Page 11 of A Pirate’s Pleasure (Cameron Family #2)

VIII

“P erhaps we should dine first,” Skye said softly.

He stared down upon her. “What?” he shouted in exasperation.

“Dinner!” she whispered desperately, meeting his silver gaze. “You wished to have dinner. It’s…it’s all right with me.”

He was still stiff with anger, as hot and radiant as a winter’s fire, but as hard as stone. “You’re drunk,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re drunk!”

“I am not! Ladies of good breeding do not get drunk, sir!”

“I shudder to suggest, Lady Kinsdale, that your breeding is anything but the absolute best, so I must beg to differ upon the principle itself. You are drunk.”

“Tipsy, perhaps.”

“Sodden.”

“Sir, you drive me to drink,” she said woefully. Her fingers curled about his neck as she held him tightly rather than fall.

“I drive you to drink, lady! My God, but a sane man would have left you upon the sea!” He cast her down suddenly and with such vehemence that she gasped, for she was certain that her bones would shatter upon the floor. They did not, for he had come to the bed and cast her upon the soft down mattress. Like silver daggers, his eyes flashed upon her. “I drive you to drink? Lady, you would drive the very saints to despair!”

He whirled around and she clutched nervously at the bedclothes, dragging them around her. He seemed as explosive as a keg of powder, and though she had a reprieve, she wondered what his next action would be.

He wrenched open one of her trunks with a vengeance. Silks and satins and velvets went flying about. Then he tossed a soft green satin garment her way. She reached for the fabric as his footsteps cracked and thundered upon the floor and on the shattered door. “Dinner, milady, is already served.”

For the longest time she lay there, her hand at her heart, feeling the frantic beat. He was gone again. But not far. He stood away from her, through a doorway that could no longer be closed or locked. It had never meant anything anyway. He had always known and she was discovering that the barriers lay within herself.

And within him.

Skye lay very still. Night was coming quickly. It would not matter, she realized. If darkness fell, he would come back to light up the night for her, whether she did or did not rise. If she stayed just as she was, she would need have no fear. He would not touch her, nor would he let blackness descend upon her.

She rose quickly, glancing nervously to the open doorway. She could not see him. She scrambled into the gown he had left her, a satin dinner gown with a laced bodice, high collar, and sweeping train. She came to the dresser, observed her pale image within the mirror, and mechanically picked up the silver brush he had provided and swept it through her hair. The golden locks fell like waves of sun and fire upon her shoulders. The high collar of the gown complemented the deep cleft of the bodice. Her eyes were grave then, for the tender embrace of the brandy was fast fading away, and it seemed that very much lay at stake that night.

Impulsively she turned from the dresser to dig about in her trunks. She found a delicate gold necklace with an emerald pendant that was surrounded by a sunburst of diamonds. She hooked it about her neck and it fell far below her throat to touch the valley of her breasts.

She walked over to the open doorway and paused there, watching him.

He stood by the windows, and seemed as pensive as she. The drapes were open, the breeze blew in. He looked the gentleman then, the striking young gentleman, more lordly than any man she knew, lost in thought, tall and undaunted against the coming night. He held a silver goblet in one hand. Across the room, Skye saw that the small dining table was laden with a meal, with silver flatware and fine plates upon a white cloth. Candles were burning, casting a gentle glow over the table.

“Lord Cameron comes for you any day now,” Hawk said without turning to her.

“How can he?” she murmured. “How can he even know that I am here?”

“I sent your ship, the Silver Messenger , close in to Cape Hatteras as we traveled south. Her signalman sent messages to a merchantman. The Silver Messenger came here this afternoon, and my man assures me that his messages were received, and answers were sent.”

“That is…good to hear,” she said softly.

He turned around suddenly and his eyes swept over her from head to toe. They lingered upon the emerald that lay between her breasts, but he did not mention it. He bowed to her. “Milady, you wished to dine?” He indicated the table. She walked to it and he was quickly behind her, pulling out her chair. He poured her wine in a goblet before taking his own seat. The candles glowed softly between them, flickering occasionally, for the table lay before the open window, and both the colors of the sunset and the coolness of the twilight breeze rushed softly in upon them.

“Shall I serve you, milady?” he asked.

Skye nodded, sitting back, her fingers curving over the arms of her chair. She watched his dark head and the fine, brooding line of his features as he dished out food from the servers. She wasn’t sure what touched her plate, for she studied him so earnestly. He caught her gaze at last. She flushed and picked up her wineglass. But she continued to study him.

“What? What now, milady?” he demanded acidly.

And she smiled very slowly. “What manner of pirate are you, sir? I sit before you unmolested. In my jewels.” She leaned forward, fingering the emerald. “It’s worth a small fortune, Sir Silver Hawk. Of that, I am sure you are aware.”

“Perhaps, lady, I will receive a small fortune for your safe return.”

“Perhaps.” she murmured, but her smile remained. He swore softly and tossed down his serving implements. “Lady, I tell you, I am at the end of my resources. I am past being driven to mere drink, and I hunger for far more than dinner.” She picked up her fork and idly touched her food. She was scarcely hungry herself. She tasted some delicious fish, and steamed fresh carrots and potatoes and sweet toasted bananas. She could eat very little. Nor did he pay much attention to his food. He watched her, and a deep, dark tension remained with him. His brow continued to knit and a scowl played upon his lip beneath his mustache.

“He will come here?” she said. “Lord Cameron?”

“Aye.”

“He will feel safe?”

“He will know himself safe.”

She shoved about a piece of fish with her fork. He leaned toward her. “What is it, milady?” he snapped. “Who do you think you are, what sweet nobility sets you so confidently upon this golden crest of disdain you would cast down upon others? I am a pirate, yes, but you scorn a member of your own society, a man who is willing to sail a tempestuous sea for an unwilling bride?”

Her temper rose and her first impulse was to slap him. She smiled instead, holding her silver goblet, tracing its rim with her fingers. “I am my own mistress, sir, and that is all.”

He sat back, his eyes narrowing. “And what precisely does that mean, lady?”

“I—I am graced with my own mind, sir. My mother”—she hesitated just briefly, swallowing—“my mother died when I was young, and I quickly ran my father’s affairs. He sent me to school in London, and neglected to tell me about a promise given at my birth!”

“So the promise is not your concern.”

“No.”

“You do not choose to honor your father?”

“Not in this.” She set her wine down and spoke to him earnestly. “One would think, sir, that daughters were created as slaves, to be cast to the highest bidder.”

His eyes were smoke, concealing his thoughts. “Perhaps he cares for the security of your future.”

She lowered her head suddenly. “He knows so little about me.”

“About your fear of the dark?”

Her head jerked up like a marionette’s. “I don’t care to discuss any of this with you.”

“Why not? Perhaps I can help.”

“Help!”

He shrugged, sipping more wine. “He is a cousin, distant at that, proper, stoic, and all those gentlemanly things. I do know something of him. He is sailing to retrieve you. He is no ogre.”

She smiled, touching her dangling pendant. “You are the ogre, right?”

“Don’t test me,” he warned her sternly.

“I have tested you time and again,” she said softly. “You have proven yourself, sir.”

“Have I? Lady, please, my mettle is in shatters. I promise you this, if I hold you again, I’ll leave no questions in your mind as to my true nature.”

She did not reply, but continued to smile. He reached over suddenly, grasping her wine goblet. He set it down upon the table with a small clunk. She arched a brow to him.

“I think you’ve had enough. How do you feel?”

“I feel very well. I dozed in the tub merely because of its comfort, and though I did consume a great deal of brandy, I did it throughout a very long day.”

“Oh. Is that so?”

“It is.”

He watched her for a long moment, his hands folded upon the table. “You are well and sober now?”

“I am, sir.”

He stood and caught her hands, pulling her slowly up from the table and into his arms. She should resist. Something languorous stole over her with the gentle touch of the breeze. Draperies fluttered and the soft fragrance of the tropic night whirled around them. The moon had risen as the fiery colors of sunset gave way to shadow, and then darkness. Candleglow was soft, and gentle as the ethereal beams from the moon falling down upon them.

“Run!” he told her softly. “Run away, and embrace the darkness, for you enter here into greater peril.” He clutched her hand and brought it to his chest, against his heart. “Feel the beat, lady, feel the pulse. Suffer the tempest, for I have been like a man long damned. Don’t take comfort in my presence, and don’t trust in my justice or honor, for by my justice you would lie with me now, and as I have warned you, what honor a rogue possesses ever dims within my heart. Run from me now, lady. And swiftly.”

It was fair warning, and well she knew it. Her palm and fingers lay over an erratic pulse, and a wall of vibrant, living heat. They pressed so close together that a fever danced throughout her and cast her into a field of sweet confusion far greater than any spirit could bring. She wanted him. Shameful, horrid, and illicit as it might be, she wanted him. That such feelings should rage within her heart left her aware that she could be no true lady, but in the night breeze, she could not care. This world was real, and he was a beacon, shining ever more brightly to her tempest-tossed soul. Codes and society could not matter here, all that had meaning were the earth and sky, the breeze, the primal power of the man.

She parted her lips to whisper, but knew not what she would say. Rescue came for her any day now, blessed rescue to her home, to a land of safety. To a lord, a man of the peerage, the betrothed who would give her the proper place in society, a gracious home, wealth, servants, security, all that she could desire.

Her security lay here, she thought. And the wealth to be found in the arms of such a man were all the riches she might come to desire.

“Go! Go now, I warn you!” he growled to her.

She pulled away. She stared at him, thinking there were so many things that she would say to him, but none of them were things that words could convey. If she stayed, she would be damned. She turned and fled through the doorway, then paused, gasping, the tempo of her heart staccato, the very breath and soul of her in torment.

She did not think anew. She did not reason, nor pause to think that the morning light might bring regrets. She came back to the doorway and looked in once more.

He had come back to the window. He stood there, a tall and silent man, a powerful shadow in black silk shirt and breeches and boots, formidable and striking against the glow of the moon. She must have made some small sound, or else he sensed her there, that she had so swiftly returned. He came about, staring at her. She could not see his eyes, his features. She cried softly and raced toward him on her bare feet. She cast herself against him, and his arms swept around her with a staggering hunger. His lips found hers.

Captured there in the moonlight in his arms, she dared to kiss him in return. His tongue tempestuously seared her lips to plunder her mouth. She welcomed it, and daringly tasted, met, and matched his forays with her own. A sweet-honeyed surge burst forth from within her, swirling within her belly, rushing to fill her limbs. She sought to touch his hair, to tease it at his nape, to feel the power of his shoulders and arms, to come ever closer.

She gasped when his lips lifted from hers, and she stared up at him, framed as they were in the moonglow, in the windows opened to the night. He stared at her the longest time, and his ragged whisper rode hauntingly from his flesh. “You cannot run anymore,” he said.

“No,” she whispered, and her lashes did not flutter, nor did her eyes fall from his. His hands were upon her shoulders. Her lips parted in a soft gasp as he tore upon the fabric there and her gown swirled to a very soft heap of silk upon the ground. And still he stared at her, for the moonglow danced eloquently upon her body, outlining the firm fullness of her breasts and defining the dusky rouge peaks, touching shadow at the slender ribbon of her waist, glowing full on the flare of her hips. The moon seemed a master of temptation in itself, finding shadow again in the haunting juncture of her thighs.

A deep, guttural cry came from him, startling her, causing her to tremble. Then his hands were upon her again, pulling her close. She felt the fever of his mouth upon hers once more, and clung to him, stunned by this new ferocity of passion, yet willing to ride the soaring force of it. She met his lips again and again. He sought her mouth and tongue over and over, breaking away, finding her warmth once again. His hands began a bold foray upon her. As their lips met in searing fire, he stroked her shoulder and her breast, rounded her naked hip. His fingers grazed her belly and drew with startling purpose to the golden nest between her thighs.

She flinched, startled, but he drew her closer. He whispered against her lips as he explored her further. She gasped and shuddered, so weak that she fell against him as his touch surged intimately inside of her.

“I cannot, will not, let you go,” he muttered.

She did not wish to be let go. She burrowed her head against him and she was swiftly swept off her feet and carried to his massive bed. Lying there without him, she was briefly cold, but he quickly returned to cover her with his warmth. His lips seared her all anew. He touched her with shattering liquid heat in intimate places, bringing gasps to her lips as he possessed her breasts with his touch and teeth and tongue, covering her belly with the ardent sweep of his mouth. The liquid fire was outside of her, and then inside of her. Sensation came to rule the night, for each new touch was shocking and evocative beyond measure, and she was barely able to register the one before the next began.

She knew that he was a practiced lover, and that did not matter to her. Not then. She knew, too, that a woman was seldom so carefully cherished with both tempest and tenderness when initiated into the realm of senses. He was with her because he had desired her, and tonight he could let hunger rage, for he had shown her long ago that he cared for her fears, and for her soul.

He moved from her, and she realized that he hovered over her, seeking out her eyes, his own ablaze with tension. Lightly he touched her breast, keeping his eyes upon her. He drew his fingers low over her ribs against her abdomen, down to her thighs. Her lashes fluttered. “No,” he told her softly, and she lifted her gaze to his again as he invaded her more intimately. She drew her limbs together as the flame touched her features, but her body surged against his touch of its sweet desire and he laughed with sheer pleasure and triumph and his lips seized upon hers. “Moonglow,” he told her. “Thank God, lady, that you crave the light, for I hunger for the very sight of you, and would die tonight for this touch!” His lips covered hers. In tempest and abandon they traveled to her breast. To her belly, ever downward. Brazenly he touched her. She cried out loud in stunned protest, writhing against him, reaching for him to draw him against her. He left her, stripping away his garments. And then it was he who was covered in the moonlight, and she was dizzy with anticipation, warmed by the beautiful bronze glow of his shoulders, frightened by the masculine force of him.

He did not let her know fear. He teased her no longer, but fell upon her with purpose, parting her thighs to his desire, cradling her gently into his arms.

The pain was astounding, wrenching her from the web of sweet desire that had wound within her. She cried out, she bit into his shoulders, she slammed against him and shrilled away in fury, tears stinging her eyes. He ignored her, holding her. Moving, moving against her. Thrusting harder and harder and tearing into her. “Pirate, bastard, rogue!” she choked out.

“Sea slime,” he responded with a tender understanding, and she nearly laughed, and then the sweetness overrode the pain and she was astounded anew at herself. She had never known a hunger so great; she had never wanted so desperately. Her form shifted and writhed and arched on his own. She stroked his flesh and felt the constriction and heave of his muscle, and the ever-greater fury of his force. She swirled with it, she soared, she reached. Then it seemed as if the entire world exploded deep inside of her and that nothing had ever been so rapturous in her life. She was wrapped in clouds, cocooned among moonglow and stars, seared by the sun. Darkness nearly claimed her, the breath left her. She died, she thought. She touched the sun, and so she died.

She did not die. She closed her eyes perhaps, passed out, perhaps. But she did not die. She shuddered again and again and hot rapture tore through her. She opened her eyes to discover that she had not even left the earth, but lay within the bed still, drenched and slick, entwined with the Hawk. He lay atop her still, and quietly within her. He had not ravished or raped her or used violence against her in any way. She had come to him.

He pulled away from her, coming up on an elbow, smoothing the tangle of her hair away from her face. She wished suddenly that she did not so strenuously fear the dark, for she would have liked to hide her face in the shadows then.

“Regrets?” he asked her.

“No.” Well, perhaps one, for now that ecstasy had quietly given way, she was sore and amazed at her own lack not only of virtue, but of anything resembling restraint.

“I warned you,” he reminded her.

She nodded uneasily. She turned against him, burrowing against his chest. “Please, leave it be.”

He touched her gently, letting her lie against him. She suddenly imagined that love was a grand and magical thing, for it was, perhaps, even more wonderful to lie against him so, to feel the ripple of his muscles and his soft touch upon her as he held her close. This seemed an even greater intimacy.

As did his easy stroke. He did not touch her then to enflame her, but just to idly feel her flesh and soothe her. He rested his bearded chin atop her head and sighed deeply.

“What shall you do now?” he asked her.

She shook her head against him, not knowing what he meant.

“Well, my love, you go to your betrothed. What shall you tell him?”

“The truth.”

“The truth?”

Angry, Skye pushed away. “Tonight…this is not the truth. The truth has always been there, as you have been so quick to tell me! I will not marry him. I will not honor some silly pact made between his father and mine. He does not wish to marry me, either!”

“But he comes for you.”

“What is this!” she charged him, pulling away, suddenly longing for her clothing and eager to be far, far away from him. Something terribly momentous had happened in her life. He had taken from her all that a woman had of her own to truly give, not so much the physical side of innocence, but the very heart of it, too. “Is your cousin your best friend that you must care for his concerns so deeply?”

“We are not friends at all. We are enemies. We respect one another and leave room for negotiation, but he would slay me in the open waters, and I would slay him in turn.”

“Then leave me at peace! I shall deal with my own life.” She tried to pull away in a sudden fury. He leaped atop her, smiling his buccaneer’s leering smile, and pinning her beneath him. “Get off!” she insisted, flailing against him.

“No, lady, I cannot! And I gave fair warning. Forget the future, and answer to the sweet whispers of the night!”

“Nay—”

But her protest meant nothing. His lips seared hers, his body burned against her. She felt the hard swell of his sex and she gasped and strained to free herself, but he sank into her, filling her, and making her one with him. Tempest could not rise so swiftly again! she thought, and yet it did. Soaring, sweet, thundering, savage, it rose like a summer storm, brought her to a sweet and shattering climax, and cast her down softly and incredibly to earth once again. He gave her no quarter and no mercy, now that he possessed her. Still holding her, still entwined with her, he rose above her.

“Say the word, and I will rescue you from the trap of your betrothal. I will say that my hostage is not for sale, but my property and mine alone, now and forever.”

She gasped, stunned by the ferocity of his words.

“I—I cannot!” she cried. She could not! She had discovered ecstasy here, and perhaps she had discovered a man of startling temper and curious honor upon the savage seas, but she could not stay here! Her mind would work but little then, but she knew that she could not be his mistress. She could not stay here.

“So you would marry Lord Cameron!”

“No! Yes, I mean that I could not stay here!” She could not, ever. Not while her father lived. As angry as she might become with him for charting her life, she adored him. He was all that she had in the world. All who really loved her, who needed her. Just as she needed him, and his love.

His eyes were fierce, they were silver, they probed her, they went past her nakedness and tore into her soul. “You little hypocrite!” he told her. “You deny the man, but you would have his position! You would dine at the governor’s mansion and walk the streets in splendor. You cannot manage without your silks and velvets and jewels—”

“How dare you judge me!” she screamed, tearing at his chest. Suddenly she longed to escape him with such a fever she could scarce bear it. “It is not Lord Cameron! I tell you that I will not marry him—”

“You will not?” he taunted.

“I do not owe you an explanation!”

He wrenched back, still angry, and she wondered at the force of his explosion. He fell down beside her and she quickly sat up, searching for her gown to wrap around her nakedness. His eyes were scathing, telling her that she was a fool to cover herself from his eyes, ever again. She was furious with him, and furious with herself. Holding the covers tightly, she determined to get away from him. She leaped to her feet. He rose, too, not coming after her, just watching her with his feet firm upon the floor, his arms crossed over his chest.

“And where are you going now, milady? I told you that you could not run any longer.”

“I am going back to my own bed.”

“Ah, but it is my bed, too, milady!”

“Nevertheless, you are not in it!”

She strutted through the doorway, regally clad in his bed covering. But she had scarce crossed the threshold into her own room when darkness descended upon her. The lanterns were not lit; he had not come there, for she had been with him.

God! How she despised the weakness! She claimed herself to be her own mistress, but the suffocating fear of the darkness came at her with talons to tear against her every time.

She cast her hands over her face, shuddering. Then she felt his hands upon her, gentle and tender. He lifted her, covers and all, into his arms, and strode with her back to his room, to where the candles flickered softly, and the moonglow bathed them once again.

“When I am with you,” he promised her softly, “I swear that there will always be light.”

She slept then, in his bed, in his arms. Her last waking thought was that he had become her light, a searing sun ray, ever fierce against the darkness, ever strong against the night.

In the morning he was gone.

Skye slept very late, and when she awoke, she was alone. No one came to disturb her.

She left his bed to return to her own room, stepping upon the splintered door. Daylight did bring thoughts of the night crashing down upon her, but in truth she did not regret what had happened between them, although the consequences of what might come of it seemed to lie heavily upon her. Though she lived on the hope that she would elude her betrothal, breech of promise would not be smiled upon by many, and her father’s position could well be jeopardized. No one could force her into anything.

But neither could she let her father be ruined.

Then, of course, there was the danger of the man himself. Were she to conceive a child…

She would not, she told herself hastily. She had no good reason to believe that she would not, but thought that God could not leave her with a pirate’s child.

She had washed and dressed when this thought struck her. She cast herself back upon the bed and imagined that she held the Hawk’s infant and watched while the pirate captain was led to the gallows on a spring day and hanged by the neck until dead. She shivered uncontrollably, hugging her arms about herself. He could die. He would die if he persisted in his dangerous calling!

There was a tap upon the door. She murmured uneasily, “Come in!” and Mr. Soames appeared with a breakfast tray. He was wonderfully impassive. He didn’t even gaze toward the broken door. “The captain says if you’ve a mind, Lady Kinsdale, you might wish to meet him down by the lagoon this afternoon. He has business this morning, but will come soon after. He wants you to know that it will be his deepest pleasure.”

“His deepest pleasure? Or his command?” she asked lightly.

“Milady, I am but a messenger—”

“Of course. Well, then, thank you, Mr. Soames, for the message.”

He nodded uncomfortably and set her tray down upon the card table.

She didn’t bother to ask about Tara and Bessie. They seemed to be making their own way upon the island, and making it well enough.

And besides, she reflected, with heart fluttering madly, she had every intention of riding out that afternoon.

She did. She waited until the sun rode high in the noon sky, then she went back to Senor Rivas. He saddled the same gray mare for her, and she rode slowly toward the lagoon.

When she arrived, he was not there. She looked anxiously about and saw his snow-white stallion grazing up the slope past the far bank. The water skipped and danced from the cliff, dazzling beneath the sun.

Skye dismounted and neared the water’s edge. She let the horse nibble upon the plants there and sat upon the sandy slope. She edged nearer, feeling the water. It was cool and fresh.

Then her eyes rose slowly, for she discovered the Hawk’s whereabouts.

He rose up out of the water. It sluiced from his body, the droplets catching the sun and burning like studded diamonds in the heat of the day. He was naked and bronzed from head to toe and he approached her with swift determination.

She came to her feet. She meant to speak, to say something. No words came to her.

She thought about the sun, high overhead. She thought about the breeze, and the gurgling waters of the brook. She could not shed her clothing here. She could not lie here, in the sand, in the soft grass.

He came closer to her. She could not speak, nor did he bother her with words. He slipped her riding coat from her shoulders, letting it fall to the grass. Then he spun her about, adroitly slipping each of the tiny hooks that lined her back. His fingers slid beneath fabric to touch her bare shoulders, and her gown fell low over her breasts and down to her waist. He lowered his head, and his lips and beard, wet and cool, touched her flesh. His tongue rimmed her shoulder and she started to shiver.

“I…I cannot!” she stuttered.

He spun her around. “You can,” he assured her, and found her lips. His fingers fell upon the ties to her corset as his lips ravished and seduced. Her breasts were suddenly bare, and the sun warmed them. She was sinking down into a pile of her own clothing, and his weight and warmth were covering her.

He did not take her then. He touched and teased her and watched her as he slipped away her shoes and hose. She felt the fresh air touch her and she shivered and he drew her to him. They rolled upon the soft grasses, and he smiled as he caught her above him. “This is my domain, Lady Kinsdale, and none may enter here to come between us.”

She smiled slowly to herself, enchanted by the beauty of the lagoon and by his whisper. There was some sweet madness there, and the excitement of it filled her. She could not be here, not so, not with him. She could not play in such a primitive Eden, laugh to the music of the bubbling water, dare to feel the breeze upon her flesh.

Her hair tumbled down upon him, covering his shoulders. His laughter faded and his eyes grew dark, and then he drew her head down to his, and his kiss entered and filled her, touching upon the newly lit flames of passion that stirred in her heart and body. His touch raked over her. He lifted her atop himself and she cried out in startled surprise as they came together instantly as one.

Sun touched her, whispers touched her, the trees and leaves shuddered over her. She felt the earth beneath her and the ragged breath of the man and her own reckless and abandoned cries as a sweet rush of satiation burst upon her. She felt the sand at her back and the tickle of the grass and the hard brush of male hair against her belly and thighs.

She felt his arms.

“Perhaps I will not let you go,” he warned her. “Perhaps I shall do with you always what I will.”

“You cannot,” she told him firmly.

“’Tis my domain,” he reminded her. He lifted her high into his arms and she cried out in protest. “Wait! Where are you going! You cannot think to walk about like this!”

“I am not going far,” he said, striding out into the water.

“Put me down.”

“I will do as I choose with you, remember?”

She tossed her head back. “You will not do as you will with me, Captain Hawk. I will not allow it!”

“Oh?” He smiled with a sensual curl taking hold of the corner of his lip. His pirate’s silver gaze sizzled. He dropped her flat, and she pitched into the cool fresh water.

She burst up, sputtering and protesting, and laughing. She tried to drag him under but she hadn’t the strength. He caught her and brought them both beneath the cascade of the cliff, and then, as the cool water raged over them, he kissed her. A fervent flame beat against the cold. She felt his hands upon her breasts, between her legs, and she clung to him, stretching her fingers with sure fascination over his shoulders and back and hesitantly down to his buttocks.

It was madness.…

She cast her head back and his kiss consumed her throat until his mouth moved to close over her breast. He swept her beneath him and they came near shore, and as the cool water rushed over them, he made love to her there.

She felt the earth more keenly, never knew a touch so acutely, never imagined that a woman could know a man so completely. When she lay at rest, she had never known such a peace. He held her still, and the sun beat down upon the two of them and the water rushed over their limbs.

The sun created dazzling currents in the lagoon, and Skye narrowed her eyes against them. She spun a daydream as he held her, idly stroking her arm. Her father would come to this place. The Hawk would cast aside his buccaneer’s ways and a pardon would be found. This madness could go on and on, forever. She could feel his strength and delight in his husky laughter and the fierce demand of his passion and desires.…

“What are you thinking?” he asked her.

“That you are a pirate,” she said softly.

He stiffened. “A rogue—in a rogue’s domain, milady.”

“The seas will be cleared one day!” she said fervently.

He shifted, rising above her upon the sand. “That, milady, will take time. When your pious Lord Cameron comes for you, you must not travel the seas again. Do you understand me?”

Her eyes widened. “If I must do so—”

“There is no reason for you to do so.”

“I am my own mistress!” she reminded him passionately.

“Are you? You forget yourself, lady. If I chose, I could keep you here. No man could storm this fortress. No pirate would think to come against me, and it would take the combined forces of several royal navies to destroy here. If I commanded it, you would stay.”

She lay beneath him, trembling. If he chose, he could do so. She touched his cheek and whispered softly, “I am here because I knew no force from you. No man can force desire, sir. You said yourself that the lock upon the door did not matter, for locks lay within the heart. You could break the door, but you knocked gently upon my heart, and entered through there by the gentle care you gave me.”

“And tell me, lady, shall I remain there, when you have gone on to a husband.”

He mocked her. She bared her soul to him, and offered her heart. And he mocked her.

She pressed against him, maddened that he had the strength to hold her to his will. She tilted her chin proudly, but again, could not forget the hard naked feel of him against her. “I am my own mistress, sir.”

“I shall miss you when you are gone, with all of my heart, Lady Skye. Tell me, will you miss me?”

“I think—quite highly of you,” she said primly.

He laughed, and nuzzled her earlobe with a fascinating tenderness. “For sea slime, that is.”

She met his eyes, silver with his laughter, touched by the charming rogue’s curl of his lip. His arms were so strong about her. I have fallen in love with you! she thought with the deepest dismay and despair.

“You don’t—you don’t need to be sea slime forever,” she told him.

“Alas,” he said huskily, “there you are wrong, my dear, dear Lady Skye. The die has been cast.”

Suddenly the natural quiet of the lagoon was split asunder. The sound of a single cannon rent the air.

The Hawk looked up. Some fiery light touched his eyes, and when he stared at her again, she thought that he did not know her at all.

She frowned. “What was that?”

He did not reply. He groaned deeply and shuddered and bent to take her lips. He kissed her deeply, and then more deeply. He held her fiercely, and still his lips assaulted hers with abandon. As if he drank from her to take his fill. As if he could not move away.

He moved sure and fleet, bringing his body against hers, and making love to her with a savage determination. She could not protest the driving force of it, for his hunger was so very deep, drawing upon the passion he had created within her. The day ceased to be, the fire of it was so swift, and so complete.

It was his world, his domain. He ruled here.

He had commanded her from the beginning, she realized. He had wanted her, and she had come to him, and in these blinding moments, it mattered not at all. He loved her with the force of a wild sweeping storm, he touched her as if his hands could hold the memory of her from everything. His palm closed upon her breast, and then his mouth, even as his body moved with arrogance and demand, knowing that he would stoke the flames with her. He reached to her womb, to her soul, she thought. His whispers cried out to her, and it was as if he cast the very force and life of himself into her, welding them into eternity. She rode a gale at sea, she thought, dangerous and beautiful. Or a fire storm. So very explosive…

She clung to him, and rode out the tempest, for her body gave so thoroughly to the impetus of his thrust. The sun upon their bodies was as radiant as the heat within them, the very ground beneath her back reminded her that this sweet and volatile binding of a man and woman was as old as the earth, as necessary.…

She cried out with the force and beauty of the shattering climax that fell upon her. He cast back his head, muscles tensed and the whole of him glimmering bronze with a sheen of perspiration, and cried out hoarsely. He fell upon her, and the raging force of him swept deep, deep inside of her like a liquid portion of the sun. She shuddered and fell back into his arms, awed and amazed anew, and certain that he would hold her then in tenderness.

He did not. He fell back against the earth, and a fierce oath exploded from him as he stared bleakly up into the powder-blue sky. He rolled and bounded to his feet. He stared down at her for a long moment. Her eyes were teal-blue and puzzled, her hair a damp splay of sunset over the earth.

He reached for her, offering her his hand.

“Get up,” he said curtly.

She looked at him, hurt, her temper sizzling. “I do not obey commands, Captain Hawk.”

“Don’t you? We shall see.”

“Shall we?”

He smiled, pulling her to her feet. His jaw was taut, his features strained as he spoke.

“The cannon, milady, is a signal. The ship has come, Lady Kinsdale. Your betrothed has come for you, slightly tarnished as you may be. I shall be heartily interested in the details of your nuptials.”

She slapped him with such speed that he did not catch her until too late. Then he dragged her back against himself and bruised her lips with the hot demand of one last kiss. She jerked away from him, horrified. She would never, she thought, forget the mocking fire that burned so silver and so fierce within his eyes.

He turned away. She stared after him, blinded by sudden tears. “Wait!” she cried to him, and he turned back to her, and she wasn’t even aware of what she did when she pitched herself into his arms.

He was stiff, cold. Then he held her more tightly and smoothed his fingers over her hair. A long, shuddering sigh escaped him and he kissed the top of her head. Then he freed himself from her hold and led her to the pile of her clothing. “Come, we must return before someone comes to look for us. No doubt, your fiancé is most eager to meet you.”