Hot Silk (8 page)

“Oh no, you mustn’t—my legs will melt and I’ll fall.”

Raw, masculine laughter teased her. “I would never let you fall, Grace.”

She looked down, both touched and aroused by his smile, his almost boyish delight as he lifted her hems. “No, you tried to raise me up, didn’t you? To give me courage. And you did.”

He stood, taking her skirts up with him. In welcome, she parted her thighs. She watched his large, scarred, tanned hand slide into the lacy white slit of her drawers.

“You were one of the most courageous woman I’ve known.”

“I can hardly believe that.”

“I admire women who defy idiotic rules to take what they want and deserve. I’ve had women hold a pistol on me to protect their ship, to protect children—not knowing I’d never hurt an innocent. Hell, I admired those women. Just as I admire you.”

His finger rubbed over her clit, pressing to the very peak, and her legs melted like butter beneath a scorching sun. Grace grasped his wrist. She should push him away, but instead she clung to him, aware of his long, fine bones, soft, bronzed skin, and silken gold hairs. His finger drew slow, deliberate circles.

“I simper at balls now,” she managed. “I lie every day of my life.”

Moaning, she arched her hips and wriggled her tight, aching clit against his fingertip. Oh, it was so good. Really, why should he hold up carriages? He could use this skill to have anything he wanted.

“For your sisters, sweeting. I understand that.”

“Not brave and daring, though,” she breathed.

“There is nothing more brave than putting someone else above yourself.”

“I would have thought you would see that as a weakness.”

“Perhaps the fact that I cannot is my weakness. I wanted you and I kidnapped you to bring you here. When I had no right. I’m a selfish man. A weak man. But I refused to do the honorable thing and never see you again.”

God…God…his finger flicked lazily over her clit and she cried out.

How could this be? She could touch herself this way. She could walk away from him and pleasure her own body. But she was a slave to the soul-melting pleasure of his touch. Her own touch would not satisfy. Not now.

Not anymore.

No, it would. It would have to.

She wanted to move back, but her feet would not leave the carpet. She stood, lashes shielding her eyes, and let his fingers play magic on her slick quim. “Would staying with you be brave or weak?” she asked. “Brave because you want it, or weak because I want it?”

“Brave for both of us, I think.”

His hands were at her buttons. This gown, the height of fashion, was a dress unlike those she used to wear. It was intended to be dealt with by a lady’s maid. He fiddled with the buttons, his fingers brushing the sensitive line of her spine as he opened them.

Her gown fell.

She was staying. Now that she was undressed, she couldn’t run.

Her lungs expanded as he untied the bow at her corset and expertly loosened the stays. “I like this,” he murmured. “Stripping away your layers. Revealing the beautiful woman confined within the proper young lady.”

“I’m not proper. I have to pretend to be.”

His fingers closed around the boned sides of her loose corset and drew it down. The hard stays skimmed along the gauzy shift that covered her rounded hips. “What do you intend to do, Grace Hamilton, with the rest of your life?”

He was behind her, entrancing her with his smell—a dash of spicy cologne atop his sweat-dampened skin.

“I have not thought that far, Mr. Sharpe. What do you intend to do?”

“I live in the here and now, Grace. I cannot even begin to guess what I’ll do.”

Her corset was on the floor, sagging around her stockings, looking forlorn, half-propped on its edge with its lacing in disarray. She stepped out of it, lifting up her shift. With a quick whisk upward, she bared herself—every rounded, jiggling inch.

She didn’t know what she expected—

But it was not to be swept into his arms and carried to the settee, while he lavished kisses on her throat that made her toes curl and her fingers grip his arms.

Biceps. Hard, big, bulging biceps. Just as with his rump, her fingers barely made a dent.

Fluttering around her face, his hair was a teasing veil as he lowered her to the silky cushions. Grace fell back, wanton and sensual, and parted her legs. She stared openly at his jutting cock. A trail of silvery fluid leaked from the tip. “The here and now. I can see why that is so important, Mr. Sharpe.”

His knee pressed onto the settee, his hand draped over the back, and he lifted over her so his golden chest blotted out the sun. She gently traced his new scars—odd, that she would feel proprietary about his body. That she would know these scars had not been there before. She could barely remember Lord Wesley. Why she had wanted him. What she had ever thought she loved about him.

But she could remember Devlin Sharpe’s scars.

This was madness.

What if someone came in?

No, he’d locked the door, hadn’t he—to ensure she couldn’t get out.

“Don’t think,” he whispered, bending to her right breast with intent.

He’d said that before. Their first time—their first night. That was the only time, in two years, she hadn’t thought. Since then, all she did was think. She couldn’t
do
anything else.

She reached down and wrapped her fingers around his hot, hard staff—velvety, but rigid beneath. And thick—enough to stretch her fingers so they would not reach around him. They shared a smile and it stunned her how their smiles revealed their…history, familiarity, and friendship as much as lust. Holding his hard length firmly, she led him to her quim as she took charge and used the swollen head to tease.

She brushed her clit and writhed with the pleasure. Arching up, she pushed her breasts toward him and his mouth sucked in her nipple, taking it all inside.

Don’t think.

Grace squirmed, moaned, bit at her fingers. She’d forgotten how wonderful this could be. And he was exploring. Enjoying himself with her plump flesh and hard nipples as he slid on his sheath. Kissing her nipples in different ways so she was pounding her hips beneath him and pumping up to press to his cock. His hands cradled her large breasts; his lips and tongue sent her soaring as she had not done for two years.

Grace closed her eyes, stroking his chest, his shoulders, following the bulges of his arms. Savoring him. This time she knew to remember everything. Textures. Scent. Sound.

It would make every orgasm so bittersweet to know she had to memorize everything, but she had to.

“I want you,” she whispered as she lifted her lids. Struck mute, she saw him surrounded by a golden glow of summer sunlight.

“We belong this way,” he promised as he eased his hips forward, and nosed his erection between her drenched lips. “Naked. Together. Making love.”

She hooked her arms around his neck. His long hair spilled over her hands.
Yes.
She wanted to say
yes.
But they didn’t belong together.

God—he filled her so. For two years she’d been empty. She’d been surrounded by family yet hopelessly alone.

She wasn’t alone now. A soft, sighing giggle escaped her lips as Devlin slowly drew back and thrust forward, inching in as though he had all the time in the world, while her fingernails gouged in his skin and she longed to have him deep inside.

His arm bracketed her, he nuzzled her throat, and she snuggled beneath him. He was pumping into her, and she lifted to meet every thrust. His gaze locked with hers, stealing her breath. Theirs was an erotic dance, a joining—she felt so completely joined with him.

Heat flared between their bodies. Sweat coated her skin and his. His chest slid along her sensitive breasts; his hard stomach bumped her belly. He shifted his legs so his firm thighs rested on either side of hers. Her soft inner thighs clamped together, trapping his hot, sticky shaft as he thrust.

“I want to ride high, sweetheart, to make you come, to make you explode—”

Each slick pass teased her clit. His cock was hot fire inside her. For two years, she’d had to quench her fires, control them. Even the slightest sensual interest in a man had frightened her—what if she was weak, made a mistake, hurt her family?

With Devlin, she could let her fiery nature consume her. He hadn’t captured her, he’d set her free. Just as he’d promised. “Grab my breasts,” she moaned. “My nipples…I so need your hands on my nipples. And your cock—thrust it deep—”

Her voice shocked her, the sultry alluring quality, the confidence that sang in it. He did exactly as she wished, rolling her pink nipples between thumbs and forefingers. Sliding deep, finding—

The most remarkable place that melted her. Turned her entire body into boiling honey.

Oh, he was so big. Big rumbling chest over her, big cock taking her completely, big muscles to brace him and let him fill her to her womb—

Her quim fluttered around him. Her climax rolled upon her like that—a silky feeling, like heaven and sunlight blending together for her delight. A flame roared up in all that sensual pleasure and raced through her. Her body pulsed, her cunny gripped him, her muscles all tensed at once in one, glorious, overwhelming burst of pleasure.

Climax.

He jolted on her, bucking.
Grace.
Her name came to her ears on a ravaged groan.

She clung to him, her arms tight around his waist and she rode through her climax as she reveled in his.

Afterward he bowed his head so his amber hair fell forward and his damp forehead touched hers. “Grace, angel,” he rasped, “I’m a weak man. I don’t want to let you go.”

S
he looked so confused, holding her shift in her clenched hands and staring out the window at the tranquil gardens and the wild fields.

“What’s wrong?” Devlin lay naked on the sofa and he watched Grace as she stood in the middle of discarded clothes with a lost look that tugged at his heart.

“What did I just do?”

“We made love. You climaxed and so did I. Now, it’s time for some tea—and a bath for the two of us.”

Her head jerked up, her tousled blond hair flowing around her like angels’ wings. “The here and now,” she said, but her voice was flat.

She was feeling regret, he suspected. He swung his legs abruptly to the floor and stood up. “What’s wrong with the damned here and now? I enjoyed myself and I know you did too.”

“I made another mistake. That’s what I had vowed not to do. Not to make another mistake, but you touched me, and I forgot everything except for your
damned
here and now.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand, Grace. What’s the harm? That was one of the most passionate bouts I’ve had—when we come together, it’s like an explosion of gunpowder. That means something, Grace.”

Now she shook her head, sending her mussed curls dancing. “We desire each other. I’m a woman and you enjoy women. But there’s no…there is just no point, is there?”

Utterly mystified, Devlin turned toward the table that held the brandy and sherry. He needed another drink. What point was there supposed to be?

In his days as a pirate, the scourge of the Caribbean seas, he’d had several proper ladies come to his bed, hot and lusty and eager; and then, in the cold light of morning, they’d been ashamed of themselves. He could not convince them that they had every right to enjoy their bodies and sex, so he’d shrugged, given them a generous gift of silks or jewels, and sent them on their way. Had they cried over their “mistake” for the rest of their lives? Probably. But he suspected that most thought of him with an illicit thrill in their most secret fantasies. Fantasies they did not want to admit even to themselves—

He had a full tumbler of brandy before him without even noticing how much he’d poured. He glanced over his shoulder. Grace was squeezing the life out of her innocent shift. Her knuckles were bone-white with the exertion.

“I made a mistake,” she mumbled. “And I’ve made another.”

“I don’t see how you have, Grace.”

She had absently squashed her shift into a ball. “You don’t understand.”

“That’s true enough,” he muttered.

A flush washed over her cheeks. “I should regret what we’ve done, but I don’t. You asked me about my future—I really do not know what it will be. I made love to two men. It was a sin. It will always be wrong. But I don’t want to live the rest of my life paying for it. Is that wrong?”

He strode to her side and pried her shift free. “Lord, but you are beautiful—”

It was not what he’d meant to say, but the sight of her, limned by gold, honest and vulnerable and real, stole his senses and put the truth in his mouth. “You are.” Damn, how could he make her see sense when he knew how brutally the rules of English society were drummed into her brain?

“You don’t have any sins to pay for, love,” he said. “You gave of yourself. That’s never a sin.” Shaking his head, he turned to the door. “I’ll find you a robe. Then I want to show you why you deserve pleasure.”

A snap of his fingers must have brought one of his men—Grace could tell by the amused, deep voice that joshed and teased on the other side of the door. Devlin held the door to obscure the view into the room and Grace slipped on her wrinkled shift. Compared to being naked, she was far more decent, but she was still scandalously exposed.

She smoothed down the fabric, her hands shaking. What had she been thinking?

She was supposed to subdue her wild, wanton, bohemian nature—a plan she had thrown away after a few minutes with Devlin Sharpe.

Now she was in a house filled with immoral men and wanton women. Could she really trust Devlin to keep her safe, when she knew nothing about him? Nothing more than that he stole, that he had killed a man in a duel, and that he pirated ships.

And made love with a skill that made her soul melt and her heart and body take flight.

“Dinner, Captain Dev, my love? Do you wish me to lock ’er up somewhere for you? Tie ’er up?”

The woman’s voice, soft and teasing yet also firm and competent, startled her. Looking toward the door, Grace saw a slender white hand slip through the small opening at the door to stroke Devlin’s cheek. A scalding pain hit Grace’s heart and she struggled to breathe.

The woman was so familiar with him.

At least Devlin wrapped his hand around the woman’s wrist and gently lowered her hand.

But no doubt he had slept with that woman.

“Not yet, Sally. But dinner would not be amiss. Have some dishes sent here. I’ll dine with my captive.”

The audacious wretch turned from the door to wink at her. She threw him a withering glance. But she
was
his captive—it was the simple truth, for all she might pretend otherwise. Devlin then shut the door and strolled toward the fireplace with his brandy. She crossed her arms over her breasts and sat down on the settee. A chill was settling into the room as the sun began to drop. But she would not shiver.

He prodded the fire with a poker to bring it to life. She watched him cautiously, ready to turn away if he caught her. He was so relaxed with his nudity; though he yelped as a prod sent up a shower of sparks that fell on his naked thigh.

At her gasp of surprise, of worry, he grinned. “You think me foolish for doing this naked?”

“You hurt yourself.”

“But we now have a cheery, warming fire. Fire is always a risk, as you know. And there was a reward for the risk.”

He must have meant the heat inside her. Already it was blazing to life again, just like the flames in the hearth.

A knock sounded at the door, and Devlin crossed the room in long strides. A moment later, he shut the door, holding a blue silk robe. “One of mine. I thought you might prefer it to one of the ladies’.”

She nodded as he relaxed back on the sofa, brushed back his hair, and held his glass between long, elegant fingers.

“What exactly do you plan to do with me now?” she asked. She might as well know.

“Make up for two wasted years.”

“How do you intend to make up for two years? What do you mean?” Grace demanded, but Devlin only smiled as he laid his hands on her shoulders and directed her toward the back of the drawing room.

Those words had left Grace utterly stunned for several minutes, and then, when she’d found her tongue again, he had evaded her question. Had he really believed that the two years they had been apart were wasted?

Had he pined for her? What, exactly, did he mean?

“Dinner first,” he murmured and she knew she might never find out.

“Goodness.” She saw the display of food laid on a small table spread with a snowy white cloth. Silver dishes gleamed in the candlelight. A board held cheeses and bread. Plates held cakes. Curtains fluttered with the gentle summer breeze and golden light spilled in around them.

“This is the morning room.” Devlin drew out a chair for her, a Queen Anne style with ivory brocade seat covers.

He poured her tea and she had to stare—a notorious pirate, dressed in a silky purple robe, calmly pouring her a cup of tea before he took his own seat. She took it gratefully, touched far more deeply than she should be.

Her traitorous stomach growled but she knew she could not be seduced into staying. She stood abruptly, shoving back her chair. “I am leaving, Devlin.”

He had leapt to his feet also, but she was at the door—the opposite door, which she was certain must be the only way to escape. Locked, but the key was there. Her fingers trembled as she caught the end of the key and turned it.

“Stay in here with me,” Devlin called, but she already had the door open. She raced out into the hallway and found it empty. Ahead she saw a gleam of light, then heard laughter. Knowing Devlin was behind her, she charged ahead, toward the light.

Her slippers’ soles slapped against gleaming tile as she reached the light—the last red rays of sunset pouring into a stairway. Ornate doors were ahead of her, but there were six and she had no idea which would be the one to lead to the foyer and take her outside.

She chose the stairs.

But as she hurried up, she saw Devlin below. His robe swirled around his powerful legs as he gave chase. He caught her with three strides up the steps, but she wrenched her arm free.

“Grace, come back here,” he commanded, but she ignored him. She doubted now she’d get out of the house, but she was too ashamed of her useless attempt to give in and turn back. He’d have to grab her and carry her over his shoulder if he wanted her back at tea.

Again, wild laughter came from ahead, and she followed the sound, curious. Now she could distinguish male cheers and shouts answered by the delighted laughter of women.

This must be Devlin’s gang.

She had reached a gallery, a sweeping balcony trimmed by a gleaming oak rail. Winded, she grasped the smooth rail and stared in shock at the scene below.

He caught her by the wrist—she was so enraptured in watching the orgy, she hadn’t run when he approached. Grace’s mouth was a wide and pretty “O”, her eyes so large that her lashes brushed her brows, and her hand was clapped to her mouth.

Between her fingers, she asked, “Good heavens, is that man with two women? Are both on their knees in front of him?”

At Grace’s soft, astonished question, Devlin had to grip the rail of the balcony as a shot of desire drained the strength from his legs.

“Devlin, I cannot believe that people actually do these things!” She turned to him. “You do these things?”

Was she jealous? She didn’t look angry. She didn’t look as though she’d behave like Lucy and shout and spit fire. She looked uncertain. As though this would hurt her.

He shrugged. “Once upon a time. My world is a different world to the cold one that dictates to you, love. My world is just about pleasure and fun. I want to share that fun exclusively with you right now, Grace.”

“Really?” Her face tipped and one brow arched. “If it is about pleasure and fun why are the women pushing each other out of the way to be the one to pleasure the man?”

“It’s part of play.” But he looked, only to see Sally rake her nails along Bess’s bare shoulder. Dark-haired Bess wore only a corset of scarlet and pink, laced tight, and Sally’s pale white shift was pulled up over her ample arse. The play had turned mean—but this was more to do with power than desire. “I agree. There’s nothing playful there. Sally—the blonde—was in love with one of my men. Bess’s man, the one standing there, made a mistake that cost Sally’s lover his life—”

“So it isn’t just blind pleasure, then. Just as with me, those women engage their hearts.”

He had been coasting his hand along the rail to touch Grace’s. He stopped. Did she mean that she always engaged her heart? Had she done so with him?

A disaster if she had because he couldn’t bear to hurt her.

But he wanted her to love him. Hell, he wanted it and the realization stunned him.

“I always thought they shared my men too freely to be in love,” he admitted. He’d always dismissed the emotional scenes, the scraps, as the typical behavior of women. He’d never thought that the women might fall in love—not with the wild men of his gang, who enjoyed their orgies, their pleasures, and knew they might die on any given night.

“I think you will find,” Grace said, “that each of your women is in love with a particular man, no matter whose bed they go to.”

He sighed. He’d hoped to keep his Grace away from his wild world, but he’d also intended to educate her and show her that she didn’t need to lock herself away in a cage of guilt. He’d wanted to show her she deserved pleasure.

He’d wanted to open her world.

Instead, she was forcing him to think more deeply about his.

“Men, of course, do not have to engage their hearts.”

Her statement was fraught with danger. He’d guided his ship through treacherous channels lined with shoals and vicious rocks, but he’d never felt the nerves he felt now. He couldn’t respond. He suspected his heart was engaged and that made him a bloody idiot. But something needed to be thrown out into their private silence. Below them, the cries and moans of carnal fun floated up.

“Not always,” he said.

“How can you—if you live your life in the here and now?”

That he would not answer. Instead he watched her gaze flit around the room, her teeth nibbling at her lower lip. He saw the orgy scene dispassionately—Lucy was stroking the hair of two men, Simon and Will, as they lovingly suckled her nipples. His lieutenant, Rogan St. Clair, was the man who had two ladies fighting to take his cock in their mouths. Three men—Horatio, Nick, and John—tussled with three ladies on the rug and in the tangle of limbs he could not tell who was fucking whom.

Grace tilted her head. His blue silk robe turned her hair to shimmering pale gold and highlighted the peach flush in her cheeks. “Do you have orgies here every day?”

“Tonight we aren’t hunting. The men are at home, none are at risk. Here that is cause for a celebration.” He grinned. “Any excuse for an orgy.” Would she push further? “You left me, Grace. I understood that there could be no future.”

“But now I am here.”

She was not looking at the scene anymore, but she shimmered with arousal, with tension.

“Sometimes a man can’t resist doing something he has no right to do.”

Below, there were six women moaning their pleasure and, like any man, he knew that particular sound stole his ability to think. “You can watch. Have a glimpse of my world. It’s not a bad world, sweetheart. No one is condemned for it.”

Hand at her throat, she did watch.

He stared at her face. What scene was she looking at? Lucy with the two men gallantly sucking her nipples and taking turns flicking her clit within her nest of auburn hair? Or the wild tangle, with three cocks greedily surging in and out of every wet, tight, female opening they could find?