Once a Pirate (17 page)

Carly surfaced, gasped for breath, then dove under. By the time she burst through the water again, her chest heaved with the effort to catch her breath. The water was waist deep, but only her head poked above the surface. She didn’t dare risk standing until her brain caught up with what she’d done.

Boy, talk about impulsive.

Now she’d have to suffer the consequences. Though suffering was not exactly what she had in mind.

Andrew’s heavy splashes sounded behind her. She spun to face him. His hair was slicked back from his face, and his incredibly defined stomach muscles flexed as he waded toward her.

Slowly, she rose to her feet.

He faltered almost imperceptibly, his eyes igniting with a primitive, almost feral hunger. In that instant,
she wished she had more to offer him—lush curves, womanly breasts.

He closed the distance between them, then stopped, mere inches away. Water beaded and rolled off his strong body, running in rivulets down his stomach as he perused every square inch of her exposed skin.

“Aphrodite,” he said quietly. “You are beautiful.”

Carly’s held-in breath rushed out.
Aphrodite.
So many months ago, he’d used that name to torment her. Now he’d uttered it with such profound sincerity, in a voice so thick with desire, her wish for lush curves seemed ridiculous.

He gathered her into his arms, kissing her with a heavenly tenderness that made her feel cherished, desired.

Loved.

Kneading her back, her buttocks, he chased the water trickling down her body with his tongue. Plumes of pleasure spiraled out from his touch. Light-headed, she closed her eyes and wrapped her fingers in his hair. His warm mouth closed over one nipple, his callused thumb teasing the other. The gentle, insistent suction ignited heat between her legs. “Oh, Andrew,” she whispered. Hot, wet suckling, the rasp of his tongue, his knowing hands. Exquisite pleasure. She tilted her head back and uttered a drawn-out, throaty moan.

Kneeling before her, he kissed his way lower to where the water met her skin. Then his hand dipped beneath the surface, between her legs. His fingers slipped in and out, wet from the sea, wet from her, sliding in dizzying circles over the most intimate part of her. She gasped, arching toward him. “Make love to me. . . .”

He made a sound deep in his throat. Sweeping her
off her feet and into his arms, he carried her to just beyond the reach of the waves and lowered her to the sand. The cool, grainy wetness shocked her. She reared away from it and into his powerful warrior’s body. Greedy, she met his crushing kiss as he pressed her into the sand, his water-cooled skin heating instantly against hers.

His knees sank into the sand, and she felt him nudging her thighs apart. Then he filled her with his thick heat.

Her fingers bit into his hips.

“Oh, Carly—” His voice was strained, almost unrecognizable.

He anchored his fists in the sand, rocking slowly, his strokes deliberate and deep, lifting her hips off the wet sand. The pleasure was almost too much. Clutching him, she uttered a low, husky cry.

His breaths pelted her chin and water dripped from his hair onto her face. As she slicked his wet hair out of his eyes with her fingers, her gaze locked with his. She saw his love . . . his desire, and it intensified the deeply intimate, aching need only he could satisfy. Desperate for all of him, all at once, she scoured his damp skin with her sandy hands, pressed her open mouth to the throbbing pulse in his throat. Her caresses left smears on his back, his buttocks, his shoulders and arms. She tasted salt, grit, inhaled the sweetness of their passion.

Groaning, he clutched her buttocks with one gritty hand and pressed her to him.” ’Tis heaven inside you,” he whispered harshly. “Ah, Carly; you’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

Like a ship loosed from its moorings in a storm, she broke free, swirling, surging on a tide of pleasure and
emotion too intense to comprehend. She cried out, wrapping her legs around him. Her climax was swift, profound. She bit his shoulder, her release exploding through her with unexpected force, pulsing around his hardness and drawing him deeper inside her. She was vaguely aware of Andrew stiffening, his powerful body jerking. He muffled his hoarse cry against her throat and thrust once more before falling to his elbows.

“I love you,” she murmured over and over.

As he kissed the words from her lips, the future became clear for the first time in her life. No matter what country or century she lived in, if she was with this man, she was home.

A wave surged over their twined legs. “Tide’s coming in,” he mumbled against her mouth.

“Mmm.”

He smoothed her hair off her forehead, sprinkling sand onto her face. He kissed her, then laughed and spat out more sand. “I have sand in every imaginable crevice.”

“And maybe a few crevices you haven’t imagined.”

“Aye, and you, too, I suspect.”

Gently, he withdrew. She sighed, already missing him.

He rose to his knees. Clumps of sand plopped to the ground with the movement. “Seeing that I’ve made you a mess, I suppose I ought to wash you off.”

“Only if I get to bathe you first.”

Grinning, he pulled her to her feet and into the lagoon. They romped like children, diving and splashing.

Carly surfaced. “You’re too slow!”

He lunged for her, but she wriggled from his grasp.

“You’re as slippery as an eel,” he accused.

She flashed him a sultry glance. “This eel likes being caught.”

“Does she, now?”

“If
you can catch her.” She dove into the water and shattered the reflected moonlight into a thousand shards of light.

Andrew followed. He was not a man to back down from a challenge, particularly one issued by an impertinent little mermaid who looked to be in need of a kiss—and a thorough kiss at that. Snatching her easily about one ankle, he hauled her to him.

“Drat. You caught me.” She didn’t sound disappointed in the least.

He wrapped her wet hair around one fist and angled her head back. “I caught you, all right.” Her gold-flecked eyes glazed with passion as his mouth came down over hers. He caressed her small, high breasts, kissing her deeply, and with an urgency that swiftly spiraled out of control.

She reached between their bodies, exploring him until nothing mattered but the staggering pleasure given by that one small, strong hand. His buttocks clenched; his thighs quivered. Good God, if he didn’t put an end to this exquisite torture—

“Carly, love,” he gasped, clamping his fingers around her wrist,” ’tis private here, but not as private as I would like. Come to my
choupana.
There is a lamp, a bed. I want to see you as we make love.” With lazy intimacy, he dragged his finger from the hollow at the base of her throat down to the wetness between her thighs. “And I want to love you all night.” Then he kissed her. The kiss intensified. Breathless, they both pulled away.

“Are you sure you want to wait?” she asked mischievously, her eyes dark and wanting. She rubbed herself against him, tilting her hips in an almost irresistible invitation.

He gripped the sides of her thighs to hold her still. “Woman, you are playing with fire.”

“Hmm. And I might get burned?”

“Burned won’t be the half of it.”

Her golden-brown eyes glittered with curiosity. “I’ll get dressed.”

“’Tis only a recommendation, but ‘twould not be wise,” he said, taking her earlobe between his teeth, “to tie the knot too tight.”

The lamp sputtered and was almost out. Rolling to his side, Andrew locked his arms around Carly, drawing her to him until her sweet, warm bottom rested against his belly. He buried his face in her damp, silky hair, nuzzled the back of her neck, and lazily caressed the length of one sleekly muscled thigh.

Her breathing deepened. He lifted her limp arm, then dropped it. It hit the mattress with a muffled thump. “I’ve thoroughly exhausted you, haven’t I?”

Her languid sigh answered his question in a way words could not. “Sleep well, then, love.”

The thought of spending the night with her, protecting her when she was most vulnerable, waking with her in his arms, was right somehow. As if by doing so he was satisfying some primitive, elemental need. With that thought, an almost palpable sense of destiny swept through him, a sensation of having lived this moment before.

Ridiculous. He had never loved a woman before Carly.

He kissed her hair. The damp tresses smelled of salt, the sea, and passion. He slid his hand down her belly to the triangle of flaxen hair, where she was still moist from their lovemaking. The discovery aroused him, and his hardness jutted against her back.

She sighed in her sleep, snuggling against him. He longed to wake her, to love her again, but she was weary and needed to sleep.

Shifting position, he exhaled slowly. He’d taken his time learning what pleased her. He’d used her gasps, the slightest hitch in her breath, the clenching of her intimate muscles when he was deep inside her, to learn what she enjoyed most. Secrets he would not forget. Even now he could see the passion in her eyes, hear it in her voice as she cried out his name.

His
name.

With Carly, he’d made love not as his father’s son, not as a make-believe duke or would-be aristocrat, but as Andrew Spencer, the bastard, the renegade ex-naval officer, the man who had made many mistakes. Because of Carly, he hoped he’d learn to view his past in terms of lessons learned. He was a good and honorable man, she’d said. He wondered if she knew how much those words meant to him.

“I will not disappoint you,” he whispered in her ear. “I will protect you and keep you from harm. I swear it. You will never hunger or want. Or be forced to face fear alone. This I vow, my love. This I vow. . . .”

A rooster squawked long and loud, backed up by a lusty chorus. Carly opened one eye. Wincing at the incessant crowing, she wondered what God had been thinking when he’d created the annoying creatures.

Sunlight flowed past the plain linen curtains drawn
over the windows. Although the trades had cooled the
choupana
during the night, the breeze had died off at sunrise. The muggy air promised another hot and sticky day.

Dogs barked; a baby was crying. Villagers talked and laughed as they walked outside the
choupana.
Not conducive to sleeping late.

The noise hadn’t disturbed Andrew. Sound asleep, he had one hand tangled in her hair, his other arm flung possessively over her hip. She brushed her lips over his rough cheek, then rested her head on his shoulder, dreamily sifting her fingers through the dark hair on his chest. With the pad of her finger, she followed the fine trail of hair from Andrew’s navel to where it dipped below the sheet. A twinge between her legs reminded her of the passion shared only hours before. She grew aroused with the thought of making love again. She wasn’t inexperienced, but until last night she’d never known sex could be so consuming, so
incredible,
leaving her feeling sensual and feminine and fulfilled.

And reckless.

They hadn’t used protection. She didn’t know what passed for birth control in the 1800s, but she sure as heck hadn’t thought about it last night. She was midway through her cycle, so she could become pregnant. How would
that
muddle her already complicated situation?

Her disregard for consequences was yet another reminder of how much she’d changed over the past few months. She’d always lived with the future in mind, not simply day to day.
She’d
been the responsible one, the careful one. Not anymore, apparently.

Something heavy swished by the door, as though it was being pushed over the dirt floor. Carly twisted around in time to see a bracelet-adorned arm withdraw
as the door whisked closed. Sometime during the night, Maria must have figured out that her houseguest hadn’t made it back to the
choupana.
And why. Carly smiled warmly. Not only was Maria thoughtful enough to bring breakfast, the woman knew how to keep a secret.

Carly inhaled deeply. Mangos! And that delicious fried bread. Enticed by the aroma, she slipped from Andrew’s embrace and tiptoed to the door. The basket was filled with mangos, bananas, and bread.

She chose the ripest mango and brushed her lips over its cool, fragrant surface, soothing the tenderness left from Andrew’s kisses.

Heaven.

Juice squirted when her thumbs broke the skin, dribbling over her fingers and hands. As she ate, she studied the shadowy interior of Andrew’s
choupana,
something she hadn’t paid much attention to the night before. Aside from the mattress on the floor, there was a washbasin and a pitcher on a table and a chair carved from a tree log. No pictures adorned the walls. No pretty rugs decorated the hard-packed dirt floor. The curtains were faded and plain. It was like a room in a barracks: stark, functional, and revealing nothing of its occupant’s personality. Picturing the inviting coziness of Maria’s
choupana,
she compared the two. This was not a home. It was a place to sleep.

She took another bite of the sweet, ripe fruit.

“Are you not going to share?”

Heat coursed through her body at the sound of the sleep-roughened voice. She faced him, wiping her knuckles across her chin.

Andrew lay with his hands folded behind his head, the rumpled sheet twisted around his hips, his eyes
glinting wickedly as he surveyed her nude body. His stare held open admiration, and a good deal of longing, making her wonder if this was what Eve felt like in the Garden of Eden. “What makes you think I won’t share?”

“Come here.” He beckoned with his chin. “And bring your . . . fruit.”

Her confidence surged. With a blatant sensuality she never knew she possessed, she swayed her hips and walked toward him. She gave him a sultry smile, then straddled him. His body heat coursed through the sheet, warming the sensitive skin on her inner thighs.

As he watched her, she bit into the mango, chewed slowly, then swallowed. “Did you say you wanted some?”

His eyes darkened. “Foolish woman. Never tease a starving man.” He grabbed her wrists and pulled her down to his mouth. His kiss was hard and hungry. In an erotic reminder of their intimacy, she tasted herself on his lips. She kissed him until there was nothing left but the sweetness of the mango, his hot, wet mouth, the rasp of his whiskers.