AB (2 page)

mackerel in tomatis with onion, thyme, and hot peppers.”

There was an endearing quality to the way she said tomatis—the love apple—in her

native patois, making James’s ears prickle with delight.

He tamped down the rampant emotions in his breast and stared at the food. That he

was going to devour something she had prepared with her own fingers aroused him,

quashing all his efforts to remain aloof.

Dawson cupped the bowl and greedily swigged the soup, making slurping sounds.

James was a little more mindful of his own manners and reached for a spoon. Slowly he

tasted the steaming fare…and had to keep from groaning, it was so delicious.

Sophia positioned herself across the table from him. She folded her fingers into a fist

and lowered her chin on her hand, watching him as he consumed the stew, an engaging

expression and a shrewd smile on her lush lips. She didn’t need to ask him if he was

enjoying the stew. She had only to observe him to know the truth.

Again she had the upper hand. Again she made him breathless. And James struggled to

quell the burning need in his belly, the storm raging in his head.

“Aren’t you hungry, Sophia?”

“Aye.”

James hardened as she pressed her bare toes against his boot and softly rubbed his leg

in a suggestive manner.

The pressure in his skull mounted, his heart beat loud and heavy. He gazed into her

deep brown eyes, so wicked…so ravenous. Sweat gathered between his shoulders and

pooled at the base of his spine.

I want you, James.

He resisted the tempting invitation, stiffened his resolve. However, she slipped her

naked and dusty foot between his boots and stroked his legs in deliberate movements,

scraping her toes along his calves, simulating…

James caged her warm foot between his knees, glowering at her. He was strapped for

words, beset by a maelstrom of dark, carnal feelings.

He needed to take back control. She beckoned him into perilous waters like a nefarious

siren, but he would not yield to her bewitching call. He would not give her authority over

his wits, his good judgment. To accept the woman’s invitation would be akin to treachery.

Dawson remained more interested in the food. He was ignorant of the couple’s

growing attraction—or he willfully disregarded it—making it all the more grueling for

James to resist Sophia.

The pulses in his head beat loud as she struggled to get her foot loose, the jerking

movements quick and fierce, but he maintained control. He squeezed his legs firmly

together, keeping her locked between his knees.

There was a fiery look in her eyes, a droll expression even. It was clear she didn’t mind

their battle of wil s. She relished it, it seemed, and that raised James’s hackles. He wasn’t

there to cater to the woman’s licentious whims. She wanted escape from her troubles and

duties and responsibilities. She yearned for a brief surcease. He empathized with her, for

he, too, was saddled with obligations. But he refused to submit to her desires.

“You’re a very good cook, Sophia.” After he wiped his mouth with the back of his

hand, he pushed the empty dish across the table. “Can I have another bowl of soup?”

She glared at him. The heat from her eyes warmed his belly.

“Aye.” Dawson burped. “Fetch me another bowl, too.”

But Sophia was trapped between James’s legs. The amusement in her expression flitted

away. Her lips thinned instead.

“Are you daft, woman?” Dawson frowned. “We’re still hungry. Get us some more

food.”

She kicked James with her unrestrained foot.

He didn’t even flinch.

I have control, Sophia.

She accepted that truth. At length, she stilled. She relinquished command. He sensed

the fight drain from her muscles as she relaxed her foot between his legs.

James breathed deep to feel her surrender, his bones thrumming in victory. He released

her foot, allowing her to step away from the table.

She huffed. A dark fire fil ed her eyes, blood col ored her cheeks. She snatched the

empty bowls from the table and strutted across the room.

He watched her stiff movements as she ladled more soup into the wooden dishes. He

was sorry to see her so piqued. He had formed an attachment to her as soon as she had

opened the door. However, he would not betray Dawson by engaging in a heated affair

with the woman.

She returned to the table.

“Thank you, Sophia,” said James.

He brushed his fingers across her hand as she served him the pottage. He wanted her

to know he still desired her, that he had not rejected her because he didn’t want her…but

because he couldn’t have her.

“I’m tired,” said Dawson.

“Let me take you to your room, Father.”

“I’m not a babe!” Dawson brandished his arm. “Don’t you have chores to do, woman?

Leave us!”

Sophia eyed James one last time. It cut his heart, the hurt in her expression. She didn’t

seem to mind her parent’s ranting, but she appeared disappointed that he had ordered her

from the room…away from James.

James strangled the stubborn regret that stil ravaged him as she stepped away from the

table and collected a basket of laundry beside the door before she vacated the house.

Sophia immersed another soiled shirt in the washbasin before she lathered the lye soap

and scrubbed the garment across the ribbed board. She was able to afford servants;

however, her father was paranoid about strangers, leaving her entirely responsible for the

tiring household chores.

She stilled.

Every fine hair on her flesh was tickled by the overwhelming sensation that she was

being watched.

She ignored the black devil at her backside. She scoured the laundry with more vigor,

her fingertips numb from the cold water.

A dark energy thrummed through her veins. He was not the man she had imagined him

to be. He acted with airs. That repulsed her. He was a pirate. A cutthroat. He wasn’t

supposed to have moral fortitude…unless it was just a pretense. Perhaps the brigand did

not want her because he found her unattractive. Had she misinterpreted the look of

interest in his eyes? Had he gazed at her with curiosity, not longing?

She raked the garment across the coarse wood. What did the reason matter now? He

had made his thoughts clear: he did not want her. So why was he stil staring at her with

such piercing regard?

Sophia sensed his footfalls and stiffened. She closed her eyes as the seconds passed,

shut out the sound of the soft mountain breeze and the distant songs of parakeets. She

listened only to the low timbre of her heartbeat, the booms deep in her breast.

Her lips parted as he brushed past her like an apparition, but she didn’t take in or even

let out a breath. He stirred the air as he passed, and she absorbed the energy that came

off him in his wake.

At last, she sighed. He moved off. She opened her eyes again, all watery, and shivered at

the chill in the mountain air.

“Where did you come from?”

There was heat in his low voice. A sensual heat that stoked her listless soul to life. She

wanted to ignore him, to resume her household chore, but his steely gaze was too

magnetic to rebuff.

Slowly she glanced over her shoulder and studied his robust form. He had crossed the

clearing and had settled against a fern tree, nine meters high. But he seemed more

powerful than the mighty wood, and she yearned to touch him, to feel the warmth of his

skin, the vigor in his muscles.

She rebuked herself for the foolish sentiment.

“I was raised in Kingstown by my mother.” She wiped her wet, soapy fingers against

her skirt and lifted off her haunches. “But I came to live with my father a few years ago.”

He folded his thick arms across his wide chest. He was dressed in black trousers and a

loose white shirt, but she sensed the brawn pulsing beneath the fabric. She admired his

hearty physique.

“Why? Dawson’s…”

She arched a brow. “Mad?”

“Difficult.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t want to whore like my mother to earn my keep.”

He looked at her thoughtfully, but soon the man’s rich blue eyes darkened with clear

desire.

She had not mistaken the passion in his blood, after all. Her wounded pride rejoiced.

He had turned her away because of her father, as she had first suspected. However, he

stil yearned for her…and if he would not come to her of his own volition, she would

seduce him instead.

Slowly Sophia moved through the mist.

He visibly stiffened as she approached him. He might be the most infamous pirate on

the high seas, but he was also a lustful man at heart. She didn’t need to be too

sophisticated in her seduction, she was sure.

She nestled between his muscular thighs, sighing. She was charmed, bewitched by the

strength and passion coursing through his veins. She burned, too. The desire welled inside

her with a vicious need. But he remained staunchly stil . Even his breathing was shallow,

quiet.

“The mighty Black Hawk.”

Lightly she caressed the rough stubble across his cheeks. She had listened to the

whispers about the pirate leader in town; his name was akin to a curse. The islanders

feared him. Her father respected him.

She moved her hands across James’s features, taking in every part of him. Her

fingertips danced with vim. He was real. He was hard. She had waited for him to come,

ever since she had first heard he’d anchored near the island, and she pressed her midriff

against his firm belly, searching for more intimate contact.

She sensed the spasms, the vibrations inside his bones. He stil resisted her…but she

would break his resistance.

The man’s hot breath, feather soft, caressed her features, and she pressed her fingers

against his warm, sensual mouth, tracing the shape of his handsome lips, moisture

gathering between her breasts.

She licked her dry lips. “You look just as my father described you.” She moved her

fingers across the thick ridge of his brow and down his long, sharp nose. “You look just

the way I imagined you to be.”

He shuddered. “You’ve dreamed about me?”

“Aye.” She bussed his bottom lip, sweet with rum. He tasted so bloody good. Her heart

ballooned, pressing on her lungs, filling her throat. “I’ve listened to my father’s stories for

years. I feel like I know you.”

There was a dark, smoldering look in his deep blue eyes, as vibrant as the tropical sea.

He was gripped with longing…and keeping a tight cap on his salacious desire. He

wouldn’t touch her, but he wouldn’t pull away from her, either.

She spread her fingers apart and raked her hand through his long, black tresses, tied in

a queue. “My father?”

“Sleeping.”

“Good.”

The man trembled. Sweat gathered between his black brows. She ached to taste the

briny moisture there, but she wasn’t tall enough to reach the delicious spot. Instead, she

opened her mouth and cupped his lips with a soft cry of pleasure that shattered his stony

façade.

James slipped his sinewy arms around her spine, caging her in a tight, crushing hold.

He squeezed the wretched, suffocating emotions from her heart, wringing her soul.

She was dizzy with the taste of him, the heady warmth of his masterful touch. The

man’s musk, his essence enveloped her, filled her. He moved his lips with avid hunger

across her mouth, and she let him ravish her.

Her every hair and bit of flesh stirred with longing and verve as she shed the tiresome,

habitual routine of her solitary existence, connecting with another, more dominant spirit.

She wrapped her fingers around his thick tresses, holding him in an anxious, almost

violent, grip.

“I want you inside me.” She ached for the man’s strong caresses, for his firm lips on her

body. She ached for him to wash away the sluggishness in her spirit, to stoke her languid

soul to sweet life again. “I’ve wanted you inside me for a long time.”

“Tell me,” he said roughly. “Tel me how you’ve wanted me.”

“I’ve dreamed about you at night…I’ve touched myself thinking about you.”

He groaned. “Tell me!”

She slipped her arms around his midriff, giddy at the heat, the brawn she sensed

pulsing through his veins. “I’d close my eyes and push my hand under the blanket. I’d rub

my quim, thinking it was you.”

He made a soft choking sound. “Did you come?” His flesh glistened with sweat. “Did

you come while thinking about me?”

“Aye.”

He dropped his moist brow, pressed it against her own fevered flesh. “How did it feel?”

“So bloody good.”

James bussed her lips, a soft and stirring kiss that sent blood pounding in her ears. “I

want to make your dreams come true, Sophia…but I can’t.”

He gnashed his teeth in clear distress as he forcibly set her aside and walked away.

She glared at him, bewildered. “What’s wrong?”

He glanced at the house.

“Black Hawk…?”

“I can’t do this,” he said, breathless.

But he was hard. She observed the erection pushing against his trousers. “The devil you

can’t!”

He glowered at her. “I mean, I can’t do this to Dawson. You’re his daughter!”