Care and Feeding of Pirates (11 page)

Christopher's buttocks were firm with muscle,
his thighs trim and tight. His backside was pale, a definite line
between them and the brown sliver of back that showed under his
shirt, indicating where his breeches covered him in the sunshine.
The Chinese lion on his hip stretched a little with his movement,
restless.

Always Christopher defeated her by having a
body that stunned her senseless. God made the body, one of
Honoria's governesses had once told her. He made it in his image,
so there was nothing shameful about it. One should look upon it and
rejoice.

Honoria had to admit that God had certainly
done well with Christopher. She had not seen him without his shirt
since he'd returned, but she remembered the planes of his chest,
tanned, flat, and strong.

Christopher looked over his shoulder at her
now, his gray eyes narrow. His thick plait of his hair had loosened
in their struggles, blond wisps straggling over his shirted back.
"Well?"

Droplets of blood marred his buttocks now,
surrounding the sliver that had worked through his breeches and
into his flesh. Honoria felt a twinge of remorse.

"It's quite large," she said.

"I'd be flattered if I didn't know you meant
the splinter."

"There's more than one, I'm afraid." She came
closer and gingerly put her hand on his back. His flesh was warm
through the shirt. She'd kissed the lion on his hip quite wantonly
once upon a time, but Honoria was suddenly shy. She was a different
person now, and so was he.

Christopher watched her, not patiently.
"You'll have to take them out. I can't reach."

"I know."

She smoothed the hollow of his hip, drawing
her fingers toward the first sliver. She closed her fingers around
the splinter, and yanked.

"Ow!"

"I can't see." Honoria unhooked the lantern
from the ceiling beam and set it down on the privy, training its
beam on his back. She returned to the bed, sat down, and gently
took hold of the sliver.

"Pull it out all at once," he said tersely.
"Don't dig around."

"I will if you will hold still."

He looked away, his muscles rigid. "All
right, I'm rea-- Ow!"

Honoria held up the longest sliver. She gave
it a triumphant look, then took it to the window and dropped it
out. "Only three more to go."

"Bloody hell."

Honoria returned to him. Braver now, she put
her hand on the small of his back, a bared half oval of skin
beneath his shirt. "Christopher," she said as she worked the next
free. "The pamphlets about you told stories of you being shot.
Several times."

"What of it?"

"That must have hurt more than a few
splinters."

"It's not the same thing."

Honoria stopped. "Why not?"

Christopher shifted a little. "Because when
you get shot, you are in so much pain that either you pass out, or
someone pours opium down your throat.
This
, I feel
everything."

"You are amusing, Christopher." Honoria
resumed prying at the next-longest splinter.

"That sounded almost affectionate." His voice
lost its edge. "Tell me why you fell in love with me all those
years ago, when you read newspaper stories and pamphlets and wanted
to meet me." He winced. "It will take my mind off the excruciating
pain."

Honoria focused on her work. "I suppose
because you were nothing like what I knew. I'd known most of the
gentlemen in Charleston all my life. They went to university,
started work in their fathers' businesses or plantations, and
looked for a wife. They said the correct things, knew the correct
people, and married into the correct families."

"And bored you senseless."

She thought about that. "I tried not to let
them. I knew I would have to marry one of them, eventually." She
sighed. "Unfortunately, there is a streak of adventure in the
Ardmore family. My brothers were able to fulfill it sailing the
seas, but I had to stay home. I found my adventures reading about
you, and imagining things."

"What did you imagine?" he asked, his voice
dark.

"Nothing I will tell you," Honoria said
firmly.

She was glad Christopher's face was turned
away, so he could not see her blush. Before she'd met him, Honoria
had lain awake most nights inventing adventure after adventure
about herself and Christopher until her body had grown rigid with
excitement.

One of her favorites involved herself stowing
away on Christopher's ship. He'd find her, clap her in irons, and
prepare to execute her. Then he'd be struck by her beauty and
innocence, and he'd fall in love with her and release her. She'd
prove herself clever, saving the day in some adventure or other,
and he would promote her to be one of his officers. Christopher
would confide in her, and she'd help plan his missions. Then one
day, she'd save his life in a heroic feat, nearly losing her own in
the process. Christopher would stay by her side until she
recovered, and then he'd kiss her and profess his devotion to her.
They'd marry, cheered by a grateful crew.

She'd had several versions of this tale,
which she'd happily run through night after night, never tiring of
them.

"And then I met you," she said softly.

Her girlish fantasies had died that day to be
replaced by something deeper and more disquieting. Honoria had
learned in the garden room what a man truly was, and what he wanted
of a woman.

"I remember," Christopher said. "You were so
pretty with your ringlets and your blushes. You were a delectable
little morsel, and I wanted to eat you up."

"Which you proceeded to do, as I recall."

"Yes, and you tasted fine--damnation!"

Honoria held up another splinter. "Almost
finished. The others are quite small."

"Thank God for that."

The last two came free with little
resistance. Christopher was silent except for a single grunt and a
very bad word in French as the last gave way.

Honoria disposed of the slivers and rummaged
for a towel. She wet the towel in the basin and cleaned the wound,
touching him with more confidence.

Unable to resist, she traced the lines of the
springing lion on his hip, and then she leaned down and kissed the
tattoo, his flesh scalding beneath her lips.

"Mmm," he murmured.

He smelled so good. His shirt tickled
Honoria's nose, and his skin tasted faintly salty. Her fingertips
rested on his backside, right over his wounds, but he did not seem
to mind.

Christopher reached behind him and drew his
hand through her hair, dislodging the matron's cap, which slid to
the floor. Curls trickled from their pins to brush her shoulders,
their touch reminding her of his light kisses. Christopher gave her
a slow smile, as though knowing what she thought.

Any moment now, he'd roll with her to the
floor, and their lovemaking would proceed in a frenzy of lust and
ripped clothing, as usual. But he only said, "I missed you,
Honoria."

Her heart fluttered as she continued tracing
the lion, watching her fingers.

"Did you miss me?" he asked.

"No."

He stilled. "A minute ago, you were in love
with me."

"Yes." Honoria leaned down and traced the
outline of the lion with her tongue. Christopher's skin tasted
heavenly, a tang that she'd never forget.

"But you didn't miss me."

Every moment without him had been agony, and
not something she wanted to talk about. "I didn't let myself miss
you." Missing someone was sad and bittersweet, very different from
the tearing anguish she'd felt every day. "It hurt too much."

"Ah." His eyes were dark as he watched her
flick her tongue back and forth across the intricate ridges on the
lion's tail. "You're brazen for a woman who didn't miss me."

She looked up. "It isn't brazen. You are my
husband."

Christopher rolled away suddenly, tugging his
breeches over his backside, hiding the tattoo and everything else
enticing.

He sat up on the bunk, his back against the
wall. He did not button his breeches, but they hid him. Most of
him. Honoria's gaze went to the tantalizing line of flesh below his
navel.

He reached out to thread his fingers through
her hair. "I should be angry at you, my wife. But I crave you too
much right now. If you believe this is only your duty, then so be
it."

"That is not what I meant . . ."

He dragged her to him, his breath hot on her
lips, and Honoria forgot what she wanted to say. Her heart beat
rapidly, and desire snaked through her with an intensity that
almost hurt.

She leaned forward and kissed his lips.

Christopher made a noise in his throat and
pulled her closer. She tasted his lips, the sandpaper bristles of
his chin, his lips again.

Still kissing her, Christopher pushed her
loosened chemise and bodice down to her hips. He raised her to her
knees, trailed his lips from the hollow of her throat to her
breasts, her body tight with excitement.

Honoria closed her eyes, cradling his head in
her hands and pressing him to her. He caught her breast in his
mouth, suckling her, the movement fierce. It hurt her and it
didn't, and it was glorious.

Every time they came together was like a
thunderstorm--a tense buildup, then a sudden explosion of wind and
lightning. The buildup was over, their tension had wound high. The
release was going to sink the ship.

Christopher shoved her bodice downward,
kisses falling on every inch of her bare flesh. His muscles worked
as he lifted her to her feet and set her on the floor. "Take off
the dress."

Honoria's fingers shook as she obeyed him.
She pushed the gown down her hips and stepped out of the circle of
fabric. At the same time, he slid off his boots and shoved his
breeches down and kicked them away. Still in his shirt, he lay on
the bunk again and dragged her on top of him.

He moved her thighs so she straddled him,
while his warm hands skimmed her torso. Honoria felt a bit shy
being bare for him--the other times she'd been with him, they'd
never taken the trouble to unclothe themselves completely.

But her shyness dissolved as she lost herself
in the absolute beauty of him. Christopher's erection, long and
hard, rested against his abdomen, crisp curls of dark blond hair at
its base. She shifted until the hardness nestled between her legs,
the friction of it promising more joy to come.

"You're always ready for me, Honoria," he
said. "I never have to wonder if you want me."

True, she was swelling and parting, already
imagining him inside her. Christopher lifted her, his hardness
rising between them, and he slid her down onto it.

In the cell in Charleston, everything had
been quick, wicked, burning. Now Christopher went into her
carefully, inch by slow inch, letting her grow used to him. His
hands were slick with sweat, just as she was slick from wanting
him.

Christopher eased her down, more, more, while
he rose inside her. His eyes darkened as he watched her,
candlelight touching his lashes and the golden bristles on his
face.

"Honoria, love, I missed you so much."

He eased her the rest of the way down,
closing the last inch of space between their bodies. Honoria rocked
her head back, her loosened hair brushing her shoulders like warm
silk. Her flesh rose and tingled, her nipples dark and tight.

Christopher lay almost quietly beneath her,
muscles playing under the shirt he still wore. She wished he'd take
it off so she could run her hands over his body, but he did not.
His bronzed throat showed in the V of his collar, shining with
perspiration.

And inside her was the blunt, rigid length of
him, loosening what had been tight in her for so long. Honoria
welcomed the burning at her cleft, wanting it and wanting him.

This was
right.
The only time in her
life she'd ever felt complete, whole, was when she and Christopher
came together. She did not understand why this should be--she only
knew that she wanted to pull him deeper into herself, as deep as he
could go.

"Harder, please, Christopher."

He obliged, droving his hips upward, filling
her. His gray eyes were heavy, like a drunken man's, and his warm
hands engulfed her.

Honoria let her head drop back again, eyes
closing. Christopher thrust his thumb between them to where they
joined, gently teasing the bud that swelled for him.

Her climax came, the apex of the storm.
Incoherent sounds came from her mouth, Honoria rocking desperately
on him. Christopher thrust and thrust, and then suddenly he was
gone.

She cried out in disappointment, but then
Christopher pushed her down into the quilts, his body a heavy
weight on hers. Honoria sank into the pillows she'd insisted on
keeping, then he moved her legs apart and entered her in one long
stroke.

Honoria's climax went on, her voice ringing
from the beams. Christopher pinned her with hard hands on her
wrists, droplets of his sweat falling to her chest. He sought her
mouth, closing his eyes as he took her lips in a fierce kiss.

He loved her silently, his body hot. Honoria
was aching and tight around him, a heavenly pain she'd never
forget, had never forgotten.

Christopher dragged in a breath, his eyelids
flickering. He groaned her name, then he rode out his climax, his
breathing labored, his eyes closed.

After a very long time, Christopher slowed
and stilled. He raked Honoria's hair back from her face and kissed
her.

Their storm finished, quieted. Christopher
kissed Honoria's swollen lips, and she returned the kiss in gentle
tiredness.

For a long time they lay quietly, he kissing
her, she in limp tranquility. The ship rocked a little as the river
ran beneath them; a church tower on shore chimed midnight.

"Christopher . . ."