Sapphire Dream (12 page)
Authors: Pamela Montgomerie
He half woke to the feel of soft lips against his bare shoulder. His wildcat. Kissing, nuzzling, her warm, damp tongue darting out to mark him. He half remembered where he was. Half didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was on fire for the woman in his arms. And by the sounds coming from her throat as she ran her small hand through the hair on his chest, she returned his ardor.
That same hand slid over his shoulder and into his hair as she tipped her face to his, seeking his kiss. He needed to taste her. He needed to feel her hard nipple in the palm of his hand. As his mouth covered hers, she opened to him and their tongues met and slid together, igniting a need inside him that raged.
He was ablaze, unable to get enough. His hand found her breast, cupping and kneading the gentle swell that had obsessed him, while his lips moved from her mouth to taste her cheek and jaw. She tasted salty and womanly, like a sea nymph should.
His lips moved to her neck and she shivered, but not with cold this time. The moan that escaped her throat was pure desire. Raw, feminine desire that sent his hunger for her spiraling out of control.
She wrapped one bare leg around his hips, opening herself to him. He was helpless to deny her, knowing he’d die if he didn’t bury himself inside her soon.
He pushed her gently onto her back, sliding his finger into her woman’s sheath to test her readiness for him. She was open and wet. Ready.
Wanting.
Shaking with desire, Rourke moved over her as she opened her silken thighs for him. He guided himself to her slick opening, then slid inside her, feeling a rightness he could barely fathom, let alone understand. She fit him like a glove. Filled him with a glimpse of peace. Of brilliant perfection.
Wanting.
Shaking with desire, Rourke moved over her as she opened her silken thighs for him. He guided himself to her slick opening, then slid inside her, feeling a rightness he could barely fathom, let alone understand. She fit him like a glove. Filled him with a glimpse of peace. Of brilliant perfection.
She thrust her hips hard against him, letting him know without words that his gentleness was neither needed nor particularly welcome. With a groan of pure pleasure, he pulled back and buried himself deeply within her again. Never had anything felt so right, so good.
She bucked against him, driving him with her need.
“Harder,” she begged, her voice rough with disuse. The sound of her voice seemed to startle her.
He thrust into her as she demanded, harder and harder, his body’s excitement rising with every thrust.
It was several moments before he realized the wanton in his arms had turned to stone.
The confusion had barely registered in his passion-clouded brain when she turned wild beneath him.
“Get off me!” Her voice echoed in the small stable.
One of the horses whinnied in alarm.
“Wheesht, lass!” Rourke slammed his hand over her mouth even as his body continued to drive into her, desperate for completion.
She bit him as she bucked. His every instinct cried for release, but she pushed and pummeled until her desperation forced its way through the madness. With herculean effort, he pulled out of her and rolled, shaking, onto his back. He tore deep, ragged breaths into his lungs as unabated need roared like a fire in his loins.
Covering his face with his hands, he willed the throbbing pain of his arousal to abate, willed some semblance of sanity to return as he listened to her scramble away, out of his reach.
What just happened? She’d been open and ready for him. Crazy for him.
Harder.
Harder.
He’d not dreamed the word.
But perhaps she had. She’d kissed him, initiated the joining in her sleep. And he knew precisely when she’d woken. At the sound of her own voice.
Harder.
Harder.
The soft sound of her crying carried from the far edge of the stall.
Bloody hell.
“I didna take your maidenhead, Wildcat. I didna mean for that to happen, but ’twas not my doing alone. I awoke to the feel of your tongue upon my shoulder.”
“Don’t touch me.” Her voice was low, shattered. “I don’t want you to touch me.”
He stared into the night as something withered in his chest. All he wanted to do was get away from here. Away from Scotland. Away from this woman.
As he ran a shaking hand through his damp hair, the full import of what he’d almost done hit him. He’d nearly spilled his seed inside her. What kind of madness . . . ? He’d been half asleep. Unthinking.
If not for her awakening, he could have gotten her with child, binding himself to her for all eternity. The thought made him go cold. He had to find Hegarty, for he wanted nothing more to do with her.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Except to bury himself deep inside her and finish what they’d started.
God
, he wanted to do that. Instead, he sat up and pulled his wet breeks up his now dry legs. The discomfort was almost enough to temper his raging need. Almost.
God
, he wanted to do that. Instead, he sat up and pulled his wet breeks up his now dry legs. The discomfort was almost enough to temper his raging need. Almost.
He sat on the bare stable floor as far from her as he could, and leaned his head against the wall, a sense of doom enveloping him like a fine, malevolent mist.
Brenna woke with a start.
Rourke was standing over her looking grim as he dropped her clothes onto her blanket-wrapped body. “Get dressed. ’Tis morning. We must leave before someone finds us.” He turned his back to her and left the stall.
His voice was cold this morning, unlike last night when they’d . . .
Squeezing her eyes closed, she buried her face in her hands as memory and humiliation washed over her.
Last night.
She’d dreamed she was having the most incredible sex of her life, then woke to discover it was no dream. She’d panicked. The feel of him on top of her, his weight pressing her into the hay, had triggered her terror and she’d lost it.
Last night.
She’d dreamed she was having the most incredible sex of her life, then woke to discover it was no dream. She’d panicked. The feel of him on top of her, his weight pressing her into the hay, had triggered her terror and she’d lost it.
How was she ever going to face him again?
Her whole body hot with humiliation, she sat and pulled the coarse blanket tight around her. She’d been wild with need for him. Out of control until . . .
Brenna shuddered. The terror lingered like a bad aftertaste, making her feel shaky and disjointed even as the unreleased tension still throbbed between her legs.
God, she needed to get out of here. She wanted to go home, to her own world, her own time, where she didn’t have soldiers in blue coats ready to plunge knives in her heart and where she wasn’t tempted to make disastrous love to handsome pirates. But to get home she had to find Hegarty.
With unsteady hands, she eased out of the blanket’s warmth and reached for her T-shirt, then scrambled into the rest of her damp clothing. Running her fingers through her hair, she grimaced at the sticky, salty feel. The first thing she was going to do when she got back to civilization was take a shower. Her stomach growled. Or maybe the shower would come second. First she’d find food.
She pushed open the stall’s low door to find Rourke waiting for her, his hard good looks diminished not at all by the wrinkled clothes and his weather-beaten appearance. If anything, he looked more appealing. Definitely less civilized.
Their gazes met only for a second, but the look in his eyes shot straight to her core. Accusation, certainly, but heat, too, as if he were remembering what it had felt like to be inside her. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks. Damp heat gathered low in her belly as she remembered the exciting fullness of him as he’d driven into her.
He turned and started off without a word, expecting her to follow. Or not.
Brenna pressed her fingers to her eyes and tried to banish her X-rated thoughts. Oh man, she did
not
want him. She didn’t.
not
want him. She didn’t.
They walked in silence through the small town, tension and unresolved passion thick between them. The sun was up, though not high in the sky. The mist lay heavy on the water, its ghostly fingers sliding through the alleys and streets. Brenna shivered from the damp clothes and prayed for an unseasonably warm day.
She glanced around her as they walked beneath the overhanging upper stories of the buildings lining the street. Dunhaven was cute, though it would have been more pleasant without the ripe smell of decaying fish. The buildings ringed the small harbor, attached like some kind of medieval strip mall. The line was broken only by alleys in a couple of places. She could see other buildings, or maybe homes, on the hillside rising beyond.
Her stomach rumbled and she pressed her hand to it. Humiliated, hungry, and sexually frustrated, with painfully blistered feet. Great way to start the day. She prayed Rourke was searching for food, but wasn’t sure how they were going to eat when they didn’t have any money. Then again, he
was
a pirate.
was
a pirate.
“How are we going to find Hegarty?”
Rourke threw her a disgusted look and kept walking. He didn’t have to say the words for her to hear them loud and clear. It was her fault they’d lost Hegarty in the first place.
The aroma of food suddenly broke through the dead fish smell as they approached a door. Above swung a classic tavern sign: The Ram and Lamb. Rourke pushed the door open and went inside.
Brenna followed him through the low-ceilinged, smoky room. The smoke emanated from the hearth rather than the patrons, of which there were few. A pair of fishermen in the center of the room laughed and chatted with the waitress in their thick Scottish brogues. In the back corner sat a lone, familiar-looking man. One of Rourke’s pirates, though she’d had no dealings with this one.
Thank God.
He waved toward them, then nervously looked away.
“How did you know he was going to be here?” Brenna asked.
“I didn’t.” Rourke pulled out a chair and sat across from the man. “Mr. Baker.”
Brenna slipped into one of the empty chairs, her mouth watering as she took in the bounty laid out in front of the silent pirate. The plate in front of Baker was laden with eggs and ham, a bowl of what looked like watery oatmeal, and a small loaf of bread. Rourke grabbed the plate of eggs and shoved it in front of her, then stole the bread for himself.
“Eat.” He lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “What happened to my ship, Mr. Baker?”
Brenna dug into the food without protest. He hadn’t forgotten her after all. No wonder the timid pirate had looked at him nervously. He must have sensed the imminent demise of his breakfast.
“When you dove . . . well”—he colored and looked away—“the lads . . . they did not think me capable of leading the ship, sir. They let Mr. Cutter out of the hold and ordered me to stand down or they’d throw me off the ship.” His pink cheeks turned red. “I cannot swim.”
Rourke said nothing, just nodded and kept eating.
“Mr. Cutter directed us into port here,” the man continued. “Then he left the ship to have a word with a pair of soldiers on the docks. Several hours later, Slains’s soldiers were swarming the decks.”
Brenna grabbed the man’s mug and took a long sip of ale. Funny how manners disappeared when one was starved.
“And my crew?”
“They let us go. The lads are in town awaiting another ship to sign aboard.”
“Hegarty?”
Mr. Baker set a small leather pouch in front of Rourke that rattled with coins when it hit the table. A letter quickly joined the purse.
Brenna glanced at the latter with dismay. She needed to find Hegarty. A letter was not a good sign.
“He made me vow to wait for you here or he’d turn me into a toad. He said to give you these.”
“Where’s the rest of it?” Rourke growled, his eyes suddenly narrowed, his expression fierce.
The poor man paled and visibly shrank back in his seat. “ ’ Twas all he gave me, your—Captain. I vow it.” He leaned over and picked up something from the floor. “I brought your boots and weapons. You left them on the deck when you dove into the water.”
Rourke traded the borrowed boots for his own, then shoved his own gun into his belt beside the waterlogged one he’d taken from the bluecoat when they first got to shore. As a serving maid set mugs of ale in front of them, Rourke grabbed his sailor’s oatmeal and began shoveling it into his mouth. When he was through, he picked up the letter and turned it over.
“The seal is broken.”
“ ’ Twasn’t me, Captain.”
Rourke frowned as he pulled out the letter and read it. The frown turned into a scowl. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Hegarty?” Brenna asked, drawing his cold gaze.
“Aye. He’s left. We are to meet him”—he visibly clenched his jaw—“several days’ ride from here.”
Brenna made a croak of dismay.
Days?
She couldn’t possibly stay here for
days
.
Days?
She couldn’t possibly stay here for
days
.
“Captain?” Mr. Baker nodded pointedly at her. “The Earl of Slains’s soldiers were asking about your lady. They’re turning the town inside out looking for her.”
Brenna’s mug stilled halfway to her mouth. “Why would they be looking for
me
?” Unless they’d somehow figured out she and Rourke were the ones who’d killed the bluecoats.
me
?” Unless they’d somehow figured out she and Rourke were the ones who’d killed the bluecoats.
Rourke drained his mug in a single gulp, then rose and grabbed her wrist. “Come. We must be away.”
Brenna glanced longingly at the few remaining bites of ham. “Do we have to—?”
They’d barely taken two steps when the door burst open behind them.
Other books
Intel Wars by Matthew M. Aid
The Gypsy King by Rush, Morgan
Aries Revealed by Carter, Mina
The Joy of Hate by Greg Gutfeld
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls by Steve Hockensmith
Nashville SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood: Nashville SEALs by Hamilton, Sharon
Motion to Dismiss by Jonnie Jacobs
Prince Amos by Gary Paulsen
Red Rose by Mary Balogh
Of Stars & Lies by R. M. Grace
