Читать книгу Safe in the Earl's Arms - Liz Tyner, Liz Tyner - Страница 14

Chapter Six

Melina’s warmth overpowered Warrington. He gripped the wheel hard, trying to ignore her body—but he could not ignore anything about her. He could only tell his heart to quit beating so loudly she might hear.

Her skirts tangled in his legs and when she moved the slightest, her backside brushed against him, causing his fingers to lock on to the wheel’s spindles with such force he expected the wood to shatter. And when she put her foot down on his boot, and then sidestepped to avoid his feet, even more of her pressed against him. He was stoked into heated readiness.

The sea’s moisture penetrated her clothing, bringing the scent of a stringent soap to his nose along with the spiced fragrance he’d noticed. But he inhaled again—because mixed with her skin, the soap reminded him of a woman’s purity—something he’d never felt before in his arms.

He savoured the moments with her and, for the first time since the newness had worn thin, relished a moment at sea.

‘I think you’ve impressed the men enough with your mastery over me now,’ she whispered. ‘You may release me.’

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead he lowered his head. ‘I do not think they are convinced—yet,’ and as he said the last word, his lips tasted the skin at her neck. He wasn’t disappointed.

A shrill, vulgar whistle interrupted and he pulled back.

‘I cannot believe you men are ignoring your duties,’ he called out after he’d turned his head so he could raise his voice without hurting her ear, ‘simply because Melina cannot stay from my side.’

He heard her intake of breath, but before she could speak, he put his fingers lightly over her arm. ‘Don’t say more,’ he whispered, ‘and they’ll go back to their work.’

She gave a quick nod and he dropped his fingers.

‘Melina.’ He made sure no one could hear. ‘If I release you...’ inwardly he cursed himself ‘...will you go straight back to the cabin?’

She opened her mouth to speak and then took a breath before answering. ‘Yes, but...’

‘You may stay if you wish.’

Her voice was hushed. ‘The room—the walls—it reminds me of a cave... I hate caves...’

He held her waist and his hand instantly warmed from her skin. ‘I understand. I was daft to step foot on this ship. I never plan to let my feet leave dry land again—but I’m pleased I sailed. I saw what I left behind.’

‘Your wife is gone, but you have a woman there you care for?’

He shook his head. ‘I do not.’ He heard the coarseness of his tone and softened his words, speaking low, near her ear. ‘I’ve spent little time with a woman this past year.’ A breeze blew over his face and whipped at his clothing.

‘My wife, Cass, died nearly a year ago, or beyond,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure. I refuse to remember the dates. The days. She left behind two children. But I have to get home to my son. I’ve left him too much. I had him brought to my town house to visit me, but I’ve not returned to Whitegate since my wife died.’ He paused. ‘No. I have no woman. I have not had one for a long time.’

‘I would have still bargained with you had you been wed. I had to leave.’

‘I understand.’ His lips were only a shudder from her ear, and he let his face rest against her head. ‘But my brother would be holding you now, not I, if I still had a wife at home.’ She shivered, but he didn’t know if it was from his actions or his words or his nearness.

‘Truly?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I suppose. Perhaps not. But Ben would have known had I been untrue to Cass and that would have bothered me, though he wouldn’t have cared. As I am the eldest, I should lead the family.’

‘Not all the oldest of the family lead.’ Her voice, soft, brushed against him like a caress. ‘My mother cared for us on Melos. Father would leave for a long time and then he would return, laughing at how much we’d grown. Sometimes he would stay a short while. Sometimes a year or more. Mother still took care of our home just as she did when alone.’

‘My wife left all in the hands of the servants, but they took great care not to anger her.’ He’d never spoken such to anyone. Nights with poor sleep and wondering if he might die when the ship caught ablaze, and then having such warmth in his arms melted into him had loosened his tongue. And made his memories not so harsh.

‘In her youth,’ he continued, ‘my wife nearly died and her family feared for her life.’ He brushed at the hair fallen from Melina’s pins. She had as much of her locks on her shoulders as she had in place. ‘Her parents adored Cassandra. Plus, she was a beauty and they treated her as porcelain. Her older sister, Daphne, missed Cass when we married, so I welcomed Daphne to visit. Daph loved her sister so much. In no time, Daphne was family to me and Cassandra was a doll we both adored.’

He stepped back, moving aside. The talk of Cass had stirred unpleasant memories. And he had a woman in his arms who could take his mind from Cassandra. Now was not the moment to think of the past. Any longer with Melina and he would not be able to keep his hands from roaming her body. ‘Your hair is falling to your shoulders. Go to the cabin and try to sleep if you can,’ he directed her, feeling a distant coolness replacing the warmth of having her close. ‘I will follow soon.’

She gave a quick nod and walked away, staying away from the outer rails.

He sniffed the air. He was not a seasoned sailor and he knew a storm was on the way. The seas had roughened. He called out for someone to take his place at the helm.

And while he waited, he told himself to remember that Melina was little more to him than an imagination. When they docked, she would disappear—just like the dream he created of her.

* * *

Melina sat on the floor, head back against the wood, eyes closed, propped against a bundle of bedding. He clicked the door shut behind him just as lightning flashed at the window. She jumped, blinked twice and struggled to find words. ‘The sea is rough,’ she said, voice unsteady.

‘We’ll take your mind from it.’ He leaned towards her, took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Just the touch of her made every bucket worth it. He slipped his arms around her and buried his face against the soft skin of her neck. He smiled when a hint of sweet spice reached his nose. She smelled like something of a holiday. Of gaiety. Mulled wine. Exotic treats.

Her clothing bunched under his hands and he covered her back with his touch. He needed nothing more than her in his arms. She soothed him—something he’d not expected. Feeling the softness of her earlobe with his face, he savoured her. But she remained still, letting him caress and giving no response.

Warrington stood back from her and took off his coat, putting it on the peg. After wishing the ship’s movement hadn’t hit her so hard, he remembered the rough days when he’d first set out. No one should feel so unsettled.

Warrington took her chin, lifted it and brushed a kiss across her lips. His body flamed from just the merest touch of her. He whispered against her skin, ‘You’ll have to imagine all the fine things that should surround someone as lovely as you.’

He understood her reluctance. She didn’t know how they’d find the room, probably expecting nothing more than the sort of encounter a rushed man gave a woman who had to be on to her next business. The two of them simply could not fit on the bed. Not only could they not lie side by side, but the cabinets overhead prevented other arrangements. He’d spent some time thinking of the best way to accomplish a blissful encounter. Even as he released her, the ship kept rocking in such a way they could hardly keep from stumbling into each other.

Warrington reached for the bedding bundle, which rolled about, knocking into his legs, and with a few tugs and a quick flick spread the bedding on the floor. The chair and table were gone. She stepped back, flattening herself against the wall.

Pulling the mattress and coverings from his berth, he put it against the ones on the floor, adding softness. He fell to his knees to finish making the pallet. He’d never, ever knelt in front of a woman—but no matter. Running a hand over the bedding, he smoothed edges together.

He stood, examining her in the lantern light.

Brown eyes—lovely, enticing—stared back at him. She didn’t look pleased to see the covers on the floor, but he couldn’t fault her.

‘I assure you, if we were in London, I’d find a bed for us so soft you’d think of clouds.’ He wanted her to understand—he took this seriously.

The pallor in her face slowed his movements. She had to know the bed wasn’t his choice.

‘There’s no bigger cabin, except Ben’s,’ he told her, ‘and he is captain, so it’s rather hard to shove him out through the door.’

‘I’m... This is fine.’ She dropped to her knees, pulling the top covers in place and brushing her hand across them. She lowered her chin. ‘You know I’m not... The ship is moving more and...’ She touched her stomach.

He knelt, reaching out for her shoulder, feeling the roughness of the sleeve. ‘Melina—if you’ve any compassion at all, try to keep from being ill for a bit longer. I can... But with the storm coming and...’

She pulled back. ‘This is not the storm?’

He’d said the wrong thing. ‘A few raindrops. Ben thinks we’ll sail through without a bobble.’

The ship heaved and she moved backwards, sliding with the makeshift bed. He shifted with the momentum, putting his arm around her and arranging so his back was to the wall and he held her at his side. He felt stronger than any wave—but she didn’t.

A blast of anger hit him. The fates—he knew them well, they were his bedfellows—they were conspiring again. They thrust another wave against the ship and he held her tight, seeing the press of her lips.

He was not some rutting beast—and she would still be here tomorrow—assuming they didn’t die in the storm.

Warrington stood, extinguished the wick and looked to the window. He had no time to get a hammer and nail a covering over the opening so the flashes of lightning wouldn’t illuminate and accentuate the discordance outside.

He’d been graced with this woman whose ancestors could have been from Thessaly, where mythology began, and he would not be allowed to touch her. Lightning wove gold threads into her hair, but illuminated the pallor of her skin and reminded him she didn’t feel well.

At least on deck he would be forced into thinking of staying alive. He reached to the door, but her voice stopped him.

‘Please,’ she said, and touched the bed beside her. ‘The ship shakes so. I don’t want to be alone. I feel better with you near. Here.’

Lightning kept flashing through the glass—giving her a mythical glow, freezing the unmoving image of her into his mind, painting her like a statue, a work of art.

The intensity of her gaze caused him to stare—her eyes clear as a harvest moon, surrounded by lashes dipped in the flashing light. He dropped to his knees, landing beside her, entranced by the flickers of lightning on her skin. He swept his finger over her bottom lip. Now he knew what magic felt like. His skin tingled with anticipation.

More thunder crashed. He heard a crack of lightning. With the sounds, and the sight of her, sensual energy surged in him, heating him until an internal maelstrom engulfed him. The memories he made tonight would some day take on larger-than-life images in his mind. Melina, different from all he’d seen before, and all he’d see again, would remain in his thoughts—like a precious gem hidden away in a safe. A secret only for himself to have.

A wave tilted the ship and she wrenched her body around, clasping the front of his shirt. She buried her head against him and he held her.

‘Have you ever been in seas this rough?’ she asked.

Lightning crackled much too close. The very air could not be still, as if it had an awareness of their moments, and told them to hurry, hurry, hurry, and grasp every second of sensation.

He ran his fingertips across her back, and the lightest touch of his hand against her took his breath. The fierce waters faded from his mind.

When he could speak, he said, ‘Once is too many times. I didn’t tell you before. Suspected you’d worry if you realised how brutal the waves can be when the sun heats the water in the day and the storms take us at night.’

He pulled his coat front aside, sliding into a sitting position, and then tucked the garment around her back, hugging her inside with him. ‘This ship was built to handle such weather and the men are the best sailors in the world. Nothing will happen.’ Assuming the repairs held and the storm did not get too violent.

‘Shut your eyes, and think of... Think of this,’ he said.

His mouth closed over hers and the kiss was nothing more than a simple touch, almost the same as he might give a tavern maid who’d plopped down on his lap, before he scooted her away to get to his ale or talk with his companions. But the pulses stirring in him ignited.

When he pulled back, she reached out, running her hand along the side of his jaw, seeing him with her fingertips.

‘I have wanted to touch your face since I first saw you,’ she said. ‘You’re so foreign from the men I have known all my life. And the other sailors. I think you even look at me differently.’

He rested his forehead against the side of hers. ‘I wanted...since I saw you...so much more.’ His lips explored her skin and he cupped her breast, letting the fullness feed the sensations in his fingertips. The fabric didn’t prevent the yielding flesh from rolling beneath his caress with her softness and he discovered the hard nipple, and stretched his hand over her, so he could take in as much of the feeling as his mind would allow. No corset. He’d never felt through a woman’s clothing to find so much of her underneath.

Just as she had explored his face, he traced her, keeping the fabric of her garments as a barrier between skin and mapping out the feminine twists and turns of her.

The storm would frame them and their bodies would gain sensations from the hint of danger in the air. And she would be the essence of every sensual mythological being ever imagined.

He couldn’t read her expression and didn’t know if it was a flaw in him, or if she hid herself well. But when she parted her lips and moved towards him, he didn’t have to. She slipped her arms around his waist, mumbling his name, muffled words against his chest, and she clung to him. Her breasts pressed against his shirt, causing his clothing to feel tight over his body. She moved with the lunging waves, too, but not in the same way as he. She kept herself upright by pushing herself into him at the same time as she pulled. He braced against the wall, one hand clutching the edge of the bunk, leg jammed against the opposing side. His body was forced still within the movements. And she burrowed and snuggled and wove herself against him, holding on like a handkerchief might be wrapped around a blowing limb. When the ship created even the smallest distance between them, she moved to fill the space, keeping him as her anchor.

Using all his strength in one arm, he kept them steady while he held her with the other hand.

He found her lips with his and at first she paused, but when she moved again her hands wouldn’t be still, roaming his body with a hunger in her fingertips, searching him out as if she were afraid she might miss touching some exquisite part and wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Somehow she’d settled herself into the movement of the ship and now used it to keep herself thrust against him. He savoured the desires her body created. If she was a goddess to lure men to their doom, he was prepared to die.

‘This helps. And the waves are not so strong now,’ she whispered, and he could feel the movements of her lips against him as she spoke.

‘Just ripples.’ But they weren’t. Everything had intensified. He reached to pull free the last bits of his shirttails, which remained tucked in his trousers, and her fingers tangled with his, helping him.

The water outside crashed against the hull, but he no longer cared.

She leaned into the side of him that he used to hold them steady, leaving him one hand free to rub the small of her back. But her fingers remained under his shirt, clasping him, leaving heated handprints, which encased his whole body.

‘You feel so...pleasant,’ she whispered into him, her face moving up so that her lips were at his neck.

And for the first time since he saw her, she was in exactly the right place, saying exactly the right thing.

Letting her sway into him, her rocking against him when the ship moved caused the fire inside him to smoulder so intensely he wondered if he should just let their clothes disintegrate into ash instead of removing them. He had no time to wait for such an event. He didn’t fear her not holding up well in the storm—he felt concern for himself not surviving the intensity within him.

His lips lingered against her hair, and skin, taking in all of her he could. This truly was the woman of his imagination—the night cravings that woke him with seconds of pleasure lingering in his mind and hours of hollowness facing him. But this time, he would sleep after the dream, untortured—soothed.

He buried his face into the curve of her neck. She did feel like Aphrodite—and he had the imagination of her vanishing from his arms, fading, mocking him for desiring her so intensely. But he couldn’t be imagining this because he’d never tasted a dream and he tasted the nectar of her lips, and this time, he relished the hint of saltiness at his tongue.

His fingers brushed over the strands of her hair loosening from the pins and he slid his palm down, closing his eyes and closing all his senses except the ones at his fingertips.

He knew they had to separate so he could get past the clothing. But one moment apart was a moment for ever lost. He savoured her cheek, her ear and the hollow of her neck. A banquet for his starved senses.

She might as well have already undressed.

She kissed him, he thought. He wasn’t totally sure. He pulled back, only enough to look into her face to make certain she was real. Dark eyes stared back at him.

She’d not tugged at his clothes again, or spoken much, but she didn’t need to. Her expression now told him all he wanted to know.

For the second time in his life—and he’d never tell her—he felt like a virgin. Yet a different sort of innocent. One who knew all the pleasures he could unleash with his hands, his mouth and his body.

He forced himself away—aware of his own breathing echoing in the cabin—knowing if he did not move back, he couldn’t get closer. Melina’s hands, hesitant but bold, didn’t lose their purchase easily and that knowledge alone washed him with a satisfaction he’d not experienced before.

He pulled off his coat and lifted his shirt over his head.

The luscious heat of her—against his chest—hit him harder than any wave could have tossed him. When he touched her breasts, running a finger over the mark just at the top of her bodice, he could barely breathe. This was his Aphrodite. She would vanish soon, but not until she left him truly sated for the first time in his life.

‘You are to be savoured.’ He wanted to feel all of her and adjusted her on to her back, moving her so she was tucked between his body and the wall. He released the buttons of his trousers. The sight of her, in this thrown-together bed where another woman would never rest, clutched at him, filling him with a reverence that arrested him. He stopped for another moment, just a moment, to look at her. He wanted to see her face even when he shut his eyes. He needed her locked into his mind so that all other memories of women on the earth were erased—Melina alone remaining in his thoughts.

For this, he would have sailed around the world—twice—to capture her so she could bring him to his knees and let him rise back up, unburdened.

He kicked his trousers free at their feet.

Hooking his arm under her leg, he pulled her knee to his mouth for a chaste kiss on the coarse cloth of her skirt. Now the fabric felt leaden, thick and suffocating for skin soft as hers. Much too rough.