Once a Pirate (18 page)

The half-eaten mango thumped onto his chest and rolled onto the sheet.

“’Twas delicious,” he murmured, dragging his lips along her jaw to nibble her neck and ear.

“I love when you do that,” she said on a sigh. “It drives me crazy.”

“Does it, now?” He slipped his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and kissed the hollow of her throat. “And this?”

“That, too . . .” Her voice sounded as though it
came from someone else, some passion-dazed, love-drugged, wanton woman. “Would you like some more?” she asked dreamily, grabbing the mango before it rolled off the mattress.

“Aye. Much more.”

“You’re insatiable,” she said. “Thank goodness.”

They exchanged glances and laughed.

He brought her hand to his mouth, suckled her middle finger, and proceeded to do things with his tongue that made her think of all the wonderful, erotic things he’d done to her the night before. Then he turned his attention to her other hand—the hand that clutched the mango—chasing a glistening rivulet of juice past her wrist and down her arm.

“Prepare to be devoured, milady.” With that, he suckled her elbow.

She pulled back, wriggling atop him.

“Carly—” he warned with a sharp intake of breath. She felt him swell and harden further.” ’Tis not yet time for dessert.”

“Dessert?” she asked, incredulous. “I don’t know about you, but I consider it the main course.”

His gaze held hers as he dipped his finger into the mango’s moist, yielding flesh. He painted a circle around her left nipple, then wet his finger again and touched the cool stickiness to her other breast, teasing the tight, sensitive tip. She became his canvas as he created a masterpiece with brushstrokes of mango juice on every part of her that yearned for his caress. Heat spiraled out from the places his fingertips touched her and throbbed to life between her thighs. She moaned through her clenched teeth, arching her back. He used her closeness to draw her nipple into his
mouth. Convulsively, her hand clamped around the now soggy mango. Juice drizzled onto his chest. They paused, eyeing the glittering drops, then each other.

“Your turn.” She pushed him down on the pillow.

His eyes sparked with anticipation.

She drew a sticky heart on his chest. “This is how much I love you,” she said, painting the arrow slowly crosswise. “And this is how much I want you.” She dragged her open mouth over the contours of his chest, the damp hair, delighting in the feel of him, his scent, the heat of his skin.

His groan ended in a swift intake of breath as she flicked her tongue over the erect tips of his nipples. He pressed his hands to the back of her head and raised his pelvis.

Breathless, she pretended to get up. “Am I too heavy?”

He clamped his hands over her hips. “That’s quite far enough.” He grabbed her wrists. By the time he was through kissing her, she could barely draw in a breath.

“Put me inside you,” he said, his voice harsh and tender at the same time.

She bunched the sheet in her hands and pulled it down, her first glimpse of him in the daylight. He had narrow hips, and his long thighs were powerfully muscled and sprinkled with dark hair. “You’re perfect,” she whispered, closing her hand around his rigid shaft.

As she caressed him, his eyes grew heavy-lidded. “Now, Carly,” he gasped.

Kneeling, she lowered herself onto him, slowly, stretching out the anticipation . . . making it last. She propped herself up with her arms and pushed down the
last inch, clenching her inner muscles as she welcomed him fully into her body.

Andrew groaned his pleasure. Gripping her buttocks, he arched upward, half lifting her off the bed.

“Love me, Andrew,” she pleaded, panting from the exquisite fullness of having him inside her. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

He claimed her, body and spirit, bestowing the gift of pleasure as no one ever had. By the time she settled back to earth that morning, something magical had happened. She believed that all those wishes she’d made on all those shooting stars were going to come true.

Carly spent the rest of the day on the beach in the shade of a palm, alternately napping and reading and contemplating how good it felt to be back on terra firma.

Emerald Isle was a storybook tropical island, unspoiled and empty of the trappings of modern-day tourism. Though the lagoon and the area between the village and the beach were lovely, they were all she’d seen. She longed to visit the rest. Particularly after a breathless Theo stopped by to tell her about the Boca, a hole in the sea-swept rocks on the rugged northern shore. Each time a wave washed into a cave nearby, water surged out of the hole and sprayed high into the air.

“The best part of all, Carly, is that the water makes a rainbow as it falls.”

She hoped to entice Andrew into going for a hike if he returned before sunset.
If
he returned by then. He’d
been aboard the
Phoenix
all day, overseeing the crew as they made repairs and unloaded the remainder of the cargo. The men skilled in carpentry were already busy fixing areas damaged by the warship that were now accessible in the calm, shallow waters. Others were cleaning the ship from top to bottom, polishing the wood, scraping barnacles off the hull, patching sails and sewing new ones—a chore Carly had volunteered to help complete. It would take months to finish everything.

She scooped up a handful of warm sand and trickled a stream into her palm. From somewhere inland, the scent of flowers wafted by. Sea birds soared overhead, borne on the afternoon trades, and the cooling breeze lifted her hair, making it weightless around her shoulders.

The agreeable sensations reminded her of the very un-Carlylike decision she’d made after Andrew left that morning. Until she faced having to leave the island, she would live from day to day, enjoying the simplest pleasures, savoring her newfound appreciation of life and the heady sensation of being in love—truly in love—for the first time. A fragile happiness she prayed would not be shattered and taken unexpectedly by events beyond her control.

Carly gathered her things and walked back to the village. Deep laughter and the sound of masculine conversation emanated from the cleared area in front of the
choupanas.
The odor of tobacco and perspiration hung in the humid air. Apparently in the midst of a meeting, the men were gathered around the tables.

“Milady!” Cuddy’s call alerted Andrew to her presence.

Feeling a blush creep slowly up her neck, Carly waved and hastened her pace. Her long night of erotic abandon with their captain was too fresh in her mind—and between her thighs—to allow her to face him in front of his crew.

Andrew beckoned to her.

No way.

Her face heated further. Smiling serenely, she gave a friendly wave, walking away as quickly as she could without appearing to run.

She heard the men laugh.

Andrew jogged up behind her and grabbed her arm. “Slow down, Carly.”

“Not now,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Come. The men want to see you.”

“I don’t feel social.”

“Whyever not?” His eyes sparked wickedly.

She was going to kill him. “You know . . .
why.”

“Because we made love?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “I don’t have the kind of face that keeps secrets. And I’d rather not have everyone know we’re sleeping together.” Glancing behind him to the grinning men, who seemed to be enjoying every nuance of their conversation, she said sullenly, “Though it looks like they already do.”

Acting affronted, he snatched her hand and pressed it between his rough palms. “They most certainly do not. I like to think I have a bit of discretion, Miss Callahan. ’Tis a small island, though. They will sort it out before long.” He drew her closer and brushed his lips over hers.

She reared back, her face hot. “What do you say we don’t give them a head start? I’d rather wait until they know I’m staying here.”

“They know.”

Her gaze swerved to the men. Cuddy grinned and waved. Gibbons, massive arms crossed over his chest, gave her a fatherly smile.

“What in the world did you tell them?”

“Only that you do not wish to marry the duke,” he said. “And that in less than three weeks, at the prearranged time, I’ll send a party to deliver the happy news to Richard’s men.”

Speechless, she blinked. The enormity of what Andrew had done, the promise he’d made to her—and kept—meant more to her than he could imagine.

“Come,” he coaxed, pulling her to the center of the group.

She inhaled deeply and smoothed her hair off her forehead, offering a weak smile to the familiar faces surrounding her. Booth shot her a chilling look. “Keep’n her will get ya killed, Cap’n.” Then he rose to his feet and marched off. Her smile died on her lips.

Before she could contemplate the implications of Booth’s overt display of hatred, Andrew announced, “Lady Amanda, who prefers we call her Carly, has chosen not to honor her betrothal to the duke of Westridge.”

The men cheered wildly.

“As agreed, I will distribute gold equal to the amount of the ransom.”

That brought more applause and a few whistles. Her chagrin faded into relief.

“Will ya stay with us on the island, milady?” Jonesy called out, his question echoed by the others.

“I sure will,” she said, propping her hands on her hips. “I prefer your fine company any day to that of the worthless worm Richard. As for your captain”—she
sighed theatrically—“I suppose I can endure him if I must.”

“Endure me, she shall.” Andrew curled one hand behind her head and kissed her soundly on the mouth. As she stood in breathless surprise, he nuzzled the side of her neck. Desire throbbed to life between her legs.

The men whistled their approval.

Andrew gave them a cheery salute. Lacing his fingers with hers, he led her away. Once on the path, he casually draped his arm over her shoulder. He smelled faintly of exertion and tobacco.

“Not everyone’s pleased with your change in plans,” she said.

“My men? Like hell they aren’t. They’re getting their gold and they don’t have to risk their dirty hides to have it.”

“Booth isn’t.”

“’Tis simply the way the man acts.” He paused by a barrel of rainwater, scooped some into a cup, and handed it to her before helping himself. “Have you eaten?” he asked quietly.

“Not since lunch.”

“I’m ravenous.”

“I’ll find us some fruit and bread,” she said. “There’s leftover pork, too.”

Andrew cupped her chin in his hand. In her earnest desire to please him, she’d missed the point. “I’m not interested in food.” He dropped the statement into her lap with a meaningful glance.

“Well, to be honest, neither am I,” Carly said with saucy candor. “Particularly after your little performance in front of the men. Nice kiss, by the way.”

Chuckling, Andrew trailed one finger down her sun-
warmed throat, raising gooseflesh in its wake. “You’ve bloody well fired up my appetite now,” he said, fingering the knot of silk tied above her breasts.” ’Twill take
hours
to satisfy.”

Her eyes widened. For once, she was speechless. No swift rejoinders or witty remarks.

Pleased with himself, Andrew clasped her hand and brought her home.

“It is
not
a plump bottom!”

Andrew flipped her onto her stomach, playfully nipping her left cheek. “You have the most deliciously
round
bottom, then. ’Tis as provoking as hell.” On all fours, he leaned over her, nibbling his way up her back. Then he rolled to his side, pulling her with him. They lovingly stroked and kissed each other.

With a lazy stretch, she shifted position and winced. “A bath in the spring would sound nice right now. Or better yet, a tub of hot water.”

“Easily arranged.” Both tenderness and guilt flooded him at the sight of her swollen lips, her cheeks and chin abraded by his whiskers. He should have shaved this afternoon. He shouldn’t have taken her so many times since last night, for that matter. Why hadn’t he given more thought to how his appetite would affect her?

“You wouldn’t mind?” she asked.

He kissed the tip of her freckled nose.” ’Tis no bother, love. You’ll have your hot bath. Then we’ll sleep.”

“Just sleep, huh?”

“Indeed.” With mock indignation, he declared, “However irresistible I am to you, you must allow me to rest. I am exhausted.” He fell backward on the mattress to prove his point.

She gave a genuine belly laugh. “Nice try, Spencer, but you know and I know, it’s me who can’t keep up with you. Don’t worry, though—” She winked suggestively. “Tomorrow I’ll be as good as new.”

“If not, there are other ways to give each other pleasure.” He brushed his lips over hers. “In fact, I know of one you particularly enjoy.”

She sighed into his mouth.

“You know the one, then,” he said huskily.

“Oh, yes.”

He gave her a gentle, lingering kiss before pulling away. “If you insist on distracting me, you will never have your swim.”

Carly giggled as he faked a limp across the dirt floor to where his clothing hung on the opposite wall. She dressed in his oversized shirt while he tugged on his pants. Without a belt, they dipped below his navel. “What a hunk,” she murmured, running her gaze over his muscled torso.

He slid a wary glance downward. “A ‘hunk’?”

“It’s my twenty-first-century way of saying that you’re incredibly good-looking.”

He scratched his bare chest and grinned. His jaw and chin had that scruffy look she loved. His chestnut-colored hair, streaked from the sun, stuck up in all directions. She tenderly combed it with her fingers, revealing the red spots on his neck where she’d given him love bites. Looking lower, she noticed scratches on his left shoulder.
Scratches?
The love bites she remembered, but the scratches? It must have been another wanton moment . . . but which one? “Everyone’s going to know exactly what you’ve been doing all afternoon, Captain.”

“Will they, now?”

“Yep. You look like you’ve been very thoroughly made love to.”

“That I have.” Not bothered by his disheveled appearance in the least, he wrapped his arm over her shoulders, holding her close in the twilight as they walked to the beach.