He groaned softly and then rose to his full height. She wanted to protest at the removal of his mouth, but before she could speak, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the berth. It was two steps, perhaps three at most, but she’d felt as though she were precious cargo in those few moments when he cradled her. No man had ever made her feel that way. She’d felt like a commodity hundreds of times, but never as though she was something delicate and cherished, something to be carried protectively and set down with so much gentleness.
Nick leaned over her on the berth, perched on one knee. His gaze, visible in the little light they had, was adoring. Oh, how she wanted him to look at her like that forever. How she wished she did not have the ugly scar marring her leg, that scar that had made him turn away from her all those months ago.
He was not turning away from her now, and she did not want to consider why too deeply at the moment. It was dark, too dark for him to see her scar. She would stop him from touching it, but she wanted—she needed—his hands on her elsewhere.
He reached down and fingered the small bow she’d tied in her shift to hold it closed against her breasts. Ashley inhaled slowly, her breath coming in small gasps, as he pulled the bow apart. He hooked a finger in the material and drew it down, exposing her breasts. It was dark, far too dark for him to see her clearly. And it was warm, much to warm for her to shiver. But she did shiver under his gaze. She shivered and drew in a silent gasp as his mouth lowered to tease her flesh.
Chapter Eight
Nick wished for the sunrise. He wished for a lamp. He wished for anything that would allow him to see Ashley as she lay beneath him. Twice now he’d had her almost naked beneath him, and both times he’d seen nothing of her body. And he’d made a study of her body—fully clothed, of course. He knew it was lush and ripe. He knew every curve he wanted to trace, every hollow he wanted to kiss. He wanted to see what he touched, but he could not risk lighting a lamp for such frivolous reasons. And when the sun rose, he would have to go.
So he saw her with his hands and his mouth. He drew the material of the shift apart and allowed it to fall to her abdomen. His hands roved over her, feeling the way she shivered at his touch, the way her skin warmed where his fingers grazed her. Her skin was impossibly soft. He’d grown used to the rough feel of rope and wood under his fingers, and she was as soft as the finest silk.
His hands cupped her flesh, feeling the pleasant weight of her as he lowered his mouth to kiss the slope of her breast. She smelled of strawberries or cherries and he could have buried himself in her then. She was so impossibly sweet—the way her hands came around his neck and she suppressed tiny cries of delight when he flicked a tongue over one of her straining nipples.
Everything in her seemed to strain toward him, as he did toward her. But in this moment, he had the luxury of time. Chante had the watch and most of the crew was sleeping. In the morning, he’d need to be everywhere at once. But right now, he was not needed anywhere. He could take his time, and he fully intended to. He needed this and he needed her.
The future haunted him. Images of destruction and death stalked him in his sleep. There would be more destruction and death when he found Yussef and slit his throat for his treachery. He should have done it long before.
As soon as the winds picked up, they’d arrive at the island and God knew what he would find there. But right now, he could push all of that away and touch his wife, kiss her soft skin, revel in her sharp intakes of breath as he stroked her. He hadn’t wanted a wife. He hadn’t wanted to drag Ashley into this life, but she was here now, and she just might save him.
Her hands moved at his waist, pulling his shirt free of his trousers. Her hands touched his skin, her fingers tracing the flesh of his abdomen and chest until the shirt was at his neck. He paused, allowed her to strip it off him, and lowered his body to hers. The feel of skin on skin almost undid him. He wanted to slide against her, slide into her, but he forced himself to go slowly. He’d waited this long for her. He could wait a few more moments. He lowered his mouth to her breast again. It fit perfectly in his hand, the weight pleasant and erotic. He licked her hot skin then teased her thick nipple with his tongue. She writhed beneath him, the roll of her hips forcing him to clench his jaw to maintain his restraint.
He moved his hand to her shift, grasping the fabric where it bunched at her legs and pulling it higher. His hand stroked the skin of her leg, and she stiffened and grabbed his hand. “No.”
He stilled immediately because her voice had carried and because he’d heard fear in the way she’d spoken.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered so quietly he had to concentrate to hear her. But the apology was for the sound of her voice, not the denial.
“You want me to stop?” he whispered. Please, God. Anything but stopping.
“No. I don’t want you to touch me...there.”
It might have been his passion-filled mind, but he was not at all certain he understood what she was saying. “Where?”
“Do not pretend you don’t know,” she hissed, her voice growing louder again. He put a finger over her lips and leaned close.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” he murmured in her ear. “Just tell me.” He nibbled her ear again, and she did not stop him. She drew him closer, pressing her hips against his straining erection. “May I touch you here?” He allowed his hands to roam over her shoulders, down her arms, over her breasts.
“Yes.”
He rolled one nipple between thumb and finger, and her breath came in short gasps. “Oh, yes.”
Reluctantly, he slid his hands down her body to cup her waist then her hips through the thin shift. “Here?”
“Yes.”
He reached for the hem of the shift again, and she stiffened. “Not here?”
“Not my leg.” Her voice was strained and sounded odd. It might have been because she was whispering. It might have been her arousal. Nick did not care at the moment. He only wanted to please her—to please himself. Perhaps her legs were ticklish. There were other ways to divest her of her clothing. He could be creative. He moved back and pulled her to a sitting position.
“Take it off,” he said quietly. He didn’t wait to see if his order was obeyed. He rose and pulled his boots off then divested himself of his trousers. He felt her shift brush his hand as it landed on the floor beside his discarded garments, and he bent on one knee beside her again. He reached for her, found her chin, and lowered his mouth to kiss her. Slowly, he pushed her back on the berth, covering her body with his. She’d taken the shift off. She was all heat and silk beneath him. One of his knees nudged her legs apart, and he felt her molten core when he pressed against her. She gasped into his mouth, and her hands came around to clench his back.
He arched, still kissing her, and allowed his hands to explore her body, careful not to touch her legs. When his hand curled into the vee at her thighs, he could feel her moisture. She was ready for him, and he was more than ready for her. He would not last long. Not this first time, and he did not know if there would be time for more. He cupped her, then inserted one finger. She was tight and wet, and he groaned softly. His cock seemed to have a mind of its own, guiding his hips toward her, but he would not give in to the temptation to thrust into her and satisfy himself.
“Nick...” she said on a gasp.
“Give me a moment,” he whispered. “I want you too much.”
