Too Great A Temptation Page 7

  She couldn’t move. Figuratively, of course. It would be so simple to duck out from under Damian’s embrace and dash out the door, but her feet wouldn’t budge. She didn’t want them to budge. She was content to explore the feelings inside her just a tad longer. She was going to regret it later, she was sure, but right then, she didn’t care, too engrossed by what was happening to bring the erotic moment to an end.

  Damian pressed the pad of his thumb over her mouth.

  She took in a sharp breath. It felt so good to be touched by him. Too good, perhaps. She didn’t understand why. But she was sure it was the most arousing sentiment she would ever experience in her life. And she wanted to make it even more stimulating…

  Mirabelle let her lips close tight over his thumb.

  He bristled. The tension in him hummed through every pore of his body; she could feel it.

  She flicked her tongue over the pad of his finger in a wet and lanky stroke.

  Kiss me, Damian.

  She looked deep into his eyes, dark as a watery sea at midnight. Tremors rolled along his limbs. He was tempted to take her and fighting it. Soon, though, his lips parted…

  Mirabelle thought her heart would stop.

  “Oh, Belle,” he whispered in a wretched groan, his lips brushing hers in soft whisks. “You’re going to destroy me.”

  A hot mouth pressed hard over hers.

  Blood roared in her ears, her heart pumped furiously. Hell’s fire, but the man tasted good. His mouth was burning and wild, his days-old stubble scraping back and forth along her cheeks and chin, adding to the frenzy of sensations already whipping around inside her.

  She didn’t think a kiss could feel this way. So good. So liberating. So intoxicating. She had never been kissed before. Well, there had been a few stolen kisses in her adolescent years, but nothing compared to what Damian was making her feel.

  She took in the heady scent of him. So masculine. So virile. His hands were all over her, roaming and caressing, stirring the heat in her belly.

  What a thrill! She gripped his robust neck, her fingers weaving through his thick mane, twisting around the ebony strands. Her other hand went to his chest, resting over a hard pectoral that jumped in response to her brazen touch.

  He groaned into her mouth. Skin, so hot, scorched her palm. The vibration of his heart thundered against her hand, and she sensed the tremors spread along her wrist, her forearm…

  A whip of heat lashed her skin, as his hand slipped boldly under her shirt, his fingers stroking the ridges of her spine in slow and tantalizing movements, making her shudder.

  Muscles taut and thrumming, she inhaled a sharp breath when his palm slipped over her waist and cupped her breast.

  At her gasp, his tongue dove into her mouth, brandishing, evoking a deep-rooted moan from her throat. Powerful fingers massaged and rubbed her swollen breast, his thumb swirling round and round over her tight and jutting nipple, so sensitive to his touch.

  She was sweating, her skin prickling with little goose bumps of desire. This has to stop! a voice cried inside her head. It’s madness!

  But she didn’t want it to stop. She wanted to tell the annoying little voice to hush, but then it shouted, You’re getting too close to him!

  Now that was a frightening thought.

  Panicked, Mirabelle pushed the navigator away.

  Damian was breathing hard. The sultry flame in his deep blue eyes impaled her and would likely haunt her for some time to come.

  She had to get out of the cabin. She had to get away from Damian.

  Mirabelle bolted, her body trembling, and dashed down the corridor. A hopeless wreck, she chastised herself over and over again for allowing the kiss to occur—for enjoying it so immensely.

  What if James or another tar had stumbled into the cabin? How could she have risked her very dream of becoming a seafarer—her heart, even—for one measly peck on the lips?

  Oh, who was she kidding? A peck on the lips? Measly? The kiss had been anything but. No wonder her brothers adored this sort of thing. Passion was nothing to scoff at, she’d just realized.

  Mirabelle burst out onto the deck, a gust of warm wind greeting her.

  A spring to her step, she headed aft, beneath the ropes and ratlines. She passed a few of the loyal tars, shuffling about, preparing the ship for the evening voyage under the boatswain’s command. At the helm, the quartermaster nodded to her in greeting, his hands locked on the steerage, as he navigated the vessel through calm waters.

  She paused at the stern and closed her eyes, trying to quiet her rumbling heartbeat, to ease the blood rushing through her veins. She was a mess. She was on fire. For the first time in her life she had lost control of her senses…and all because of Damian.

  He had kissed her? Quincy had vowed Damian wanted nothing to do with her. Evidently her youngest sibling was a terrible truth getter. Bloody hell. If her brothers ever found out, her goal of being a pirate would be smashed to bits. She couldn’t let that happen. She had come too far in her pursuit of seafaring to sabotage her own efforts by indulging in a kiss—a torrid and soul-wringing kiss, but still just a kiss.

  Mirabelle opened her eyes, mesmerized by the frothing waves caressing the hull. Mirrored in the dark sea, starry twinkles winked up at her. It was so peaceful, she reflected, so unlike the storm raging in her breast.

  Chapter 7

  T he gentle pitch and roll of the rig did nothing to soothe Damian’s troubled spirit.

  His body gripped in agony, he imagined all sorts of hideous things, trying to banish the erotic memory of Belle’s plump breast cradled in his palm, the taste of her sea-doused flesh, the fiery warmth of her mouth.

  Nothing helped, though. The ache in his groin remained. Repulsive thoughts turned sensual once more. Carnal and wicked acts skipped though his mind. Belle’s legs splayed in one instance, as he devotedly tended to the folds of her feminine flesh with his roving tongue. Suckling her breasts was another favorite fantasy, and he closed his eyes at the enticing vision of her silky smooth areolas shoved in his hungry mouth.

  Damian clenched his teeth at the stiffening in his groin. Bloody stupid of him to have kissed her. Now all he could do was think and dream about her.

  Tense and disgruntled, he rolled out of the hammock, unable to get any rest. Weaving through the columns of snoring tars, he headed topside, his path lit by soft shades of violet and sapphire creeping down the hatchway.

  The breaking light of dawn greeted him on deck. Not that he paid the rising sun any heed. He was too roiled up to notice much of anything. Only the demon of lust inside him, chained and ranting for freedom, gripped Damian’s attention. How he hungered for Belle. How his body ached for the touch of her…and more.

  He remembered the pressure of her fingers sensually stroking his bare chest, cradling the flexing muscles…and his heart. He wanted something from her. Something more than physical gratification. He could feel it inside him, rumbling quietly alongside his raging lust. He couldn’t imagine what it was, though. Nor could he fathom the intensity of his desire for Belle. Such a powerful yearning to be with a woman had never before overwhelmed him.

  Marching aft, Damian paused at the stern and let his eyes fall on the birthing sun.

  It had to be the years of celibacy warping his mind. It was the only reasonable conclusion for his wild sexual cravings.

  Yet all this hankering for Belle was going to drive him mad. Even now, struggling against the twisting pain in his groin, he imagined her bent over the rail, her bare arse thrust against his throbbing rod. He could hear her moaning as he pushed hard into her, feel the muscles of her warm and wet passage clench around him in spasms of ecstasy.

  Damian groaned and gripped the rail. It was insufferable: trapped on a blasted ship, with no means of assuaging the savage lust inside him. How was he going to endure the next few weeks?

  “Have you forgiven us, Belle?”

  Forgive her hard-hearted brethren after all the miserable things they’d said t
o her the other night? Not in this lifetime.

  She offered the mediator of the family a cutting glance. “No, Will, I haven’t.”

  She went back to scrubbing the deck, her brother’s long-winded sigh tickling her ear.

  “Come on, Belle, we’re sorry. What more can we do?”

  He went to stroke his knuckle across her cheek, but she jerked her face away. A mollifying gesture wouldn’t suffice. If he wanted clemency there was only one thing in the world he could offer her: a chance to prove herself a worthy seafarer. But she wouldn’t waste her breath making the suggestion. She already knew what the mulish man would say.

  Scouring the deck boards, she returned stiffly, “There’s nothing you can do to make it up to me, so just leave me alone.”

  William took her by the wrist and pulled her to her feet. In a huff, she dropped her scrub brush and glared at him.

  “Do you know what I want, Will? To wash the deck boards in peace. And if you tell me I can’t even do that because I’m a woman, I’ll toss you overboard myself.”

  With resentment—and more—bubbling inside her, cleaning the ship was one way to rid herself of the burden of fervent emotions. If nothing else, the hard work would tire her out, for she hadn’t nabbed a wink of sleep since Damian had kissed her.

  That kiss, so hot and sensual. Memory of it had her belly in a whirl. Tingles of heat washed over her as thoughts of Damian invaded her mind. She had to keep her distance from the man. He aroused in her feelings of intense desire…and something more. For a brief and terrifying moment, he had stirred something strange within her. A deeply buried emotion that made Mirabelle panic. She would not give her heart to a man. She would not give a man power over her. Emotions of love and devotion could be a source of great comfort and joy…but also misery. And Mirabelle had no intention of being miserable.

  A troubling thought hit her. What if James asked Damian to join the crew? And if she stayed as well? How would she perform her duties under the torrid looks of the navigator? The man already had a mystifying hold on her she couldn’t shake. He had ordered her not to cut her hair, for instance, and for some daft reason, when she’d returned to her brother’s cabin the other night, she had put away the knife and simply tied a kerchief around her hair to conceal the missing part she’d hacked away. It was disturbing, her compliance, and she still couldn’t understand why she had done it.

  Her meditation unsettling, Mirabelle reached for her scrub brush, anxious to get busy again—and forget all about Damian. But a hand on her wrist stopped her from her task.

  She glanced back up at William to find him smiling. The galling man was actually grinning at her.

  “What is so funny?” she demanded sharply.

  “I remember when you came along, Belle. The first girl of the family, you were quite a novelty. Even James took an avid interest in you, and we all know how indifferent he feels toward children.”

  “Will, I don’t want to hear any family stories right now.”

  He put his finger to her lips to hush her. “Just listen to me for a moment. I remember one particular instance, when James was about sixteen. He was determined to teach you how to fish and perched you on his shoulders, heading for the nearest trout stream.”

  She quirked a dubious brow. “But I couldn’t have been more than one year old.”

  “More like one and a half,” he said, eyes cheery. “I tagged along that day. When we reached the stream, James set you down to help me with my fishing line, and you suddenly sprouted the legs of a race horse. A hopping ball of fluff caught your eye and you were off.” Will chuckled. “You should have seen the look on James’s face when he turned around to find you missing. Utterly dumbstruck. But surprise turned to horror soon enough. We both feared you’d toddled over to the stream and fallen in. James was ready to dive into the water in search of you, but then we heard a squeal of delight. We found you a little ways off, crouching by a boulder. There you’d cornered a rabbit, pointing your finger at the little critter, desperately trying to gurgle something past your lips.

  “You were safe. James fell to his knees in relief. You know, I don’t think he’s ever gotten over the scare of nearly losing you. I think that’s why he maintains such a strict watch over you to this day.”

  Her black mood somewhat fading, she asked in a low voice, “Why did you never tell me this before?”

  He shrugged. “Truthfully, I’d forgotten all about the episode until just now. It wasn’t my worst moment, after all.”

  “I appreciate your love and concern.”

  “Now Belle.” He smiled in response to her dry tone. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I love you, but the incident weighs more heavily on James’s heart. He was the one responsible for you. If anything dreadful had happened to you, he would have to live with the guilt for the rest of his life.”

  Her arms went under her breasts. “Are you trying to appease me with this childhood tale?”

  “I’m trying to make you understand why James is so set against you being a pirate.”

  “You’re all set against my being a pirate,” she corrected, the tension back in her voice.

  William set his hands on his hips. “Well, you’re special, Belle.”

  “Special? As in peculiar?”

  “No,” he was quick to refute. “We just don’t want to lose you to the sea. You’re our only sister.”

  She snorted. “So I have to wallow on land—alone—because you think I’m special?”

  “Ugh!” His hands went to his hair. “I swear, Belle, out of all of us, you were the only one born with pirate’s blood already coursing through your veins.”

  She flushed at the reminder. From a tender age, too young to understand even the basic laws of nature, she would take a toy, bury it in the ground, and then dig it up a week later to see if it had turned to gold. Her endeavors never proved triumphant, but her resolve was unwavering, and week after week she’d inter some little knickknack.

  One day, curious to know what had happened to all her belongings, her father had inquired about the missing paraphernalia. Patiently, she’d explained she was turning her toys into gold so the family would want for nothing in the future. Drake Hawkins had been touched, if not a little tickled, by her confession. But the toy burying would have to come to an end, he’d explained, for none of the items she’d masked with dirt would ever turn into gold.

  And so she’d unearthed her belongings, vowing if she couldn’t make gold, she’d find it. It wasn’t long before the yard of their home had no level ground. But with her kin always tumbling into one hole or another, her excavation days had come to a swifter end than her alchemy ones.

  “You were all so determined to see my innocent treasure hunting come to an end,” she griped.

  “Innocent? I nearly broke my ankle—twice—falling into one of your many pits.”

  “So I have an adventurous spirit.” She shrugged. “All the more reason to let me join the crew.”

  His eyes lifted heavenward. “Belle, haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said?”

  “I’ve heard plenty—of rubbish. First, I can’t become a pirate because I’m a distraction to the crew, then I’m an unlucky omen, and now I’m special. Which is it, Will?”

  “All of those reasons, I suppose. We’re just too afraid of losing you.”

  Her finger poked into his broad chest. “And I’m afraid of losing all of you. But nobody seems to care about my feelings, do they?”

  “We care, Belle—a lot. That’s why no one wants to see you get hurt.”

  She snorted. “A few days ago, Quincy nearly lost his life. He got hurt. Why aren’t you hauling him home to England? Why just me?”

  “Belle!”

  Back on her hands and knees, she resumed polishing the deck. “Forget it, Will. I’m still angry and I still want to become a pirate. You haven’t changed my mind about either.”

  She heard the disgruntled sigh and footsteps receding.

  After a few minu
tes of vigorous deck scrubbing, she rocked back on her heels and stared at the puddle of water, letting out a noisy exhale.

  She would change her brothers’ minds, she vowed. She was determined to do away with their doubts and fears. Her future happiness depended on it.

  Later that night, alone in the galley and peeling potatoes, Mirabelle glanced up to find James filling the doorway.

  His expression inscrutable, she didn’t care to decipher what he was thinking. Instead she resumed her task, knowing it would annoy her brutish brother. James hated to be ignored.

  “Still not talking to me, Belle?”

  She didn’t say anything; that seemed answer enough.

  Heavy footsteps approached, but Mirabelle kept her eyes on the potato.

  James hooked his ankle around the leg of her chair and spun it about until she was facing him.

  She cried in surprise, her potato popping clean out of her grip and tumbling onto the floor. As the ship dipped, it rolled away.

  Mirabelle glared at her brother. He swiped a nearby chair and swiveled it around, straddling the seat, his burly arms perched on the chair top.

  “You have some gumption, Belle, being so miffed. And after all the trouble you’ve caused me by stowing away.”

  All the trouble she caused! What tripe! If James wasn’t such a dogged dictator, he wouldn’t have any trouble—not from her anyway.

  “So you want to sit here all night, Belle, frowning at me? Fine…But you’re going to miss the star shower.”

  Her eyes brightened. Forget the potatoes—and her temper. Eagerly, she jumped from her seat.

  But a robust hand grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her back down into the chair.

  Spending the evening gazing at a star shower was preferable to staring at her surly brother, so she broke her silence to demand: “What do you want, James?”

  “A truce.”

  “What kind of a truce?”

  “Well, what will it take for you and me to stop bickering?”

  “That’s easy.” She crossed her arms under her breasts. “Give me a chance to prove myself a worthy seafarer.”