Pirate Wolf Trilogy (71 page)

Varian lay
there stunned. There had been nothing shy or tentative about her
passion. It had been as fierce and primitive as her instinct for
survival and it should not have come as any surprise that a young,
vibrant creature like Juliet Dante would regard the act of engaging
in intercourse any differently than she viewed her right to wield a
sword or command a fighting ship.

Furthermore, as
shockingly virginal as Varian himself felt at the moment, he was
far from being a novice in the bedroom. At the same time, it had
never been more than a purely physical release for him. He had
never, not once in all his years, felt such a resounding need to
lose himself in a woman’s body, to commit himself so completely to
the giving as well as the taking of pleasure.

Whether he
moved first, lifting his head out of the crook of her shoulder, or
she moved, squirming slightly to encourage some of his weight to
shift, it was not clear. But one minute they were searching their
own thoughts, the next they were searching each others, their eyes
locked, their breaths cooling the dampness on each other’s faces.
His hair was fallen forward, throwing most of his face into shadow.
Juliet’s, conversely, was spread beneath her like a tumbled cloud
of dark silk, her features bathed in candlelight.

Why, he
wondered, had not noticed until now, the tiny raised mole at the
corner of her mouth? It sat just above the curve of her lip and was
the same dusky pink as her nipples. The rest of her complexion was
flawless, smooth as silk, tanned a lush honey gold by the sun. Her
whole body was tanned, making his seem even whiter by
comparison.

Searching
farther afield, he saw the swath of shiny skin on her arm where she
had said she’d been burned, the countless nicks and tracings of
fine white lines that could have been caused by knives or swords or
a myriad other violent means.

His gaze
returned to her face—a truly lovely face when it wasn’t trying so
damned hard to be fierce and unapproachable. The cheekbones were
high, the brow wide, the eyes large and luminous. Her mouth, when
it wasn’t scowling, was lush and evocative and wreaked enough havoc
on Varian’s senses to make his toes curl into the bedsheets.

“Something
amuses you?” she asked warily.

He made no
attempt to curb his smile. “My own misguided perceptions,
perhaps.”

“Well, perhaps
you could guide them elsewhere and give me ease to breathe.”

“And forfeit
the advantage I have so keenly won?”

She started to
wriggle out from beneath him but found her wrists suddenly caught
and pinned flat to the bed, her legs effectively trapped under
his.

“What are you
playing at now?”

“I am not
playing at all, Captain. I will confess, however, that I am curious
to know if this was just a simple diversion for you, or if you had
some other reason for plying me with your charms.”

“
Do not
flatter yourself by supposing it was anything
other
than a brief diversion.” She released an
extravagant sigh. “Faith, I did not think men needed a reason to
bed a woman; I thought they simply needed the opportunity. Thus,
having taken it, sir, you may now heave off me.”

“In due
course... if that is what you really want.”

“
What
else
would
I
want?”

The question
had barely cleared her lips—in fact, the last word faltered and
quivered away to nothingness as she felt his lower body press
forward and pull slowly back.

He was growing
hard again.

She, on
the other hand, was all soft and buttery inside. She had thought
that was the end of it, for none of her three lovers, not even her
exquisite Frenchman, had done more than grunt and roll away when
they were finished—and they had not had half the number of reasons
to toss her aside as Varian St. Clare. She had been rude, mocking,
and outright belligerent with him since the moment he had wakened
on board the
Iron Rose
. She
had further deceived him by letting him believe she was taking him
to see her father when in truth, he was scarcely more than a
hostage against whatever use her father might make of him. In
truth, when she had kissed him out on the balcony, she had fully
expected him to reject her artless attempt at seduction.

He had not only
answered it, but with a single flick of his tongue he had turned
the tables, and if it was possible to believe what she was seeing
in the smoldering depths of his eyes, he was turning them again,
offering her the choice of whether to stop or go forward.

It would be
different in the morning, she had no doubt, for he would once again
assume the mantle of king’s envoy and she would again be the
daughter of a pirate wolf. But morning was hours away and she had
other things to ponder now ... like how limbs that had been
dead-weights only moments ago were drawing themselves up and
hooking around his waist, how a body that had seemed completely
lacking in initiative was now tingling everywhere, gathering
strength from each slow, heated thrust of his flesh.

He
released her wrists, pausing long enough to remove the torn halves
her shirt, and when he bowed a determined mouth to her breast
again, it was with a boldly ominous, “
En garde
, Captain.”

She curled her
lip between her teeth and had to bite down hard to smother the
groan of utterly decadent pleasure as he rolled her onto her belly
and pushed his arms between her thighs to spread them. She
stretched up to grasp the bedpost and let her lips fall slack while
the promised friction of all that heat stretched up and began to
move inside her again.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

“Heave, damn
you! Put your weight behind it!”

Exasperated, Juliet vaulted over the deck rail and joined
the men who were in the process of winching a heavy thirty-two
pounder on board the
Iron Rose
. An
inspection of the guns had revealed a hairline crack in one of the
barrels, a flaw that could prove fatal if the cannon overheated and
blew apart. The crew had disassembled the gun carriage and slung
ropes around the barrel to hoist it out of the cradle and drop it
over the side.

Juliet
wrapped her gloved hands around the cable and added her weight to
that of the men heaving and straining to lift the brass culverin
into its wooden cradle. The effort left her winded after only a few
moments and she found herself sweating and gritting her teeth to
keep her feet from skidding out beneath her. Though she refused to
think about it, she knew full well why her energy reserves were
depleted. She knew it every time she walked or sat or ran her
tongue across lips that felt so puffed and tender she imagined
every man on board the
Rose
was snickering out the corners of their mouths.

She still
wasn’t entirely sure herself what had happened last night, how she
had ended up in Varian St. Clare’s bed. She had been restless, too
full of herself—and wine—after her triumphant return to the Cay,
and all that coltish energy had somehow been converted to lust.
Now, in the harsh light of day, every scrap of wind that pushed her
shirt against her skin had her nipples peaking like small beacons,
every time her hair swept her neck or cheek she imagined it was his
lips searching, nuzzling, whispering against her ear.

The tenderness
between her thighs was a constant reminder. She ached in places she
had not known she could ache. When she glanced up—innocently or
otherwise—toward the big stone house on the hill, all she could see
was the bed they had shared, the splash of his dark hair on the
pillow, the sprawl of his naked body on the bed. That would, in
turn, make her remember how he had looked last night with the
candlelight gilding his shoulders, his muscles bunching and flexing
as he arched above her, his every sinew straining with intent.

She should
never have touched him. It had been a foolish, reckless, careless
impulse and she was no better off for having burned half the night
away in his arms. This was no time to be distracted by a handsome
face, an incredibly inventive mouth, or a dangerously seductive
body. Dear God, he had only needed to trace a fingertip along her
hip to bring her crawling over his thighs.

Worse,
she had crept out of the bed like a thief before dawn. She had come
on board the
Iron
Rose
and worked
alongside the men, hoping that pure physical exhaustion would erase
any more foolish thoughts she might have.

The rope
slipped through her gloves and she scrambled for a fresh purchase.
The cannon weighed upwards of two tons and the strain caused the
metal cleats to scream in protest. The scream ended with a loud
snap as the bolt broke and Juliet felt the cable spring back and go
slack in her hands. The men on the line fell backwards in a heap as
the barrel came crashing down. It landed crosswise on the carriage
and split the wooden truncheon into kindling before bouncing off
and slamming to the deck. One of the mates who had been guiding the
barrel toward the rail was standing in its path and his foot was
crushed to pulp on impact. The gun pitched forward pushed the bones
in his lower leg up through the knee, breaking the skin and
spraying blood across the deck. Two crewmen rushed to brace the
barrel with staves to prevent it rolling further onto their
shipmate, while several more tried to pull the injured man free.
The sickening shreds of flesh that hung off his ankle were quickly
bound in canvas and he was carried, howling, below to the
surgery.

Juliet sat
gasping on the deck. It had happened so fast she’d had no time to
react. She had fallen with the others, and while there was no
reason to assign blame to anything other than a weakened bolt on
the winch, she was angry at herself, angry at all the men who stood
around scratching their heads and peering up at the pulley as if it
was to blame for human carelessness.

“By the Devil’s
caul, did no one think to inspect the bolts before we started
hauling guns around?” She pushed to her feet and smacked the
sawdust off the seat of her breeches.

“The winch was
checked,” Nathan said calmly. “It looked sound enough. The bolt
just snapped, is all.”

“
Just
snapped?” She whirled on him. “A good man has lost his foot,
possibly his leg and that’s all you can say? It just
snapped
.”

Nathan shoved
the brim of his cap back off his forehead and, ignoring the fact
she was captain, he snatched her around the arm and dragged her out
of earshot of the rest of the crew. “What would ye rather hear?
That someone climbed up there, sawed through the metal an’ stood to
one side eatin’ a plantain while they waited for the bolt to split
an’ wham down on one of his mates? Pin my eyelids to the mast if it
would make ye feel better, but it were an accident, plain an’
simple. Be thankful it weren’t yer leg that were crushed, though it
couldn’t hardly put ye in any better of a mood if it were.”

“My mood is
just fine, thank you.”

“
Aye, for
a harridan. Ye’ve been barkin’ an’ snarlin’ the whole blessed
morning long an’ the men are thinkin’ they should just bare their
backs an’ take a dozen licks o’ the cat now so ye can vent yer
spleen all at the one time and be done with it. Ye’re not doing
anyone any good here, lass. Havin’ ye bray an’ stomp around won’t
get the work done any faster. Go ashore an’ if ye’re needed, I’ll
send one of the lads to fetch ye. An’
whup
!” He held a finger up to forestall whatever retort was
about to burst from her lips. “If ye don’t leave of yer own accord,
I’ll heave ye over the side myself an’ let ye swim
ashore.”

They glared one
another down for another full minute before Juliet dredged up a
fearsome oath and stormed to the gangway. She swung a leg over the
side and descended to one of the many boats bobbing in the water
below. A harsh bark set eight oars in the water simultaneously and
within a few strokes, they were flying across the bay.

Mounting the
first horse she found tied beside the dock, she kicked a wet boot
into its flank and galloped all the way up the slope to house.
Knowing she was in no fit mood to encounter any of her family, she
followed the lower veranda around to the stairs at the rear of the
house. She took them two and three at a time and, without looking
to the left or the right, walked straight to the double french
doors of Varian St. Clare’s room. She thrust them open and stood a
moment on the threshold, her blood pounding fiercely in her
temples.

~~~

Varian came
awake with a start. He sat bolt upright, his dark hair spiked over
his ears and spilling forward over his brow. The noise, the sound
... whatever had wakened him was gone and could not be readily
identified. He was alone, that much was confirmed when he glanced
quickly around and searched the room. There was nothing, not even
an indent in the bedding to show there had been another body beside
him during the night.

He ran a hand
through his hair and frowned. The frown turned into a wince as he
brushed the injury on his cheek—an injury that, oddly enough, had
not troubled him overmuch during the night. None of his aches or
bruises had intruded, though now, in daylight, he felt like he had
been hauled beneath the keel of a ship encrusted with six months
worth of barnacles.

Frowning again,
he made a second slow search around the room. Was it possible he
had dreamed the entire incident? Was it possible he had spent the
night alone and only dreamed that Juliet Dante had been there
beside him?