Surrender of a Siren (38 page)

Sophia laughed to herself. How had she missed the obvious? All this time, she’d been puzzling out the color of his eyes. They were always shifting and changing, from green to blue to gray. And now she knew why. They always reflected the sea.

“Do you know,” he said, “if you keep gazing at me like that much longer, I shall be forced to pack you off belowdecks.”

“Am I truly gazing?” She fluttered her lashes at him. “I am making a trip to the storeroom soon, you know. But mind—this is the last good frock I’ve got.”

“Siren.” He gave her a surreptitious pinch on the hip. “No, it’s the cabin I have in mind for you, and you’re going there alone. You need to rest.” He walked her toward the hatch.

“You won’t come rest with me?”

“If I come with you, neither of us will rest.”

A current of pleasure shot straight to her center. Then a more practical thought intruded. “But what of the noon meal? It won’t make itself.”

At that instant, a flying fish as long as her arm sailed over the rail of the boat and flopped on the deck at their feet.

Gray looked at the thrashing fish, then raised his eyebrows at her. “Somehow I think we’ll manage.”

Hours later, Sophia woke alone in the dark. Her toes groped the floorboards for her slippers, and she wrapped a light blanket over her shift before heading abovedecks.

Stars greeted her, in divine multitudes. A million lights dancing, winking, shining merrily in the firmament. As though some mischievous seraph were crawling about the floor of Heaven, drilling little holes with an auger to let glory shine through.

She spied him at the helm, his back to her as he looked out over the
Kestrel’s
stern, elbows propped on the rail. The crewman at the ship’s wheel politely ignored her as Sophia tiptoed past, through the swaying umbra of lamplight and into the shadows that cloaked Gray.

Noiselessly, she pressed her body to his, flattening her cheek against his back. He tensed at the initial contact, then relaxed an instant later. His fingers found hers as she crept one hand around his waist.

“You should be sleeping,” he murmured. His amplified voice sounded delicious, traveling through the solid muscles of his back. She felt him, rather than heard him. Felt him everywhere.

“I was missing you.” And, because she wanted to feel him speak again, she added in a suggestive voice, “Were you missing me?”

“Of course.” He dragged her hand downward to present her with tangible proof of just how much he missed her. Sophia smiled against his back. He missed her greatly, she discovered, her fingers exploring. This was yearning on a grand scale, indeed.

He spoke again, sending pleasant tremors through her. “We’ll make land tomorrow. In the morning, if the wind holds.”

Now Sophia was the one to tense. He pivoted to face her, drawing her tight against his chest. “Nothing between us changes tomorrow.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Except this,” he said, rubbing her palm over his beard. “The first thing I’ll do once we reach terra firma is shave. I’m going mad with itching.”

She laughed, caressing his rough cheek with her thumb. “Then why haven ’t you shaved all along?”

“Feel this?” He dragged her fingertips over the narrow scar slanting across his chin. “This is what comes of shaving at sea.”

“Truly?” She pulled back, blinking in the starlight to make out his features. “That’s how you got that scar? You cut yourself shaving?” She could not help but laugh.

“I’m glad my vanity-occasioned injury amuses you so.”

“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at myself. That you cut yourself shaving … it isn’t at all what I’d imagined.”

“Oh, by all means, laugh. It was pure folly.” He looked out over the waters. “Must have happened somewhere near this corner of the ocean, since we were only a day or so out from Tortola. I was coming home from England, after my father had died. I was so worried for my sister, Bel. She was just a child then. We hadn’t seen each other in years, but from the moment she greeted me, I wanted her to feel reassured. I was so anxious to look responsible, capable …” She heard the wry smile in his voice. “Failing that, at least well-groomed. I was shaving when the storm hit. Lost my balance and fell—sliced open my chin, and blackened an eye, too. Instead of well-groomed and responsible, I showed up looking as though I’d been besieged by pirates.”

“She was no less overjoyed to see you, I’m sure.” Sophia rested her chin on his arm. “I look forward to meeting your sister. Will she like me, do you think?”

“She will love you.” The soft murmur warmed her heart. Then he continued in a teasing tone, “Charity is her life’s work. It’s what Bel does best, devoting herself to the most wayward of souls.”

“Well then, she will most certainly attach herself to me.”

“I’m counting on it.” He gathered her closer, then froze. “I’ve just realized something.”

She looked up.

“Your little bundle’s gone,” he whispered, walking his fingers down the valley between her breasts. “You didn’t pitch it overboard?”

She smiled. “It’s beneath the mattress. I didn’t want to feel it between us anymore. But supposing I
had
pitched it overboard, what then? I do hope you’re not marrying me for my money.”

“No.” He laughed softly. “Six hundred pounds is no paltry sum … but no. It’s not enough to persuade a man of my means. If it were six thousand, then you might have cause for concern.”

And what if it were twenty thousand? Should I be concerned then?

Sophia rested her head on his shoulder. She knew he was only joking, that her money had no sway over his affections. He might have married for money years ago, if he’d wished. But still, she hesitated to divulge the remainder of her fortune, considering his angry reaction the first time.

Neither was she eager to tell him about Toby. How could she tell him that she’d just been betrothed to another solicitous, patient man whom she’d callously jilted and deceived? Gray would doubt her anew, she feared, and Sophia did not know how she would bear it. Better to wait until they were married. He could not doubt her love then.

She closed her eyes and let everything fall away. Everything but Gray. His thumb drew small, intimate circles on her back, and desire spiraled through her body. “Did you want to go below?” she asked.

An eager part of him jumped at the invitation, but the rest of him remained still. “In a bit.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face to his. “Right now, I want to kiss my sweetheart under the stars.”

She kept her eyes open as he bent his head to hers, taking in the silver-blue glow of his skin and the restless shadows the wind dragged from his hair. So handsome, even in the dark.

His breath caressed her lips first, gentle and warm. Then his lips whispered over hers, just a shade more insistent than breath. He licked lightly at the corner of her mouth, oiling the vulnerable hinge of her lips.

“Sweet,” he murmured. She swallowed the word, felt it slide from her throat to her belly, and lower … making her hungry for the warm press of his tongue against hers.

Oh, but he was a tease. All patient arrogance and devastating care.

Instead of taking her mouth, he slid a hand to the back of her neck, cradling her head and tipping it back to elongate the column of her throat. He scattered kisses there, hot sparks that danced along her exposed skin. She curled her fingers into his shirt and the rippling muscles beneath. Above them, strange constellations whirled through the night.

His mouth settled possessively over her ear, his breath heating the sensitive shell as his tongue traced its contours.

“You are mine,” he whispered into her. “And the world is ours. There is nowhere beneath this sky that we do not belong together.”

His tongue flashed into her ear, and her knees dissolved, leaving her no choice but to fall against him. To depend on him for her strength, her balance, and indeed her next breath, as now—at last—his lips covered hers.

Sophia’s eyes fluttered shut, and now the stars were inside her. Bright constellations of desire—sparking, burning, whirling through the darkest parts of her being. Glorious. His tongue struck a subtle, coaxing rhythm, mating skillfully with hers. Breasts needy and aching, she pressed her body against his. She wriggled into his embrace until that iron-hard ridge of him nestled just where she needed it. Where they belonged together.

He growled, deep in his throat. She relished the feral sound, the lapse in his suave, sensual mastery of her. But she paused only a moment to savor that taste of power before yielding again, eagerly surrendering to the dangerous, unpredictable need she’d unleashed.

He roamed her body, stroking and tweaking her everywhere she yearned for him. Soft caresses, rough pinches, sharp bites and gentle licks. He knew just where to place them, and in the precise sequence that rendered her panting and molten.

“Now,” he grunted, clutching at her hips. “Now, we go below.”

Gray delighted in going below. The little jolt of surprise she gave when he first kissed her there, that instinctive buck of her hips that thrust her heat against his mouth. That naughty little book of hers excluded some rather vital lessons in the art of passion, and he took great pleasure in completing her education.

And then he took his own pleasure in her.

Afterward, sweaty and sated, they lay naked atop the linens. Spread out on their backs as if floating, allowing the night air to cool their skin. Blissful exhaustion buoyed him into sleep.

He roused some time later, when she lit a candle.

“I know I’ve seen one here somewhere …”

Gray could barely muster the energy to lift his head. He caught sight of her, dressed in her shift and rummaging through drawers. “What are you looking for?”

“Aha!” She straightened triumphantly, holding a sharply gleaming object in her hand. A razor, he discerned. “There’s a strop and a cake of shaving soap, too. I’ll just fetch some water from the galley.”

Before he could protest, she was out the cabin door, and Gray let his head fall back on the pillow. He must have dozed, because he opened his eyes to find her over him, tugging his head toward the edge of the bed and smoothing her palms over his face.

“Just lie still,” she whispered, guiding him to pivot his body until the crown of his head rested against her chest. “Trust me, I’ve a very steady hand.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She worked sharp-scented lather through the whiskers, and the aroma sliced through the fog of his brain, waking him a bit more.

“This time, you shall greet your sister looking resplendent. The picture of respectability; or at least, of good grooming.”

He sighed as she smoothed the lather down his throat, her touch gliding over his skin. “Good. I shall need all the resplendence I can manage, in order to convince her. Although, I expect your presence will accomplish more in that respect.”

“Convince her of what?”

“To come with us, of course.” He paused as she laid the blade to his jaw and dragged it slowly up to his cheek. “Now that her mother’s gone, and Mara, too … I can’t allow her to continue living there alone.”

“Mara?” She made another slow swipe with the razor.

“Joss’s wife. Died in childbirth last year.”

She paused. “How dreadful. Did the babe survive?”

“Yes. A boy, Jacob. Bel’s looking after him now.”

After rinsing the blade, she laid a hand to his cheek, rolling his head to the other side. Again, she began at his ear and worked inward.

“I wish you could have known my brother before,” Gray continued. “Before Mara died, he was different. Things were different between us. More … brotherly.”

“Grief changes people.”

“So I’ve learned.”

She tipped his head back to reach his throat. He steadied his breathing, fighting the urge to swallow as she scraped over his pulse.
Grief changes people
. How could it not? He realized now how unfair he’d been to Joss, denying him the time to grieve, the space to change. It was only now that he
could
understand it, when the very idea of losing this woman forced beads of cold sweat to his brow.

Closing his eyes, he reached up to squeeze her free hand. “Let us speak of happier things.”

“Very well.” He heard the smile in her voice. “Where shall we honeymoon? Will you take me to Italy, to see the Botticellis?”

“I will take you anywhere you wish. Anywhere under the sky.”

A tender kiss landed on his eyelid. Then she fell silent, working toward the center of his chin, dipping the blade in a basin at his side between short, sure strokes. She was concentrating, he realized, working carefully around his scar. At last she set aside the razor, letting it sink into the basin with a soft splash, then dried his face with a cloth.

“Stay still.” Her fingers ran lightly over his face, as if testing for any rough spots she’d missed. She traced the thin scar from his chin to his mouth. “So if this scar was self-inflicted, occasioned by vanity”—her hand slid down to the scar on his chest—“what of this? Not vanity, I think.”

He shook his head, laying one hand over hers. “Pure stupidity, that one. But self-inflicted, just the same.”

“It looks like a burn.”