. Exploring her passionate side. Her heart need not be involved.