Too Great a Temptation (18 page)

“W
hat the hell do you think you’re doing, Damian?”

“Hold still,” he barked, lacing her wrists to the bedpost.

Belle struggled against the winding rope. “You’re mad!”

Damian stepped away from the bedside, inspecting his handiwork. The knot should hold his tempestuous siren.

A lamp already burning, the chamber had been prepared at Damian’s behest. Fresh linens, cooked fare, a steamy tub—but no brig. The rope would have to suffice. He couldn’t risk Belle sneaking away in the middle of the night.

A spark of lightning filled the room, followed by the distant boom of thunder.

They would rest here, at the Drunken Horse tavern and inn until dawn. Come morning, the storm would pass, and the journey to his castle in Colchester would resume—as would his plan of vengeance. For now, Belle grudgingly accepted the reason for her abduction: to shield his escape from her brothers. But soon she would know the truth. Soon she would despise him even more.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

She stuck her nose in the air and sat down on the bed.

“I guess not.” He settled in a chair and leafed through the contents of his plate with a fork and a curious eye, then muttered, “Stubborn wench.”

“You mean whore!” she sneered.

Damian sighed and dropped his fork on the table. She
really
hated him. But that had been his intention all along, to evoke her wrath, thus severing the bond that had been forged between them, and making what he had to do to her brothers all the more bearable. And he had succeeded in getting her angry. Splendidly. So why did he feel as if he had failed?

The rickety chair legs scraped along the hardwood floor. Damian picked up the plate and fork and headed over to the bed.

He sat down next to her.

She scooted closer to the headboard.

He stabbed the fork into a roasted carrot and stuck it in front of her mouth. “Eat, Belle.”

Lips clamped shut, she just stared ahead.

“Eat,” he growled.

Still nothing.

He leaned closer to her, whispering, “If you’re not hungry, perhaps we can finish our interrupted kiss?”

Her lips parted, but her eyes never met his.

He thrust the carrot into her mouth, then picked at the potatoes. She wouldn’t touch him, or look at him…or kiss him. She didn’t want anything to do with him. She was still angry with him for calling her that foul name. And she would stay angry for a long time. She would come to loathe him even more once he killed her brothers. She would seek vengeance, he knew. And he would let her have it. Once his oath to Adam was fulfilled, Damian didn’t care if Belle slit his throat. To die at her hands was a better fate than to live a life of misery.

He finished feeding her the meal. Evidently she
was
hungry. There was nary a morsel left on the plate by the time she shook her head, indicating she was full.

Damian went to set the empty dish on the table, then proceeded to the tin tub at the far end of the room. Steam still drifted from the water. His muscles ached in anticipation of the hot bath.

Mirabelle twisted her neck to better look at him, slender blond brows arching. “What are you doing?”

He discarded his riding coat and set to work on the buttons of his shirt. “Taking a bath.”

Her lips pursed. “Now?”

“Yes, now.” He tugged off his boots, then attended to the buttons of his trousers. “Care to join me?”

“No,” she said tightly. “And you can’t take a bath.
I
don’t want to look at you.”

“So turn your head.” After nights spent relishing sinful pleasures aboard the
Bonny Meg
, chivalry seemed rather hypocritical.

He whipped off his trousers.

Mirabelle gasped—in outrage, he assumed—and faced the wall again.

“Aren’t you being rather prudish, Belle?”

Her back stiffened. “For a whore, you mean?”

Damian hardened. He hated hearing her say that word. He hated even more being reminded that
he
had said it first.

Rain pounded on the shingles overhead, the patter filling the silent void between them.

Damian settled in the balmy tin tub. He picked up the soap and worked up a lather. He hadn’t had the luxury of a bath in weeks, and despite the warmth of the water bathing his muscles, he found no pleasure in the diversion.

He watched Belle. With only an oil lamp in the room, lanky shadows painted the walls, and even though she wasn’t facing him, she could still see everything he did just by looking at the shadows—if she wanted to. Did she? Damian wondered. Was she studying him as keenly as he was her? Probably not. He had dashed any regard she might have sheltered for him. He had to accept that…yet he was tempted to make amends. Again.

Damian smeared the soap suds over his chest and shoulders. He couldn’t make the same mistake twice. He had come close to begging her for forgiveness tonight in the meadow. What a mistake that would have been, thwarting all his own efforts. To have engaged in one more passionate tussle with Belle would only have strengthened their bond. And he was trying to sever it.

A dull ache throbbed in his chest. It was better that she despised him, really it was. He didn’t need her affection. He didn’t need the comforting heat of her body. He had lived twenty-eight years of his life without Belle. He could go on without her for a few more days.

The ache in his heart tightened. To hold Belle in his arms, snug against him, to feel her faerie breath tickle his skin, was a calm unlike any he had ever experienced. He could close his eyes when with her and not dream of demons. He could close his eyes and hope. Hope for a life worth living.

But it was a false hope, he knew. He was too much like his father. Even if he abandoned his quest for vengeance and made Belle his wife, he would still hurt her one day. It was in his blood, the need to destroy, to devastate the lives of those around him. He could never have a real life with Belle. And it hurt like hell to admit it.

Damian suddenly felt as if he were drowning in the tin tub. He quickly stood up, water sloshing all over the floor. He grabbed the towel draped over the chair and started to dry himself.

His hasty movements must have startled Belle, for she whipped her head around to glare at him. She was a delightful sight. Pouting. Hair escaping her loose bun in an unruly mess. He wanted nothing more than to strip her locks of pins and comb his fingers through the mussed and silky strands; to twist his palms in her wild tresses and lose himself to her like a fortress lost to ivy long ago.

“Finished so soon, Damian?”

He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the tub. The weight on his chest was crushing. An intense feeling of loss gripped him. The loss of Belle. She was only a few yards away from him, and yet he sensed she was gone. Gone from his life and from his heart.

It was suffocating, the thought. A darkness came over him, blanketing him in despair.

“Damian?” Her brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”

He moved to the window, staring out at the thrashing storm beyond. Lightning cracked in the distance. Thunder roared. The glass panes rattled under the fury of the whirling winds. It was like standing in front of a mirror. The tempest reflected his inner being to perfection. Pure mayhem. What he wouldn’t give to have the pain, the loneliness, the chaos inside him stop.

He headed for the bed.

Belle’s eyes widened. “What are you doing, Damian?”

But he didn’t say a word. Roughly he yanked at the knotted rope, setting his siren free.

She bounded to her feet. Alarm and outrage flashed in her amber eyes. She looked ready to have an emotional snit, but he didn’t give her the chance…

Mirabelle gasped.

Damian’s hot mouth crushed hers in a wicked kiss, the tempestuous movements taking her breath—and her wits—away. Hell’s fire, but the man could whip her insides into a frenzy. About to rail at the blackguard for tying her up like a convict, she was suddenly lost for words. She could only feel the maddening passion he impressed upon her, arousing her, stirring her heart…

Oh no you don’t!

The oaf had her in a mighty hold and she couldn’t break free, so she pounded on his chest, desperate to get away. She would
not
give in to him, no matter how delicious the experience. The bloody bastard had called her a—

“Forgive me, Belle, for what I said.”

His whispered words, so sultry and sincere, made her heart pinch in forgiveness. Oh, cursed heart! So weak and—

“Don’t deny me this, Belle.”

Those beautiful blue eyes, so stormy, so needful of her, cut up her soul. There was such agony in his heated gaze. For just a moment, she could see inside his heart. And she saw a man in pain, vulnerable.

She didn’t resist when Damian took her lips in his once more. She kissed him back and let the warmth of his touch bathe her, burn through her flesh, scorch her to her very soul.

“Oh, Belle,” he breathed and dropped to his knees, burying his face in her midriff.

Damian reached under her skirt and tugged at her boots. She splayed her fingers over his moist back, holding him close, and lifted one foot, then the other. Soon both her feet were bare. She sighed in pleasure as he massaged her toes, her ankles, her calves. Slowly he moved his hands along her legs, his fingers raking her fevered flesh, hoisting the garment up to her waist. Quickly she pulled the dress over her head, dropping it to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Damian was still on his knees. He reached around to fumble with the laces of her petticoat. Yanking the garment to her ankles, he then tossed it aside.

She clutched him in a passionate hold as he pressed kisses to her belly. Smoldering hot kisses. She twisted her fingers in his hair and curled her toes when he licked her belly button in a lazy caress. Then kissed. Then licked again.

Mirabelle shuddered. She was naked from the waist down, the chill of the room mixing erotically with Damian’s balmy wet kisses and warm palms.

Suddenly she couldn’t breathe very well. The corset clutching her breasts seemed too tight. She wanted out of the restrictive garment. Now!

Fortunately, the apparel laced up the front, so she quickly set to work to rid herself of the suffocating nuisance.

But Damian stopped her.

“Let me, Belle.”

She shivered again. Her name had never sounded so carnal before, like a seductive growl.

Blue eyes fiery and intent, Damian slowly unlaced the meddlesome corset. She was anxious all of a sudden. She wanted him to go faster, but she could tell by his easy pace he intended to take his time. To torture her with exquisite pleasure.

Damian must have sensed her impatience, for he dipped his head to kiss her midriff in appeasement. Carefully he unworked the corset, Mirabelle quivering in anticipation. With a hard jerk, he broke the last of the troublesome bonds, her breasts springing free.

She let out a half sigh, half moan of relief, and thrust her sore breasts forward, searching for more of Damian’s soothing kisses.

He obliged her. Still on his knees, he captured one rosy hard nub between his lips and gently sucked.

Mirabelle shook with abandon and want. Her nipple ached in Damian’s mouth, not with pain but with throbbing pleasure. She held him tight to her breast, leaned against him for support, for she sensed her balance tipping.

Reverently he licked and kissed and sucked the sensitive mound, evoking a whimpering groan from her lips.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head forward, lost to the blissful sensation. It felt so good, being with Damian. So powerful. So right. Her heart pounded in her breast. Her skin prickled and danced. Her body hummed with desire. And all because of one man. One man who made her feel such wonderful things.

She wanted Damian. To be with him always. To feel him inside her whenever the need arose. She wanted it more than…being a pirate.

Damian leisurely got to his feet, leaving titillating kisses all along her frame. With a flick of the wrist, he discarded his towel, and their bodies pressed together. The warmth between them was intoxicating.

Mirabelle opened her mouth to the hot thrust of his tongue. Rocking on her tiptoes, she took in the heady scent of him, the taste. She was a mess inside. On fire. She was eager to be with him. But he, the dratted man, was in no hurry.

“Damian,” she purred, trying to entice him, “I want you.”

But he made no effort to quicken his pace.

“Now,” she all but growled in frustration.

He chuckled softly. Gruffly. Making her tremble with delight. “I want to take you slow this time, Belle.”

He pressed his sex, already hard and throbbing, against her belly and gently undulated, the erotic movements mesmerizing.

She was growing wet with need. When his hand slipped behind her buttocks to stroke the dewy flesh between her legs, she all but crumpled onto the floor.

Firm fingers fondled the sensitive area, rubbing in quick and fluid strokes, whipping her loins to a pulsating frenzy.

He withdrew, his fingers moist with her essence, and trailed his hand along her hip and thigh. She groaned in disappointment, wanting his wanton caresses to go on forever. The bounder! Was he intent on making her beg?

“Damian—”

“I’ll give you what you want,” he cut in hoarsely, kissing her between words, taking the pins from her hair until her locks rained free. “I promise.”

You’d better
, was all she could think. And when he finally started moving her toward the bed, she wanted to quip, “About bloody time.” But his devouring lips prevented her from making the rejoinder, so she simply held him tight, making sure he really
did
take her over to the bed and ravish her thoroughly.

He set her down and moved to nestle between her thighs. It was thrilling, the pressure between her legs. A tantalizing torment. And she wriggled and squirmed beneath him until she could better feel his long, engorged organ pressed hard against her quivering flesh.

He kissed her over and over again, cupping her breasts, swirling his thumbs over the puckering nipples, so sore and sensitive and begging for more.