When I'm with You (19 page)

Chapter Sixteen

No woman had ever looked as beautiful, as sensual, as Katie did when he set her on his bed and she sank back into the pillows. Her glorious blonde mane of hair spilled across the linens, glinting like molten gold in the candlelight, splashed like sunshine itself over the deep blue pillow. Candlelight bathed her skin into a burnished ivory, silken and smooth, and he couldn't resist bending to sweep his lips along her collarbone.

Pleasure still hummed through him, and judging by the flush in her cheeks, Katie hummed just as much. He kissed her again. Her lips were soft and sweet, tasting of tea, and her tongue slid along his in a caress that made him burn for her.

She gently rolled over onto her belly, and when she peered up at him over her shoulder, he almost groaned aloud. Her eyes—such a beautiful shade of green—were fairly radiating sensuality. She blinked, the dark sable of her lashes sweeping against her cheek. He'd imagined this scene many nights over, and even that hadn't come close to the perfection of this moment.

Her sigh floated up to tease him. “What're you thinking?” she murmured.

“You don't want to know.” He caught two handfuls of her chemise, tugging it up to display her curves. The rise of her adorable backside, the turn of her hip, the dip of her waist. There was something fantastically tantalizing about torturing his senses with the slow exposure of her creamy skin. Delicious agony, really, watching her body become bare before his eyes.

She drew in a breath as the linen skimmed up to bare the outer curve of her left breast, and he ached to trace his tongue into its shadow. He wanted to urge her onto her back, to see the up-thrust rise of her breasts, their rose-tipped crests beckoning the stroke of his tongue. God, she had beautiful breasts. The perfect size. The perfect shape. Perfect breasts, indeed.

But he didn't try to move her. Denying himself was agony of the sweetest sort, just like those teasing hints of bare skin. He did let his fingertips graze the curve of her hip, and smiled at her quick intake of breath.

She whispered, “Oh, but I do,” and it was his turn for a sharp exhale.

She rolled over to sit up, and he whisked the chemise over her head to let it fall to the floor, into the shadows alongside the bed. He cupped her right breast, his thumb slowly grazing her soft nipple. She sighed, the bud puckering into a hard bead beneath his touch.

“Do you?” he whispered, plucking the crest, rolling it gently between his thumb and forefinger as she arched her back to press her breast harder into his palm.

She murmured something inaudible, nodding as her eyes slid shut. Her lips went slack and soft, her bottom lip caught between pearly teeth. Desire surged through him, even hotter than before. Along with it came the need to tease her, to make her as hungry for him as he was for her.

Her body was soft and pliant in his arms as he bent to press a kiss into the slope of her shoulder. “I want to taste every inch of you, sweetheart,” he growled into her ear, letting his tongue lightly trace the delicate shell. “Every single inch.”

She nodded, her breathing growing ragged. “Oh, yes…”

“I'm going to start here.” He flicked her earlobe with his tongue. “And move to here. Then here.”

She shivered as he kissed her neck, nipped at the curve of her shoulder once more then pressed her back into the mattress. He punctuated each word with a kiss and followed each kiss with a flick of his tongue. He was practically on fire for her, for his Katie, and he would eagerly burn if it meant this night never ended.

He bent to capture one crest and swirled his tongue slowly about it. She gasped, and the fire shot through him as a soft plea rose to her lips. Her fingers slid into his hair, but he wouldn't let her hold him still. He lifted up his head. “And I'm going to kiss here.”

Here
was the slope of her belly. Her skin was a delicious blend of sweet and salty, tasting of sin and delight. The muscles of her belly quivered beneath his fingertips as he skimmed down toward her hip. She let out a breathless laugh when he brushed what he knew was a ticklish spot. He lifted his head again to regard the beckoning fluff of blonde gossamer between her legs.

“Rafe?”

“And here.” He slid his fingers easily through the damp curls between her legs, finding her wet for him. His discovery sent another flaming arrow of desire through him and a groan rose in his throat. Just knowing how much she wanted him served to make his arousal that much more powerful. It almost strangled him with the need to show her exactly what he meant by kissing her everywhere. “Oh,
novia
…you have no idea how much I want to kiss you here.”

“Rafe…I…no, don't…”

He shifted, settling between her thighs, and bent to nuzzle those curls. Her thigh muscles twitched, her legs closing up against his ears. He let his breath be his first caress, teasing her with the tip of his tongue. Her soft cries inflamed his already heightened senses. In turn, he sped up, he slowed down, he did whatever made her sigh the loudest and arch the hardest against him.

She was hot and wet, sweet as honey and wicked as sin. Her fingers twisted in his hair, pressing him into her, and he obliged, savoring every caress, slow and fast. Her cries went from muffled to throaty, her hips rising sharply as every muscle in her body went as taut as a bowstring. He slid his hands along the backs of her thighs, holding her still as he sampled every last bit of her. When he felt the first tremble, he knew she was close.

“Rafe!” He felt her release and pulled her closer still, wanting her to enjoy every last drop of pleasure he could wring from her body, every last pulse he could give her. She shivered against him and begged for mercy. Only then did he let up and pull away to press a gentle kiss into her left thigh. “Sweetheart…” he murmured as she sank against the mattress and fought for breath.

He rose, unable to hold back his smile as he slowly crept back over her, ready to claim her as his for once and for all. She reached for him, her hands curving against his shoulders, a sleepy smile playing at her lips as she murmured, “Is that all?”

“Is that all? Hardly.” He nudged his hips between her thighs and braced one hand above her while easing his free hand into the thatch of pale curls. Her eyes widened as he slid a finger into her, followed by another. He teased her again, stroking her with delicate precision to draw her back to the cliff's edge.

Her eyes grew heavy-lidded and a flush swept through her, one that fired his blood. It grew hotter still as she whispered, “Rafe…please…”

“Please what, sweetheart?” He crooked his fingers slightly to stroke from a different angle, and her back arched. “Do you want this again? Or me?”

“Oh, God…you…” Passion flushed her cheeks, made her eyes sparkle, and he pulled away long enough to shed his breeches. Her fingernails sank into his shoulders as he came up over her and slid deep. Her entire body seemed to wrap around him, her knees pressed into his sides, her hips rising and falling in perfect rhythm with his. He drove hard, the sweet fire of his own impending climax growing stronger with each swift thrust.

She felt amazing, this woman whom he loved with every bit of his soul, and when he peaked, he growled her name into her neck, his body claiming hers. His back arched, his muscles locked and peaceful bliss flooded him as he sank onto her, fighting for his breath.

Beneath him, her heart pounded against her ribs, the vibrations skittering through him with each beat. Her fingers slipped through his hair, the sensation against his scalp enough to make him sleepy. His eyelids drooped and he sighed into her warm skin. “Katie…”

He'd be damned if she ever left this bed again. He wanted to make love to her until she couldn't walk, wanted to tease every inch of her, to taste what he could and make her cry out his name again and again. It didn't matter what anyone else thought. To hell with them all. And if it meant leaving St. Phillippe, that was fine with him. All that mattered was making Katie his in every way possible. He'd lost her once. He was
not
going to lose her again.

He shifted, stretching out beside her to draw her into his arms. She curved against him, her head coming to rest on his chest. Her hair, soft and silky, spilled across his skin, and he couldn't resist the urge to touch it. She had beautiful hair. It truly was her crowning glory.

She lifted her head to peer at him. Her eyes were not exactly innocent, as she'd seen far too much in her life. Seen too much and done too much. He knew what she was, or rather, what she had been, but he'd made his peace with it. She had done what she had to in order to survive, and selling herself had been her only real option.

His fingers lazily swept lightly over her arm, and he smiled down at her. The first time he'd seen her, in that smoky taproom in Jamaica, he'd wanted to brush her off and walk past her. He'd seen her sort in every port into which he sailed, one step above a guttersnipe. He'd avoided dockside whores completely, preferring the lovely ladies to be found at Madame Zeta's.

But Katie had been determined, and that determination had come on behalf of a friend who had no one else upon whom she could depend. Vanessa had been alone, penniless, frightened and grieving for the man she'd thought she'd lost. Katie had felt her pain. And she had certainly known about loneliness.

As soon as Katie had mentioned Aidrian, Rafe had known he would help them, no matter how pathetic he'd found Katie. He'd quickly learned how he'd underestimated her. Their first night together had come about accidentally, when Aidrian and Vanessa had been reuniting in their suite. Katie had surprised him with her skill at darts, even being able to shoot backwards, with her eyes closed. After many tankards of rum, she'd begun to tease him about his lack of skill at tavern games. Not to be outdone, he'd taken her up on her challenge and tried it himself, missing the dartboard entirely, his dart sticking out of the wall. The next throw was even worse, as he'd nearly blinded the crusty old pirate sitting at a table minding his own business. By the third one, he hadn't even tried to hit the wall where the dartboard was mounted, throwing the dart straight up into the ceiling instead. With that attempt, Katie had laughed, thrown her arms around him and kissed him.

He didn't know who had been more shocked, her or him. But her kiss had been sweet and fiery at the same time, and he'd wanted more. She'd looked at him, much the same way she looked at him now, and had melted against him. By the time dawn broke, they had been tangled up in the linens of his bed, spent and sated, both fighting to drag air into their lungs.

“What's on your mind, Rafe?” Her whisper broke the veil of memory. The light was low now, the candle almost extinguished. They didn't have much time left. The sun would rise, and she'd have to sneak away.

“I was thinking about the night we met.”

Her gaze wavered, dipped to his chest and then came back up to meet his eyes. “I wish I'd never told you what I was, although I don't suppose I could have hidden it well. You would have found out before long.”

“Stop it.” Linens crinkled as he rolled atop her, pinning her firmly beneath him. “I don't give a damn, Katie. It doesn't matter to me. Not anymore.”

“It will to everyone else.”

He rose onto his forearms, dipping in to kiss her gently on the forehead. “When I return from New York, it will be to get you. And from there, we will decide where we go. I'm not making the same mistake I made before. Your past is the past. My past is the past. We all have one, and I'll be damned if I let yours stand in the way of what either of us wants.”

“You say that now. But you've said it before.”

Shame swirled through him. He had said those words before and yet his actions had showed otherwise. He hated himself for his cowardice. “I know. And I know you don't necessarily believe me, and I can't fault you for it, but at some point you will have to trust me. These last months have been hell for me, knowing how badly I hurt you.”

“How do I know you won't do that again?”

She didn't trust him. Not completely. Although he knew he deserved no less, it still pricked at him with pins of irritation. He knew he'd done wrong, and had admitted as much to her. Was she going to keep bringing it up?

“I have no way to assure you, other than to show you. And that means you're going to have to trust me,” he repeated, trying to keep his voice even. The last thing he wanted to do was fight with her. Especially now. They had only a few hours of darkness left and then he'd be leaving, and only God knew how long he'd be gone. “I'd take you with me now, but emotions are bound to be running high. Everyone on board the
Eastwind
had either friends or family on the
Octavius
,
and I don't know what caused her to sink, whether it was solely weather-related or partly human error. Either way, the last thing I want is for you to be in the middle of a group of furious sailors who may be out for blood. I'd rather you
not
be near an angry mob if at all possible. It's also going to be cold there, and I've the feeling you don't have the wardrobe for such weather. I don't want you to catch your death because of the snow.”

He tried to smile, but failed. None of this was humorous. So many things could conspire to keep him from returning to Bermuda, and he didn't want either of them to remember an argument as the last words they spoke to one another.

“I'm trying to trust you, Rafe.” Her voice was low, not quite a whisper, and her eyes were wide as she gazed up at him.

Then it hit him. She'd never known anything other than loss and betrayal. As far back as she could remember, or at least as far back as she was willing to tell him, everyone in her life had been temporary.

Loss. Grief. Betrayal. She was intimately familiar with all three.

And he'd done the exact same thing. Only worse, he'd
chosen
to do it.