Between A Rake And A Hard Place [Pirates of London Book 2] (8 page)

When
he
finally lifted his head, Christopher said huskily, “If you are sure about what comes next, Lady Cassandra, I wasted my time buttoning your gown. Let me disrobe you.”

She stared up at him for a moment, her arms loosening their hold. “I’m sure.”

He touched her chin. “This will require more faith than the leap from the window of the seraglio. I am offering one last time to give you the option of asking me to leave. As tempting as you are, you have my word I will go.”

Her smile was both tremulous and full of womanly power. “And you say you have no honor.”

His answering smile was wry. “I never said that. I said that I have my own interpretation of it. Usually that includes staying as far away from the innocent daughters of influential men as much as possible.”

“But for me you’ll make an exception?” Her brows rose and she laughed. “I am immensely flattered, Mr. Ives.”

“Call me Christopher.” He backed her toward the bed, their bodies in a subtle, seductive dance. “I think formality is a ridiculous affectation.”

“Then call me Cassie. My close friends do.”

And he intended to be very close indeed.

He tumbled her on her back against the soft linens of the bed and kissed her again. She was a natural siren, no artifice, and when he settled on top of her, she gazed at him with a level of trust he found disconcerting.

And somehow arousing.

“I shouldn’t do this,” he said more tersely than he intended.

“But you want to.” She touched his face, just the merest brush of her fingers.

“Oh yes.” He moved enough she could feel the length of his erection. “I am sure you can tell I want to very much.”

“I have no idea of what to do next.”

“I am all too aware of that.” Christopher slid his hand down to her breast. “Have no fear, I’ll be happy to instruct you every step of the way.”

* * * *

She’d always thought of herself as demure and essentially the proper young English lady, but evidently that was a misconception because at the moment not only was she about to be irrevocably ruined, but she had insisted upon it.

Her father would be furious.

Her Aunt Rose would swoon.

Society would whisper, and disdain her.

She didn’t care.

Christopher’s mouth touched hers again, firm and persuasive and her breast tingled where he cupped it through her scandalous dress. His thumb smoothed her nipple through the material and the sensation was…delicious.

His lips moved to her ear. “This will be better done if we are both naked.”

“I will have to accept your word on that.” Her voice was oddly breathless, his weight balanced on top of her enjoyable even with both of them fully clothed. His body was hard—one part of him was very hard indeed if the rigid length she could feel pressed against her was any indication—and intriguingly different from hers. Cassandra looked into his crystalline silver eyes and said, “Whatever you wish.”

“My sweet, lesson one, never say that to any man.” His grin was boyish and he kissed the tip of her nose.

Boyish? Fancy that. The intrepid Christopher Ives who scaled high walls effortlessly and retrieved damsels in distress with a remarkable aplomb, momentarily seemed more like lesser mortals, and maybe even a touch vulnerable.

“What is lesson two?”

“I’ll show you.” He shifted, sitting up to take off his Hessians, and then removing his shirt. Just as efficiently he divested her of her gown, the gleam in his eyes almost searing in intensity when he saw her in the nearly transparent shift. “Beautiful,” he murmured, urging her back on the bed so she lay supine, his long fingers going to the bow of the ribbon at the neckline. “I need to see these again. I must admit my entrance into that room back at the palace left me with a memory that seems to have been etched permanently in my brain.”

Maybe it was that he’d seen her stark naked before that made it less embarrassing when he tugged the satin bow open and exposed her breasts, his hands smoothing back the material and then moving to cup and fondle, cradling the weight of each one in his palms. “Perfect.”

She hardly thought she was perfect, but if he thought so at the moment, she would accept the compliment, especially with his long fingers doing such wicked things.

Not quite as wicked as when he leaned forward and licked her right nipple and then—most scandalously—took it into his mouth.

The pressure and the licentious swirl of his tongue made her gasp out loud and her fingers threaded through his hair, the silken texture a contrast to the heat and strength of his much larger frame and muscled strength. He did equally wicked things to the other breast, tasting and teasing, and before she even realized it her chemise was eased down over her hips and completely discarded.

His fingers slid between her legs. “I am glad the sultan never touched you. Please tell me this isn’t about gratitude.”

It wasn’t.

She wasn’t sure how to define it, but gratitude had nothing to with it. Especially with how he was touching her now, the gentle stroking making her breath catch in her throat. The intimacy was shocking, yes, but also pleasurable in a way she never imagined.

“No.”

He stilled. “No?”

“I meant no, it isn’t about gratitude.” Her eyes were half shut, the whisper of his breath warm on her cheek.

His smile was slow and extraordinarily mesmerizing. “Good. I want this to be about the attraction between us and nothing else.”

That declaration gave her pause, but before she could decide how to interpret it, he touched her again, parting the folds of her sex and doing something interesting with the tip of his finger. The jolt of sensation made her gasp.

“That’s it.” The words were said in a husky voice. “Let yourself feel. Sexual interaction between a man and a woman is about instinct and not intellect. I want you and you want me, and we will both get exactly what we wish if we don’t worry about inhibitions. Let me show you exactly what I mean.”

Cassandra had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

His hands rested on her thighs and then widened them with subtle pressure. “Not to oversimplify it, but this is largely about trust.”

Maybe so. She certainly felt vulnerable naked and open before him, but before she could argue, he lowered his head and kissed the plane of her stomach, and then moved a little lower. When she tensed as his mouth grazed her labia, he captured her legs to keep them from closing, and he said softly. “Trust, remember?”

She certainly remembered when he shocked her irrevocably by lowering his head to put his mouth against the very place she certainly thought no one would ever wish to kiss, much less do whatever he was doing.

“Christopher!”

“Hmm.” His tongue did something that made her body quiver.

Decadent.

Indecent.

Heavenly…

.
..let yourself feel
…

She listened to that advice, especially since the bones in her body had melted into heated wax. “Oh.”

“Uhm,” he said in response, his dark head nestled between her thighs, his hands cupping her bottom.

It was like nothing she’d ever imagined, and her breasts tightened, her spine arching in an involuntary movement that Cassandra simply could not control. Her hands slipped along the silk sheets and she made a sound that was most unladylike.

And surprisingly did not care.

Trust. Fine. She must because otherwise she certainly would not be letting him…never would she allow…
this
.

The sensation built, making her gasp out loud with an increasing urgency and then suddenly she was flying free over the waves of pleasure, drowning, coming up for air, and being pulled into the delicious undertow again.

Until she washed onto the shore. Christopher was the one who held her, his face amused when her eyes finally fluttered open, his rangy body next to hers on the bed, the gentle rock of the sea embracing them both.

He touched her cheek. “You are incredibly…”

What
?

He stopped. And then shook his head. “I was going to say beautiful but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t do you justice.”

His language would normally have shocked her, but she was getting used to his ungentlemanly approach and besides, she had hardly just behaved as a proper lady. Lax and yet still quivering, she said tartly if breathlessly, “No doubt you’ll be damned anyway, Mr. Ives.”

“No doubt.” His fingers skimmed her breast and his gaze was wicked, his smile slow and suggestive. “I think you might be worth the fires of hell, my lady.”

* * * *

Marcus hesitated and stood outside the door, his hand half-extended to knock, arrested by a slight sound.

Christopher. You fool
.

He recognized that sigh and the slight feminine laugh that followed along with a low masculine response. He wasn’t surprised—quite the opposite. Resigned would be a better way to put it. As much self-control as Christopher might have exerted during their voyage so far, the earl’s glorious daughter had proved irresistible after all.

Had it merely been lust, his friend might have triumphed. That was the part that bothered him. Somehow he doubted the earl would ever view a man who made his living with a sword to be suitable for the lovely Lady Cassandra, and he had the uneasy insight that this was not that simple.

Still, an interruption now would no doubt not be welcome and he had always wondered, if it came down to it, who would win if he and Christopher ever came to blows. He was slightly taller and weighed a little more, but his old friend was maybe the most resourceful human being he had ever known, and a skilled fighter hand to hand. There simply was no taking Ives by surprise—it didn’t happen and had kept him alive through some very precarious situations.

No, Marcus wasn’t going to try and stop what had probably gone too far already.

He wasn’t even sure he would if he could. Christopher was
protective
and he’d never seen that before.

This
was going to be complicated.

Damn all.

“Eavesdropping?”

Marcus turned, wine bottle still in hand. His smile was wry. “No.” He signaled Captain Haldon that they should move down the deck a little. As soon as they were far enough away, he murmured, “I was going to bring the bottle of wine Christopher requested, but I think he is much more interested in a different type of activity at the moment. I must concede the wager.”

The captain chuckled. “Did you ever really think—”

“I did,” Marcus interrupted but then smiled ruefully after a moment. He admitted grudgingly, “Well, maybe at first I did. But he’s been in hell on this voyage and note how he refused to leave her behind. I hope this doesn’t destroy him. Usually he’s careful to avoid trouble and her father is very powerful.”

The captain tilted his head toward his cabin. “Since they aren’t going to enjoy that fine vintage, shall we go back to my cabin and drink it ourselves instead?”

That seemed appropriate enough and served Christopher right.

Marcus shrugged. “I’ll be more than happy consume his favorite wine.”

“Or take his place with the winsome young lady, eh?” The captain gave him a sly wink.

“I’m not that foolhardy. First he would skewer me, and second, while she is delightful in every way a female can be, I would not be invited into her bed. From the very beginning of our little adventure, she has looked at him differently. If I had a romantic soul, which I do not, I would attribute their meeting to fate. Instead, I am just afraid he has made the mistake of a lifetime.”

“Ives can defend himself.”

“Against her father, yes,” Marcus agreed quietly, thinking about what might happen when they arrived in England. “But against her, I somehow doubt it.”

It was then the captain turned into the breeze, his face suddenly remote. He touched the railing of the yacht and then stood still again a minute before he turned around. “Drink the wine yourself. I think we are in for a devil of a storm. I can smell it coming and I suspect I’ll need my wits about me.”

Chapter 8

He’d lost his mind, but at least he was going to go mad in the most pleasurable way possible. Christopher stood and fumbled with the fastenings on his breeches, freeing his straining erection and taking in a breath of relief. The urge was, especially after the days of self-denial, to lower himself on top of her and satisfy his starving body at once, but that wasn’t really an option.

She was prepared for consummation now that she was wet and relaxed, but sexual congress was not just about physical satisfaction, or at least in this case he didn’t think it was. Her eyes were deep pools, and the acquiescence implied in her supine position gave him pause.

His sense of self-preservation was usually honed to a razor-sharp edge. He was a decade older, and infinitely more worldly than the still innocent young woman lying in delicious dishabille in the tumbled sheets, so he knew better than to take this further.

She looked a little dazed from her first experience with sexual release, her luscious body languid and flushed.

But he wasn’t going to be wise.

To his own amazement he wanted to claim her, to make her irrevocably his forever. As her first lover a voice in his brain whispered, he would never be forgotten.

“That was…what did you…” She stopped as she finally seemed aware enough to focus on his prominent erection, her eyes widening.

In response he slid on top of her, not wanting to give her time to be alarmed. He nibbled on her ear. “We’ll fit together perfectly. Your body is ready for me, and as you can see, I am very ready for you.”

“I didn’t know.”

His laugh was an exhale across her smooth temple as he adjusted his position, using his knees to urge her legs apart. “There are some advantages to being male, but one disadvantage is that we cannot conceal sexual arousal. I want to give you pleasure and have no doubt you will give it to me, so what you can do is to just relax as much as possible for this first time.”

“And trust.” Her laugh was breathless and one slim hand settled on his shoulder, her eyes drifting shut as he positioned himself for penetration, the swollen tip of his cock nudging her female opening.