Capture The Wind (30 page)

“Kiss me,” he whispered, and groaned with pleasure when she lifted her face to his and teased his mouth with the tip of her tongue.

“Like that?” she murmured archly, and he grabbed her around the waist to hold her, his hands sliding over soft skin in a long glide.

Bared from the waist up, golden hair tumbling loosely over her shoulders, Angela was the epitome of innocent beauty. He shifted his hands to her shoulders, thumbs riding the crest of her collarbone as he held her lightly. “Like that,” he agreed in a voice that sounded much too hoarse to be his.

The sweet fragrance of her perfume filled his senses when he nuzzled the side of her neck, holding tight to what was left of his restraint, trying not to go too fast for her. Her head fell back and she clung to him, palms resting on his shoulders, fingers bunching the linen of a shirt that had grown suddenly restrictive. He wanted to feel nothing between them, no barrier between his body and hers.

Releasing her, he shrugged out of his shirt. There was the grating sound of ripping fabric, then cool air washed over him as he stood beside the bunk and began to unbutton his trousers. Angela discreetly turned her face away, not moving until he lay down beside her. Then she turned, lashes lowered shyly as she timidly touched his bare chest with her fingertips.

Biting back a groan and the impulse to take her in swift, fierce possession, Kit forced himself to lie still while she explored the ridges of his body with a timorous touch that was discreetly arousing. Wherever she touched, he burned, and his hands closed into fists at his side when her fingers skimmed over his stomach. His flesh contracted involuntarily, and when she moved lower, he grabbed her hand in his.

“Not yet,” he said in a soft groan.

“I
 . . .
I have never done this before,” she blurted out, and he bit back a smile.

“I know. If I go too fast or hurt you, tell me and I’ll stop.” His body burned, and he reached to take her into his arms, rolling atop her in a lithe motion that startled her. “Shhh,” he murmured against her ear when she gave an involuntary protest, “I only mean to lie here with you right now.”

Sliding his knee between her thighs, he began to stroke her cheek with light motions, then let his fingers drift to her lips to outline them with feathery touches of his fingertips. She sighed softly, eyes closing when his hand drifted from her mouth to the curve of her throat, then lower.

His attention focused on the swell of her breast, his mouth going dry at the tempting beauty. Perfect. Round and creamy and pink and miraculous . . . he had to shift his attention quickly before he moved too fast for her, he decided reluctantly.

He sat back, letting his fingers drift over her soft body. She shivered and he caught her gaze on him, wide and green and slightly dazzled. He had to swallow hard before he could say, “You’re beautiful, angel. Much more beautiful than I deserve.”

A spark lit her eyes, and her mouth trembled in a smile. “I could probably agree with that, but then I would sound quite vain, I think.”

He laughed softly. “Right ho, angel. I’m not certain what I do deserve, but this cannot be among my just deserts.”

Whatever she might have replied was smothered by a gasp when he bent to trace a circle around her nipple with his tongue. Angela arched upward, fingers sliding over his back and down his arms. Kit licked a path from one breast to the other, then moved downward, his lungs trying to match the quickening tempo of the blood pounding through his veins. His knee shifted, spreading her thighs wider apart as he wedged his body between her legs, and he heard her soft moan of surprise.

Ignoring her cry, he focused on the rich tapestry of her body, hands exploring her with delighted sensuality. From the flat mound of her belly to the apex of her thighs, then her knees, he kissed and touched with hands and tongue and appreciation. Angela was quivering, her breath coming in soft little pants, her body writhing beneath his when he finally paused. His blood was raging, and he wondered how much longer he could wait.

“Angela,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “Christ. You’re enough to drive a man insane
 . . .
”

His sentence trailed into a groan as he slid his hands up the curve of her thighs, and Angela inhaled a steadying breath. Dear God, was this what it was like? This aching yearning that only seemed to grow more intense? His weight and the force of his legs against her bare thighs, solid and heated and somehow vaguely intimidating, served only to increase her excitement. Kit was staring down at her, his hands moving between her thighs to focus there on the place that seemed to throb with the pulse of desire.

Despite a longing to close her eyes, to somehow separate herself from what he was doing and the fiery tumult he was creating with his touch, she found herself gazing up at him. His breath was coming fast and hard, the curved muscles of his chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm. Her throat ached with the need to tell him how beautiful he was, a fallen angel with the ability to steal souls
 . . .

“Kit,” she said instead, her voice breaking on the single syllable. She opened her mouth to try again, but could not remember what she had wanted to say. Words were unimportant at that moment. All that mattered were the sweet sensations he was sparking inside her. She pressed upward, her hands slipping over the flex of his arms, her fingers digging into hard muscle.

“Here,” he muttered, and took her hand in his to slide it over the ridges of his flat belly and lower. Her face flamed, but curiosity was greater than embarrassment when he put her hand on him. For a long moment she did nothing, but lay with her fingers curled around him, holding him while he buried his face in her hair. Then, timidly at first, she began to explore, her hand moving lightly over him in gentle explorations.

“Enough,” he said at last, his hand closing over hers to hold her still. His voice was rough and guttural. “Enough for now.”

Angela didn’t move, but waited, and when he relaxed his grip on her hand, she removed it regretfully. It had been very interesting to see how she could provoke such an instantaneous and startling reaction in his body. It was even more interesting to note that he seemed much more affected by it than she did. She tilted back her head and studied the muscular contours of his body in appreciation.

“Are you certain you want me to stop?”

“Don’t give me difficult choices.” Kit pushed himself onto one elbow, his eyes glittering hot and blue. “I may not choose correctly.”

“Is there a right and wrong way to do this?” She ran one finger down the middle of his chest, admiring the ridges and smooth flex of muscle.

“Sometimes,” Kit answered her, “but we won’t worry about that now. Now, we should concentrate on getting to know one another better.”

“I should think that what we’ve been doing has pretty well acquainted us,” she murmured, and he laughed softly.

“Oh, angel, we’ve only just begun.”

Rising suddenly to his knees, he knelt between her legs and slid his hands beneath her hips. His palms molded her buttocks, lifting her from the soft quilt spread over the bunk.

When he moved forward, Angela felt him press against the heated warmth that was left open to him. He was hot and hard, stroking over her with a leisurely, luxurious motion that took away her breath and made her clutch at the quilt with both hands. He slid easily over the moisture there, sending splinters of pleasure radiating through her. Again and again he moved against her, his hardness caressing her until she thought she would explode from the sheer pleasure of it.

Then he shifted, giving a quick, firm thrust that made her suck in her breath at the pressure. Her body opened for him, accepting his invasion with a blend of pain and pleasure.

“God,” he muttered hoarsely, looking up at her as if for reassurance.

Angela put her arms around him wordlessly, and he gave a soft groan and pressed deeper. She felt her body stretch until she was certain it would be painful in the next moment . . . or the next. But there was only a breathless kind of anticipation, a yearning for an ease to the aching pulse that throbbed endlessly.

“Kit,” she whispered against the curve of his shoulder, “please
 . . .
please
 . . .
”

He seemed to understand what she wanted when she wasn’t certain herself, and moved deeper, giving a final thrust that made her cry out. Shuddering, she held to him more tightly, moaning softly in his ear.

Kit kissed her cheek, then her throat and mouth, then lay his forehead against hers and went still. He held her for a long moment, not moving, letting her body become accustomed to his.

Hot tears stung her eyes, but they were tears of release. She had never felt so completely whole as she did now, as if she had finally discovered the reason behind everything. This moment gave her life meaning, she thought hazily, to find this one man and give all to him. Her life, her love, her body. And it had taken her so long to realize it, when she should have recognized her destiny from the very first moment she had seen him. So much had come between them, but no more. Now, together they would face whatever life had to offer, despite all the odds, despite everything. Her arms tightened around him.

Finally he began to move again, stinging strokes that first felt uncomfortable, then exhilarating. Under her curved fingers, she felt the heat of his skin and the tightly curving muscle of his shoulder blades as she slid her hands down his back in a helpless motion. With her face nestled into the taut curve of his shoulder, he thrust again and again, taking her to realms she’d never dreamed existed.

This, then, was what it was all about—this giving and taking between a man and a woman. And she lost herself in him, with his harsh breathing in her ear and her body filled with him, hot and heavy inside her, love in its most primitive form. Now, she thought with a faint sob, she understood it all.

And when he gave a long, shuddering groan and stiffened inside her, thrusting more deeply than she’d thought possible, she felt the shattering waves of her own response and yielded to them with an abandon she’d never dreamed she could have. Nothing mattered now, nothing but this man, this devil of the high seas whom she now knew she loved beyond all else.

There would be no more tilting at windmills or foolishly trying to capture the wind. Now, she had found love
 . . .

Fine white sand glistened under the hot sun, and foamy breakers crashed endlessly upon the beach. Sitting beneath the shade of a canvas tent erected as shelter, Angela gazed at the scene with appreciation. Paradise. Never had she imagined such beauty could exist far from the green shores of England. This was a wilder beauty, nothing like the cultivated fields and neat stone fences of her experience.

Broad-leafed plants and exotic creatures existed in a harmony of vivid greens and blues, so bright at times it hurt the eyes. Colorful splashes of butterflies beat pastel-hued wings in tiny, delicate flutters. Brilliantly plumaged birds twittered in the treetops, and tiny reptiles that Dylan told her were lizards and iguanas scurried up trees and on the ground.

“Stay near the beach,” Dylan warned. “If you get lost, it could take days to find you.”

Judging from the thick undergrowth, Angela took his advice to heart. It was too hot and humid to take long walks anyway, she decided, so most of her daylight hours were spent with a book under the shade of her tent or watching the crew work while Emily napped in the shade.

A block and tackle had been erected, using a huge tree with roots as thick as a man’s torso, to haul the
Sea Tiger
from the water and up onto the beach. It lay on one side, looking, Angela thought, rather like a sea turtle that had been flipped onto its shell. The top mast had been taken down, and the cargo and most of the guns were removed. Several long guns now perched atop limestone boulders at the mouth of the cove, a deadly warning against any predators or trespassers.

Clouds puffed across a hot blue sky, and sunlight beat down with a vengeance, glittering off both the waters of the bay and the white cliffs that rose on each side of the sandy beach like jagged teeth.

Fanning herself lazily with a palm leaf fan, Angela sat beneath the shade and watched as the crew worked to clean the keel of the ship. It was a long and laborious process, especially with the sun beating down mercilessly. Crewmen scraped at the wooden hull to remove weeds and barnacles, checking closely for marine borers. Turk had told her that though the
Sea Tiger was made of a fragrant, worm-resistant cedar, there was always the chance that the tiny, destructive mollusks could chew through the planking and weaken the structure. As a form of protection, the ship was double-planked with a layer of felt and tar, and cleaned as often as possible.