“Well, that’s obvious enough. And your father came to see me just before he died, accusing me of all sorts of crazy things, and I’d done nothing. I thought I managed to convince him, but he died that night after he left me.”
Maddy tried to stifle the ever-present pain at the memory of her father’s death. “I’m so stupid,” she said miserably.
“For infiltrating my house and trying such a thing? Yes,” he said equably. “For the way you carried it off? Not at all. You just picked the wrong man.”
Those words were like a death knell, whether he realized it or not. She had picked the wrong man. A Traveler, a sailor, a man who never settled down when she needed permanence so badly. A man not made for the kind of commitment she needed, a man who hadn’t picked her. She’d simply thrust herself upon him.
“Lift your hips, Maddy,” he whispered. “I have to get this damned dress off of you.”
Her name sounded so right in his voice. She could have argued, but she didn’t, lifting her hips as he tugged the voluminous dress over her head and tossed it somewhere in the darkened cabin, then unfastened her petticoats and tossed them as well, leaving her in her shift and drawers. His hand moved down her side, not touching her breast, to end up holding one hip with a possessive gesture, kneading it gently. But he didn’t pull up the thin fabric and untie her drawers. He just held her.
“Why did you stop?” she asked finally. Maybe he’d thought better of it. Maybe Tarkington had left because she was so unsatisfactory, maybe Luca didn’t want her either, maybe she was…
“This has been inevitable from the first time I kissed you, and we both know it. I need you to show me. I need you to finish taking off your clothes.”
A dance of icy fear raced across her skin. He was asking for everything. This way she couldn’t pretend the wicked gypsy was seducing her and it was out of her control. This way she had to own it.
What would he do if she refused? Would he then cajole and seduce her? Would he tear off her remaining clothes in a frenzy of lust? Or would he leave her?
“I need you to show me,” he’d said. It was the one honest thing she could do, after so many lies. She moved back, away from him, and he didn’t move, didn’t try to pull her back. She sat up, and yanked the shift over her head, then sent it sailing into the darkness. It felt strange, her breasts free in the night air, even if it was too dark to see, and then she reached for the tapes to her drawers and untied them, shimmying out of them so that she lay beside him in the bunk, absolutely naked with a man for the first time in her life.
She heard his deep, fierce intake of breath. “Your turn,” he said.
“I already took the rest of my clothes off.”
“I mean it’s your turn to undress me.”
Oh, bloody hell, she thought, suddenly panic-stricken. “I… I can’t.”
She’d been afraid of anger. Instead he laughed softly. “Of course you can. You can build up to it.” He caught her hand and brought it to his, palm to palm, like holy palmer’s touch, Maddy thought, suddenly remembering her Shakespeare. But they were no Romeo and Juliet and she refused to end in tragedy.
His hand was so much bigger than hers. His fingers were long, elegant, and his warm palm enveloped hers. Bringing her hand to his chest, he let it rest against him. She could feel the delineation of his muscles beneath the taut firmness of his skin. It would be honey gold, she knew, and the thought made her want to run her fingers over him, feel the tough, tensile strength of him. He lay back, letting her explore, and eventually her fingers slid down to the flatness of his stomach, the hollow of his navel, and the first faint touch of hair leading down into his breeches. She started to draw her hand back in sudden shyness when he caught it, pulling it downward to the row of buttons. He didn’t bother with them, instead he cupped her hand around the insistent ridge of flesh behind those buttons, holding her there when she tried to pull away.
He was big. And she was ready to change her mind. “Nothing’s inevitable,” she said in a panicked voice, and he released her hand, letting her roll back to her side of the bunk.
She expected anger. “Chicken,” he taunted her. “Here I thought you were afraid of nothing, and now I find out a simple body part has you cowering in terror.”
He was manipulating her, they both knew it, but she rose to the bait anyway, because that was who she was. “It’s not my body part,” she said in a stiff voice.
“Oh, yes, it is. I’m not going to hurt you, Maddy. You know that.”
She wanted to touch him. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her again. She was cold, so cold, even though the cabin was surprisingly warm. She needed his heat. She said nothing, not moving, and he turned to her, putting his mouth against her temple, moving it down her bruised cheek to her ear. “Put your hands on me, love.” It was a soft request, not a command, but she wasn’t quite sure she could do it. Instead she reached up and put her hand in his again, silently asking him. His fingers entwined with hers for a moment, and she felt the last of her nervousness, the last of her doubts leave, as he moved it to rest lightly against his erection.
This time she didn’t jerk away. She let her fingers trace the outline beneath his rough cotton trousers, the breadth, the length of it, straining against the buttons. He was right, there was nothing to be afraid of. It was just a body part. Just a body part that would push inside her and hurt her, but then he would be happy and she could hold him.
She slid her fingers down, cupping him, and he made a low, growling sound of pleasure. She liked that. She moved closer, letting her head rest on his flat stomach so she could experiment, brushing against the top, sliding down the length of him. She could feel tension running through him now, and she knew he was going to take her at any moment, but she let herself drift, slipping her fingers inside the placket of the trousers to the tiny buttons. The fabric was taut against his erection, and unfastening the first button was more difficult than she expected. But she wanted to touch him, touch that part of him without the barrier of rough cloth in the way. And he seemed to want her to.
There were seven buttons, and she undid them, one after another, moving upward as he seemed to grow even bigger against her hand. The last button, the top one, defeated her.
She loved the inky darkness, the safety of it. It was as if they were both blind—they could feel each other but they could see nothing, and if it couldn’t be seen then maybe it hadn’t happened. He reached down and unfastened the last button, freeing himself.
This time she didn’t hesitate. She put her hand on him, tentatively, and then drew back, surprised. It was the oddest sensation, the skin so velvety soft encasing something t
hat seemed hard as iron. This wasn’t what she remembered at all. She let her fingers move down, tracing the thick veins that ran along his cock, up to touch the flanged head of it. He was damp, there, and she realized suddenly that she was damp as well. Was it supposed to be like that?
She remembered what she was supposed to do. She encircled his cock with her fingers, sliding up and down, but to her surprise this time he drew her hand away. “Wasn’t I doing it right?” she asked, nervous.
His voice was low and delicious in the darkness. “I’m already about to explode, love. Too much of that and you’ll be very disappointed.”