Like she'd die if he didn't bed her.
Derek had told himself he wanted to find her simply to settle his curiosity. It mystified him why a young woman, a young woman who obviously sold her body at the Mermaid and consorted with Lassiter, no less, would look at him the way she had that night. First with desire, later with fury.
Plus, he'd needed to know if he could want her that badly, or if it had been the drink that night.
It wasn't the drink. What was the matter with him? She was a sharp tongued, insulting prostitute who dallied with his worst enemy. And she had peculiar features. Overblown ebony eyes, too dark and large for her small, gamine face, contrasted with the pout of her lips. It was as though one artist, vivid and wild, was unleashed to paint her eyes and hair, while another labored over the faultless bow of her lips....
The wench began working up her pique once again. She must have thought at that point that he posed the greater danger to her, because she began writhing on his back, straining to break his hold. She weighed so little, he easily held her firm.
Then she twined her fists together and pounded his back. The force of the hit surprised him, but his stride didn't falter. It simply earned her a light slap on her shapely backside, so plainly outlined in her snug trousers.
"You! Oooh, you can't--"
He rested his hand there. "Clearly, I can," he said, using her word. She sputtered in outrage, and his lips crooked up. Then it was his turn to be shocked when she called him names that would make his most hardened sailors blush. It wasn't just the creativity of her curses or the venom dripping from every word that surprised him. He could expect that with her background.
No, he'd noted before that she didn't have a dockside English accent, but in her fury, her words became crisper and less like what he'd expect. In fact, he couldn't place her accent at all. With a twinge of unease, Derek realized he could determine nothing about her speech except that, barring the colorful phrases, it sounded very cultured and very affronted.
He dismissed his misgivings. He had seen her in a tap house known for its whores, leaving for the night with a man twice her age. Not exactly the nocturnal activity of a lady.
Whoever this girl was, he would take her repeatedly this night and enjoy figuring her out later, sharp tongue and all. This couldn't have worked out better, with the race in five days. Just enough time to enjoy her.
And then, as always happened with him...to tire of her and sail away.
With Nicole easily draped across his shoulder, Captain Sutherland stepped onto the deck of his ship and waved casually as he strode past two bewildered guards posted outside. Nicole's position embarrassed her, but the sight of the Southern Cross was enough to make her suck in a breath and briefly forget about cursing him. She'd never been so close to his ship, and as they boarded, she couldn't help but look around in awe.
She'd always scoffed at the sailor's fancy that a captain resembled his ship. But massive, bold, and dark, the Southern Cross was a credit to the idea. It was hard-planed and sharp-lined.
And forbidding.
Just when she'd decided she would attempt another escape, Sutherland reached the companionway. He dropped her to her feet and looked her over, as if making a decision about her. Finally, he said, "Go down the steps."
She answered him with a disbelieving look. Of course she wouldn't. Did he think she was insane? She didn't know why he'd taken her back to his ship, hadn't determined whether he'd realized who she was by now, and, most important, she didn't like taking orders, especially from a man like him. She was opening her mouth to decline, thank you, no.
"Do it now."
"No."
"No?"
She guessed from his look of open surprise that the word was seldom used with him. "N-o," Nicole spelled out. "Not until you tell me why you've brought--"
"Now," he boomed, and all thought of rebellion ended. His tone made her jump to the stairs to get to the belly of the ship.
He didn't scare her, she assured herself; he'd just startled her.
Swinging down easily after her, he walked to her slowly, assessing her. He bent down deftly to miss a rafter in the ceiling, reminding her of his great height. She should be nervous after he'd just yelled at her. Afraid after all she'd heard of him. Chancey, her father's first mate, would say she had too much pluck for her own good. She supposed he'd be right, because she just couldn't make herself be wary.
Yet Sutherland didn't look as though he'd hurt her. No, he looks like he wants to eat me for dinner. His gaze stroked her like a physical touch, and she shivered. Those eyes, gray and dark, could easily be called cruel, but they held no anger toward her. She convinced herself that she could detect the promise of something more in their cold depths. Could that be the reason he'd taken her back to his ship? To kiss her?
For most of her life, Nicole had been uniformly rewarded whenever she'd done something forbidden. And if kissing Sutherland wasn't forbidden...
Irrationally, a part of her was thrilled at the prospect. But all this was crazy--Sutherland, the rogue who'd probably bedded a legion of beautiful women, desiring her, a scrawny girl with strange looks?
Nicole backed away, absurdly keeping some polite distance between them. She passed a door, and before she could prevent herself, she curiously scanned it. She did the same at the next door down, taking in the details of the ship.
He saw her flitting eyes, and then, seeming to realize what she must be anxious about, he assured her in a soothing, low tone, "Rest easy, sweet, I don't share. It'll be only you and me tonight. Aside from the guards on deck, we have the whole ship to ourselves." He reached out to smooth away a curl along her face and said huskily, "I'll reward you well for the night."
Reward her? An idea surfaced in her mind, but she shook it away.
Whatever he read in her expression made him narrow his eyes. "I will warn you once," he said in a menacing voice. "Do not think to play games with me."
She grappled with confusion. She couldn't account for what he was talking about or why he was so angry.
He grabbed her upper arm. "Why were you being followed?"
"Why did you bring me here?" she replied, tugging to regain possession of her arm.
He all but grinned. "I brought you here because I want you."
Well, that explained either everything or nothing. She had to know. "For what?"
Irritation flashed in his eyes, and she barely curbed a wince. Before she could voice another question, his other hand grasped the back of her head. "For what? For this." He pulled her to meet his lips.
Nicole resisted and pushed against his chest, more out of instinct than any real desire to get away. But then he ran his hand up her neck and under her hair. She couldn't remember ever being stroked on her neck, and the sensation was so unfamiliar, so pleasurable, she stilled.
He must have sensed her surrender; his lips pressed against hers even more forcefully. Unconsciously, her whole body softened and drifted into him. His tongue stroked at her lips, demanding entrance, fueling her curiosity. Curiosity killed the cat, Nicole.
>
But what a way to go...
She boldly obeyed by parting them. He touched his tongue to hers and that feeling arose again--hot, liquid, and undeniable. His breathing became ragged. She could feel his heavy arousal against her belly--oh, Lord, he pressed it against her, and her head fell back in pleasure and shock, her mouth opening in a silent cry. She couldn't allow him to touch her like that. She would make him stop.... But she already throbbed where their bodies met. Her breasts ached. In the clash between her wanting and her will, the wanting took over. And ruled her.
She grabbed his shoulders, pulling herself up on her toes to get closer, deeper into his arms. Her body began shaking as the movement drove her breasts into his chest. She was coming out of her skin, frenzied to be near him. Was she making that low keening sound?
With a curse, he released her and deliberately set her away from him. "This will be over before it begins," he grated in a strained voice. He was out of breath, and when he ran his palm across the back of his neck, she could swear he battled surprise.
He watched her in a searching way, and even though he seemed tense as a tightly wound coil, Nicole thought that she pleased him. With the tip of her tongue, she tasted him on her lips, and brought her hand to her bruised mouth, reveling in how she could still perceive the seeking pressure of his kiss.
She studied his mouth, staring, captivated by how warm his lips had been, since they appeared to be chiseled out of stone. He fascinated her. His behavior fascinated her. And she knew there was more.
She stood there, unable to take her eyes away. Even though he was her enemy, his kisses helped her past that detail. If only for a night. Why not use him to finally know what her schoolmates whispered about in the dark?
"Tell me your name."
Wait! Sutherland didn't know her. She hesitated for just a second too long.
"Of course, I don't expect you to give your real name...but I'd have thought you would have picked out a working name."
Working name? What the devil--All questions ceased. He was angry again.
"Christina. My name is Christina," she hedged, supplying him with her middle name.
Was he amused? She got the impression that her "working name" was not what he'd expected.
She knew she couldn't come up with a reasonable excuse for why murderous cutthroats had followed her without letting him know her identity. Especially since all she could think of were his lips. Nervously she took a deep breath and forced a tremulous smile, though that was the last thing she wanted to do.