How To Please a Pirate (8 page)

He tried to smile at her, but he found
himself adrift in the grey sea of her eyes. Her chin trembled.
Without seeming aware of it, she brought the handle of her fan up
to brush her lower lip.

His brows came together. “There’s a new one.
What does that mean?”

Her pink lips formed an ‘O’ and the whites
showed all the way around her eyes. “Forgive me, my lord. I . . .
what I mean is . . . oh, never mind.”

“That is a real fan gesture, isn’t it?” He
seized upon her gaffe like a deerhound on the last shank. “Surely
you wouldn’t withhold such important knowledge from me. Not when it
will aid Dragon Caern. Come now. What does it mean when a woman
touches a fan to her lips?”

She avoided his gaze. “It means she wants a
kiss.”

She wants a kiss.

“Does it indeed?” He’d guessed as much, but
hardly dared hope. “I begin to see the benefits of this fan
language. A man could grow to like it after all. Just to make sure
I remember this very important signal, I think you’ve forfeited a
kiss to me.”

“My lord, I don’t—”

“Like the gentle art of the fan with its
multitude of meanings,” he continued, sensing approaching victory,
“a kiss may also mean many things. No doubt there’s a proper way to
kiss for which my life of piracy has not prepared me.”

“That’s a certainty,” she said, some of her
old vinegar returning.

“Then perhaps that’s a bit of my training
you’d care to take upon yourself.”

“Well, we mustn’t have you embarrassing the
Caern with improper and indiscriminate kissing,” she admitted. “If
a lady signals that she wishes you to kiss her, you might frighten
off a perfectly good prospective wife if you fail to do it in a
seemly manner.”

“Then let us begin. Shall I try another kiss
on your hand?”

That was a tactical blunder. Her cheeks
flamed with remembrance of the deeply sensual interplay. For a
brief moment in the solar, when he’d slid his tongue into the
crevice between her fingers, it was as if he’d invaded another far
more intimate cleft. Her discomfort now proved she’d been as moved
by that sinful kiss as he. It might be time for another judicious
retreat.

“No matter. We seem to have covered hand
kissing with thoroughness. But suppose I should kiss you like
so—”

He moved toward her, but she straight-armed
him.

“Trust me, Jacquelyn. It’s not a kiss you
should fear.”

She relaxed slightly while he cradled her
cheeks and planted his lips on her forehead.

“There,” he said as he released her. “In the
language of kisses, what does that tell you?”

“That you think I’m a child who needs
consoling.”

“In need of consolation maybe for I know you
fear to spend time alone with me,” he said. “But I’d never think of
you as a child.”

“What a ludicrous idea. I have no fear of
you, my lord.”

“Perhaps you should.”

She slanted a look at him. “At least your
kiss showed respect.”

“Indeed,” he said. “But surely there are
other kisses which also qualify as respectful.”

“Do you think so? Truly?”

“I do. Truly. Allow me to demonstrate.”

She didn’t move when he pressed a lingering
kiss on the hollow of her cheek. He didn’t even think she
breathed.

“There,” he said when he strained to pull
back. His insides rioted, but he forced himself not push forward.
“What do you suppose that kiss meant?”

She turned her lips inward for a moment as if
to hide them from him. “It felt as if . . . as if you wished to
give to me. Not take.”

Surprised, he realized she was right. With
everything in him, he wanted to give her pleasure. He wanted to
give this woman the sweetest kisses the world had ever known.

“Then let me, Jacquelyn.” He cupped her
cheek. “Let me give to you.”

She looked up at him, her eyes enormous in
the soft light of the garden. Her little tongue traced her top lip
this time, but she didn’t say a word.

He took her silence as consent.

He brushed his lips on her temple and her
eyelids fluttered shut, the thick lashes trembling on her
cheekbones. Feather-light, he kissed her just below her brow.

“Repectful?” he asked.

“Mmm,” she murmured.

He dropped a playful peck on her slightly
upturned nose.

She made a noise that sounded suspiciously
like a giggle. Who’d have thought he could bring the woman who’d
set out to kill him not long ago to genuine laughter?

He pressed his lips to the corner of her
upturned mouth. It was such a sweet spot, half smooth warm skin,
half moist intimacy, he lingered, inhaling her fragrance as he
kissed her. Her breath hitched and her lips parted, but she didn’t
resist.

He drew back to look down at her. Dewy and
soft, she was a feast a man might never tire of sampling. His cock
swelled to life. His pirate’s heart would have him plunder her
mouth. To thrust in with fierceness, demand her surrender and give
no quarter.

She opened her eyes and held his gaze. The
fragile trust he read in them made him hold himself in check.

Slowly, with as much care as if he was
piloting his ship up to an unfamiliar dock, he closed the distance
between their mouths. He stopped a finger-width from his goal.

She swallowed hard and amazingly, her eyes
closed in submission.

A plainer invitation than a fan signal and
one he recognized in a blink.

He covered her lips with his, holding steady
for a few heartbeats. Then he slanted his mouth over hers,
delighting in her moist sweetness. She was all that was soft and
pliant and woman.

And she made him desperately hard.

He slid one hand behind her head to steady
her and prevent her escape. But Jacquelyn didn’t seem to want to
escape. She turned her head so their lips slanted the other way,
almost as if his mouth was a new garment and she was testing the
fit.

Gabriel slipped his fingers under the mobcap
to bury them in her thick tresses. Gently, he kneaded the nape of
her neck.

Her lips parted under him but he didn’t rush
in. Instead he took her lower lip between his and sucked once
before releasing it. When he did it again, she reciprocated with
his top lip. He stifled a groan.

Lust roared more urgently in him, demanding
release. He wanted to pull up her skirt and find her slit, wet and
swollen with need. He wanted to yank down her bodice and suckle her
nipples till she pleaded for him to take her.

He wanted to rut her blind.

Instead, with Herculean effort, he released
her mouth and pulled back from her. Another strategic retreat, but
it cost him dear.

His cock throbbed in protest, the pleasurable
ache blurring toward shrieking pain.

Jacquelyn opened her eyes, searching his face
for a moment. Then to his surprise, she palmed his cheeks and
brought his mouth back down to hers.

Wonder of wonders.

She
kissed
him
.

Jacquelyn knew the exact moment sanity
deserted her. It was when she saw her own reflection in his dark
eyes—all flushed and wanting and unable to care about the things
she was certain were so terribly important, but at the moment
wouldn’t spring to mind.

She tumbled with him into the void.

The world he led her to was a slick, wet
place, far different from the kisses he’d forced upon her that
first day they met. A warm, sweet rush of mingled breath and soft
gasps, of little nips and harder love bites, of dueling tongues and
hands that roamed forbidden places. Pleasure pressed at her from
all sides, more than she could take in at once.

The pleasure demanded she give as well. She
responded with joy. He groaned into her mouth when her hand slipped
inside his jacket and discovered the hard expanse of his chest.
When her fingertips dipped lower to his belly, she was rewarded
with a feral male growl.

Instead of scaring her, his involuntary
response sent a thrill of power surging through her. Warmth settled
between her legs and smoldered, ready to burst into flame.

She suckled his tongue. He stole her
breath.

Here was a world where anything was possible
and the only law was delight. He made her want so many things for
which she had no name. This was madness, of course, but somehow
he’d wrapped her in a space that made the insanity safe.

Here she might be more than Mistress Wren,
the keeper of the keys and chatelaine of Dragon Caern. In the world
of Gabriel Drake’s kiss, she soared free, giving and receiving this
strangely pleasing ache without care.

And wasn’t that the oddest thing? How could a
dull throb feel so good? It must be part of the madness of the
place, she reasoned dimly.

In the circle of Gabriel’s arms, Jacquelyn
might be anyone she wished. A lady of noble birth, someone’s
beloved, someone’s naughtiest dream, or all three at once.

She’d seen it in his eyes.

She tore her lips from his and looked at him
again.

For a blink, Jacquelyn was sure she saw her
mother’s reflection. Isabella Wren smiled back at her with
kiss-swollen lips.

Reason rushed back into her. There was no
magic here. Only animal lust.

And the betrayal that follows in the wake of
its satisfaction.

“No,” she gasped.

Jacquelyn tore herself from his arms and ran
from the garden.

* * *

“Jacquelyn, wait.” Gabriel stood and took a
step after her. Then he stopped himself. What was he going to do?
Force her.

Yes, damn it!
his cock demanded.

Everything was going so well. Far better than
he’d hoped. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to set her off, but he’d
give anything to call the moment back.

Anything but his pride.

Gabriel sank back onto the bench with an
explosive sigh. If she didn’t want him, he bloody well wasn’t going
to chase after her.

The deuce of it was, he was sure she
had
wanted him. Wanted him very much. What on earth had he
done to change that?

He clenched his fists and studied the silver
buckles on his shoes for the count of ten. If he lived to be a
hundred, he’d never understand the dizzying fizzle that went on in
a woman’s brain. He dragged a hand over his face and looked up.

Into the faces of five women in
miniature.

Five pairs of green eyes that looked
suspiciously like feminine versions of his brother’s. They all
stared at him accusingly.

“Ah,” he said in sudden comprehension. “The
Misses Drake, I presume.”

His nieces stood in a semi-circle before him,
arms crossed over their girlish chests, pale brows lowered. From
smallest to tallest, they formed a neat staircase of feminine
disapproval.

“Why you bite Miss Jack?” the littlest one
demanded. Clear-eyed and toe-headed, she couldn’t have been much
more than four years old. “Mrs. B. tan your bottom if you bite
somebody.” She rubbed a hand on her own posterior as if it still
stung from some paddling she’d received for an infraction of the
‘no biting’ rule.

“Hush, Lily,” the tallest hissed.

She leaned down to frown at the child, then
straightened to her full height to glare at him. The crown of her
head probably wouldn’t reach Gabriel’s armpit, he decided. Her
little bodice was snug over breasts like ripe figs. More than a
child, but not yet a woman, her oval face held the promise of
beauty. She’d be a handful in a few seasons for whoever was
responsible for guarding her purity.

With a start, Gabriel realized that ‘whoever’
was
him
. As baron of Dragon Caern, he was in charge of his
nieces’ upbringing, making sure their education and accomplishments
matched their station. Ultimately, he’d have to see them wed. These
girls were under his protection now. Short of locking them in their
chambers when they began attracting men, he had no idea how to go
about it.

The oldest one looked down her pert nose at
her siblings.

“He wasn’t biting her,” his niece explained.
“He was trying to ‘com-pro-mise’ her. That’s what Mrs. Beadle would
call it.” She narrowed her eyes at him in a perfect imitation of
the housekeeper at her scowling best.

Perhaps he’d lock this one up sooner.

“You think you know so much, Hyacinth,” the
second tallest jabbed her older sister with a sharp-looking elbow.
“Just because you caught Timothy with the dairy maid when they
didn’t know you were in the loft. If you hadn’t interrupted them,
you’d have learned far more. For your information, his lordship
would have to do a good bit more to compromise Mistress Jacquelyn
than kiss her.” She tapped her pointed chin with her finger.
“Looked to me like they were just dallying a bit.”

“Dallying? Daisy, where did you hear such
language? As if Miss Jacquelyn would stoop to willingly consorting
with a pi—“ Hyacinth stopped herself, her face reddening. “He was
kissing her to beat thunder and she had to run off to get away from
him.”

“He wants a paddling,” Lily said with a
pout.

“He shouldn’t be paddled.” Hyacinth shook her
head. “He should be horse-whipped.”

“No, that wouldn’t be fair. I think Miss
Jacquelyn liked his kisses,” Daisy said, her lips screwed to one
side as if she were considering the evidence. “In fact, it looked
like she was kissing him back, too. For a while, at least.”

Gabriel smiled at this most astute
observation. Daisy was obviously the brains of the outfit. He
guessed her to be around ten. He turned his gaze to the next two, a
pair as like as bookends, with thin blond braids dangling to their
waists.
“How about you?” he asked the twins. “Lily thinks I need my bottom
tanned. Hyacinth wants me horse-whipped. Daisy may be willing to
give me the benefit of the doubt.” He tossed that most amiable
niece a quick wink and she beamed back at him. “Would you two like
to express an opinion?”