Captured (26 page)

Insecurities Devon never knew she had suddenly rose to greet her. Her small size had always been an advantage before, for it made her look younger when she and Uncle Monty were working a con. But she wondered now if Cole like the way she looked. Or if he preferred women with lusher hips and fuller breasts. When he didn’t say anything, only continued to stare at her, she reached for her dress, anxious to cover herself.

“Please, Devon,” Cole whispered hoarsely, stopping her. “You’re so beautiful, I just need to look at you for a moment. Is that all right?”

The tension slowly drained out of her. “I’m not too—”

“You’re perfect,” he answered firmly.

Thrilled and embarrassed by the compliment, she reached for him, running her hands beneath his shirt. “Now can I see you?” It took far less time to remove his clothing than hers. Within mere seconds, Cole had torn off his shirt and pants and flung away his boots. He knelt above her in naked, golden, all-male splendor, giving her a full and complete view of what she’d only seen hints of before. Every inch of his body was corded, sinewy muscle, raw masculine beauty. Her gaze traveled down to the most intimate part of him, then quickly moved away as courage deserted her.

Devon wasn’t comfortable in unfamiliar situations, and this was utterly foreign. Cole was so big, so strong; such a contrast to herself in so many ways. Years of instinct to protect herself, to shield herself from the unknown, suddenly took root. He must have seen it in her eyes, for he went completely still, something that looked akin to pain flashing across his face. “Devon, if you’ve changed your mind—”

“No,” she said immediately, thinking how green she must look to him,, how naive and unsophisticated. She reached out for him, then hesitated, suddenly lost. She lifted her gaze to his, searching his eyes. “Is it all right if I touch you?”

“Yes,” he said, his breath coming out in a rush. Devon realized then how still he was holding himself, how badly he wanted her to do just that. She placed her hands on his shoulders and felt his muscles leap beneath her palms in response. His reaction not only amazed her but gave her a quiet sense of power, knowing that her touch could affect him the way his affected her. She moved slowly, taking her time in exploring his rugged male physique. Familiarizing herself with the hot, rough velvet feel of his skin and the clean, masculine scent of his body. She traced the broad expanse of his chest, weaving her fingers through the coarse, spongy blond hair she found there, then let her palms drift downward, over the flat, rippled muscles that lined his stomach. She drew her hands over his lean hips, the firm curve of his buttocks, and his rock-solid thighs, never losing contact with his skin, turning her aimless exploration of his body into one long, lingering caress.

Cole remained rigidly still, letting her explore his body,: sensing instinctively that this was what she needed to do. Her confidence slowly returned. Touching him gave Devon the time she needed to accept and adjust to the fact that this was still Cole, the Cole she’d always felt so safe with, and the simple fact that they were naked wouldn’t change that. As her fear lessened, her curiosity returned. She glanced down at him and asked, “Can I touch you…there?”

A muscle leaped in his jaw as he nodded tightly.

Her hand moved down, and her fingers lightly traced his erection. The skin felt softer than the rest of him, but every bit as hard and rigid. As she grasped him delicately in her hand, she saw a shudder run through him. “Devon, please—” he rasped out.

She looked up at him, then jerked her hand back, alarmed by the expression of pure agony on his face. “Did I break it?”

He made a sound that was part laughter, part groan. “No, you didn’t… I love the way you touch me. But I need time, don’t want to rush…” Realizing he was stammering, he wrapped his arm around her waist and lowered her to the blanket. “Let me love you, Devon.”

His words found their way straight to her heart, breaking through all her defenses, crashing through the barriers she’d hidden behind for so long. Leaving her more open, more vulnerable than she’d ever been in her life.

Cole pulled her instantly back into his embrace. His hands moved wildly over her body, as if desperate to make up for the time when he hadn’t allowed himself to touch her. He traced the rounded curve of her buttocks, the silky smoothness of her thighs, the gentle curve of her hips, and the tiny span of her waist. He cupped her breasts, brushing his palms over her nipples in a light, teasing touch until they grew hard and firm beneath his hand. Devon arched her back, her breasts straining against his palms as the motion grew rougher, faster. He gently squeezed her nipples between his fingers, then leaned forward, bringing a firm, rosy peak into his mouth.

Shock and delight screamed through her as Cole shifted from one breast to the other, giving each the same loving attention. Unlike the rough, gentle touch of his hands, his mouth felt slick and hot as he licked and teased and suckled. Then, when the pleasure became so great that Devon thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, he moved lower, trailing hot, lavish kisses over her ribs, across her stomach and the tops of her thighs. He covered her body with his mouth, claiming her with a savage hunger that found every sensitive inch of her.

She echoed his movements, letting him lead, worshipping his body as he was hers, loving him with her mouth, her tongue, her hands, lost in the sensations she was giving and being given. It was all so new, so amazing, and yet so incredibly right. Skin on skin, male to female, touching, tasting, feeling. Primal passion and hot sensuality… Cole’s hand drifted between her legs, his fingers gently probing the warm wetness he found there.

Devon tensed. Heat coiled tightly in her belly and then spread, making her limbs quiver, shaken by a desperate need she could feel but not identify. As Cole captured her mouth with his, she locked her arms around his neck, returning his kiss with a fervent, wanton longing. Her body molded itself to his, as if begging for more. Hunger she barely recognized rose within her once again, laced now with stunning urgency and sweet, possessive fire.

Cole drew back and raised himself on his forearms above her, the tip of his erection poised at her entrance. His eyes locked on hers, he slowly inched his way into the warm, wet place deep inside her. Devon’s eyes grew wide with wonder as she felt her body stretch to accommodate him. Then, as quickly as she adjusted to the incredible sensation of having him inside her, he pulled back, leaving her achingly empty. “Devon, I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, his breath fanning her neck. Before she could figure out why he was apologizing, or why he’d stopped, he lifted his lean hips and pushed forward, filling her completely.

A sharp, stinging sensation tore through her. Devon froze, shocked by the intrusion of pain, realizing belatedly why Cole had stopped. Even now, he was poised above her, not moving, as if afraid he would hurt her again, the strain of holding back etched on his features. Tenderness poured through her, along with the driving desire to give him everything he was giving her. As the pain ebbed away, she reached up, running her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. “Cole,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”

An expression she’d never seen before crossed his face. Something darker than passion, deeper than lust. He stared down at her, his eyes burning with golden fire. He leaned down, his lips slanting over hers in a kiss of such heat and passion, such silent eloquence of need, it seemed to scorch her very soul.

Then he began to move. Slowly at first, moving almost teasingly within her, until they found the ancient rhythm that brought them together as one. Silent wonder exploded within Devon as she arched her hips to meet his. She felt her body straining, aching for something she couldn’t define. Each long, loving stroke carried her closer, nearer to what she needed.

She dug her fingers into Cole’s shoulders and he moved faster, deeper, responding to her silent plea. At last he sent her over the precipice she’d been struggling to reach. Every nerve in her body seemed to take flight, exploding in a wonderful, shattering bliss. Pleasure shot up her spine and raced down her legs. She called out Cole’s name in a low, throaty groan she barely recognized as her own. The moment she did, he tightened his arms around her, then drove deep inside her, a shudder running through his large frame as he poured himself into her, at last finding his own release.

Cole abruptly collapsed on top of her, then rolled over, taking Devon with him. She lay splayed across his chest, still intimately joined. His heart was pounding in rapid tempo beneath her ear, his breath coming in deep gulps. He ran his hands gently over her back, as if memorizing the feel of her soft curves. After a few minutes, he asked softly, “Did I hurt you, Devon?”

“No,” she whispered, her throat aching at the concern she saw in his eyes. In fact, just the opposite was true, she thought, filled with bittersweet regret. He’d given her more than she ever could have imagined. While she lay in his arms like this, she felt so safe, so protected, so… loved. There was no other word for it. Loved. As if every silent wish she’d ever wished had momentarily come true. Devon was overwhelmed by the emotions bubbling to the surface, like a pot that had been left too long to boil. She felt tears sting her eyes and quickly lowered her head before he could see them.

She was too late. She felt Cole tense beneath her, then he gently tipped her chin up. His face went dark with regret at the sight of the wet tears streaming down her cheeks. “I did hurt you—”

“No.” She shook her head, fighting to control her emotions, trying to find the words to express herself. “I wasn’t prepared, I didn’t know… I didn’t think you would touch me like that.”

Panic and self-loathing filled Cole’s eyes. “Devon, I’m sorry, I thought you said you knew how it was done. I shouldn’t have—”

“No, not the way you touched my body.”

He studied her, clearly upset and thoroughly confused. “Then what—”

“The way you touched my heart.”

Cole stared at her, completely stunned. Finally he seemed recovered enough to speak. “Devon,” he began softly, reaching for her.

“Cole,” she said, smiling absurdly through her tears. She knew she was making a mess of things, but she didn’t care. “Do we have to stop?”

Devon shifted onto her side, watching Cole as he slept. They’d made love a second time, with exquisite tenderness, slowly and gently, with less of the explosive passion of the first time. Much to her relief, she’d been able to keep her emotions under control. She wondered if it was simply the pure physical release that had shaken her so, but discarded the notion as quickly as it had occurred.

What had shattered her composure was an emotion that felt incredibly like love, bursting open within her. She hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t expected it, and certainly hadn’t been prepared for it. She had no place for that emotion in her life. And neither did Cole‌—‌at least not as far as she was concerned.

Devon slipped out from beneath his arm, which was flung casually over her waist. She stood and padded softly around their camp, allowing the light of the moon to guide her as she collected bits and pieces of her scattered clothing. Her body, sore from making love, ached in unfamiliar places as she dressed. She ignored the discomfort and saw to her horse, using her already strained muscles to lift and secure the saddle.

That task quietly finished, she walked back to camp, staring at Cole where he lay sleeping. His breath came deep and regular, telling her he hadn’t been disturbed by her motions. She knew he hadn’t slept at all the night before, and suspected he’d slept very little at the boardinghouse. No wonder he was so exhausted. He’d probably passed those nights trying to decide what was the right and honorable thing to do about her.

The only trouble was, Devon couldn’t abide by his decision. If Cole didn’t deliver her to Old Capitol, he would likely face court-martial, and that was a risk she couldn’t let him take. Nor would she let him become a laughingstock by trying to pass her off as a lady among his friends. No matter what Cole said, Devon knew better. For a few days, they might believe it, but with time her past would come back to haunt her. It always did.

She wouldn’t burden Cole with that. She owed him at least that much. If she escaped, he might face a slight reprimand, but that would be it. Perhaps he’d be angry at first to discover that she’d left, but in time he would be thankful. It relieved him of any obligation he might feel toward her. He could dismiss her completely and get back to his own life, back to the world where he belonged. A world of which she would never have any part.

She glanced up at the night sky and saw that she had a few hours left until dawn. Devon stared at Cole for one last time, committing every line and detail of his rugged face and glorious body to her memory. She walked to where she’d left her horse and mounted quietly. Her final words were a whisper, barely audible above the wind. “Good-bye, Cole McRae.”

The Pig’s Head Inn was no different than any of the other dozen or so waterfront taverns Cole had visited since reaching St. George two days ago‌—‌dirty, crowded, teeming with people from all walks of life. Rebel sailors on shore leave mingled with blockade runners, businessmen, prostitutes, and Yankee spies. They all merged together in the giddy atmosphere created by tremendous risk and sudden riches. This small Bermuda tavern did have one particular distinction, however: it was Cole’s last chance to find Devon.

He’d already scoured every other waterfront dive, hotel, and restaurant on the island, coming up without a trace of her, which only served to intensify his nagging fear that perhaps he’d been wrong in coining to Bermuda. Perhaps Devon had gone to Nassau in the Bahamas instead, another notorious port for blockade runners. There, as here, she’d have her choice of dozens of wide-bellied cargo ships to take her back to England, along with the cotton they’d smuggled out of the South.

She’d left no trail, disappearing from his life with the same explosive intensity with which she’d entered. Cole remembered with grim clarity the morning he’d awakened back in Virginia when the emptiness beside him told him she was gone. Christ, did she still believe that he was taking her to Old Capitol? After the night they’d spent together, how was it possible for her not to trust him?