The Captain of All Pleasures (Sutherland Brothers 1)

last thing he'd do would be give to charity, and not even the fashionable ones at that. She knew that Chancey, curse that blasted Irishman, was right about Sutherland.

Nevertheless, she was on this ship, and she would search every inch she could. Nicole didn't know what she would be looking for--she'd know it when she found it, she reasoned in a cavalier manner. Apparently, the liquor was beginning to hit her.

From the deck, Sutherland's scathing tone with the woman trailed down to Nicole, and a small smile broke across her face. That he didn't seem to like the woman took some of the sting out of seeing her.

As Nicole moved through the rest of the ship, she found that his clipper was in impeccable condition, his sailors' quarters immaculate, and everywhere from his cabin to the forecastle was marked by cleanliness. His ship was just as ordered as her father's obsessively well maintained vessel. Which really made her want to hate Sutherland.

She trailed a lazy finger on the wall as she made her way into the storage area. She decided she had to be drunk, because she grew distracted, dreamy even, as she thought about Sutherland. What would a captain like him feed his crew? He'd probably spend extra money to get them good rations.

She wouldn't know what kind of semiperishables he'd outfit the ship with since they wouldn't be loaded until the last minute, but she did see with a downcast shake of her head a generous stock of spirits. If Nicole didn't know he was in a race, she'd think he was trading the stuff. Not that she could talk, she thought as she bumped lightly into the wall.

Then, with eyes gone wide and a quick intake of breath, she spied a cluster of thick iron water casks in the corner of the hold. She experienced immediate jealousy. Her father still used wooden casks, and frustration gripped her from knowing that Sutherland's crew would have much fresher drinking water than her own. She walked over to inspect the layer of condensing silver barrels and knocked on the closest one, enjoying the sharp, metallic sound.

He had so many advantages over them. But that would make the win that much sweeter, she assured herself as she turned--and collided with Sutherland's unyielding chest.

"Going somewhere?" he ground out, as he gripped her arm and hauled her out of the storage hold. Slamming the door behind him, he raked his eyes over her. "What the hell were you doing down there? And do not think of lying to me!"

Think...think! How long had he been standing there? "I lost my way back from the head," she replied in a credibly even tone.

"Am I supposed to believe that?" He squeezed her arm.

"Of course," she lied. To distract him, she asked in a tight voice, "Who was that woman?"

He scowled. "Someone I hope never to see again," he said absently. "Now, what--"

"But why?" Nicole pressed. "She's so beautiful."

"Not," he replied in a clipped tone, "if you look her in the eye."

"I see." She didn't really.

Exhaling loudly, he placed a palm above her against the wall. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I wasn't doing anything wrong," she pleaded. "I got lost trying to get back to the salon." She could see he didn't believe her.

When he searched her face, she met his gaze. She must be drunk, because now when she looked in his eyes, she could see they were flecked with blue and were...mesmerizing. So intent, so dark that she wanted to kiss his eyelids and then the harsh line between his brows before moving down to those chiseled lips.

He must have recognized what she was thinking, because she could see his expression race from anger to something else entirely. In that deep, gravelly voice, he murmured, as if in resignation, "Damn you," and then without any notice bent down and covered her lips in a brutal kiss.

This wasn't what she'd come here for. She would stop kissing him. Now. Ah, hell. She couldn't come up with a single reason why she shouldn't enjoy him for this one last night. She was amazed that this big man, all hard planes and sculpted muscle, couldn't seem to keep his hands off her.

She wasn't about to let this chance slip by, she thought as she boldly grabbed his collar to bring him closer. Her grandmother would marry her off to some old lord, and she'd most likely never know this feeling again. In all her life, she'd never been so forcefully attracted to another as she was to him.

Realizing that it was now or never, she leaned into him, pressing her body against his as she tentatively brushed his tongue with her own. First lapping at him, then twining against his. He squeezed her hips, not quite painfully, and groaned, a low, rumbling sound that sent fire spilling through her body. His powerful reaction assured her that she should continue.

She'd learned from their first night together that if she pressed up against the front of his trousers, he kissed her more deeply. She arched toward him, her belly goading against his manhood. He moved his hands from her hips to her backside and lifted her until she was on her toes, her body more aligned against his. When her hips instinctively moved against him, he groaned again against her neck, flicking his tongue over her, flooding her with heat in that part of her he mercilessly thrust against.

Then an idea seized her, an idea so shocking...She hastily ran her hands down his chest, and lower. She would put her hands on him, where she was most successful in making him kiss her deeper.

Instead of being pleased as she'd hoped, he sounded distinctly pained when he grabbed her wrists. "Do you want me to spill my seed right here?"

Her passion-filled response dazed Derek. He imagined that she was just going through the motions to make him forget where she'd been, because of course she'd lied. He was angry that she'd spied on him; yet that didn't stop him from desiring her.

But he didn't want her to be with him for any reason other than her wanting him as well. Ruthlessly he shoved aside his misgivings and returned his lips to the fiery girl in his arms. He couldn't remember ever feeling so much from a kiss. Why were they burning together? Was it because he was sober, or because the little wench was matching his own surprisingly strong ardor, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her high, firm breasts into his chest?

She answered his teasing tongue by again opening for him and tasting him, as though licking him up. It made him wild. He might lose control with her, might hurt her with his big body. He set her away from him.

"God, what are you doing to me?" he rasped. He couldn't understand this little enigma, but when he looked at her face, with her swollen lips and her dilated pupils, he became determined that he would make her truly want him tonight, regardless of all the circumstances surrounding them. He bent down to put his arm under her knees and carried her to his cabin, kicking the door shut behind him.

When he dropped her on the bed, she sat up on her elbows to reach him, which only pushed her hardened nipples against the soft cloth of her blouse. He pressed her away from him down on the bed. "Cease that now."

But she didn't. When he yanked off his shirt, she went to her knees, her fingers sweeping over his skin, making the muscles beneath tighten and flex. She kneaded his shoulders and pulled herself up to place her warm lips on his chest. His head shot back. He couldn't prevent it, but he wanted to see her; he lowered his gaze.... She appeared to have truly forgotten herself in a feverish urgency. And, God, he wanted her to--hell, he needed her to forget herself--he was losing control with each second. He thought with a sudden coldness that he'd soon know if she wanted him as much as he did her.

He pushed her down on the bed and, laying one hand on her chest between her breasts, pulled off her boots with the other. Her trousers came next. He sensed a sudden hesitation as he continued undressing her, and gave her a harsh smile. "Scared I'll know if you're only feigning desire?"

Her face clouded with confusion. "Y-you could feign this?"

With a curse, he wondered at the truth in her words, words that made his blood boil to sink himself inside her.

"Take off your shirt," he commanded, and again she hesitated before removing it. What in the hell was she thinking, after what she'd been doing to him? Did she think--Then it came to him, a

long with a fury. Probably playing the virgin, he realized with disgust. Damn women and their perpetual games. As if a woman who whimpered and undulated her body against his like this, a woman who had been just inches away from sliding her hands down the front of his trousers, could be a virgin.

He should throw her out on her ear. When he saw her perfectly rounded breasts, tipped with light pink, he couldn't. Not until after he'd tasted her.

He sat down beside her on the bed, pulling off his own boots and trousers; her gaze fastened on his swollen cock, and her eyes widened in fascination. He watched the girl studying his body, acting as if she'd never seen an aroused man. The thought of her, a wanton, pretending to be innocent...goddamn it!

He'd make her remember what she was.

He slid his hand to her breasts, palming them urgently. Her eyes went wild as she gasped, but he ignored her reaction and bent his head down. He pushed the small mounds together so he had only to turn his face one way or the other to find a nipple pouting against his lips. He licked and suckled, her skin becoming wet from him. She writhed, arching her body toward his, then threaded her fingers through his hair to fasten his mouth to her breast.

She was driving him mad. He'd never responded this way to a woman before. For some reason he'd have to consider later, her own response to him mattered--mattered more than anything else.

Oddly anxious, he grazed his hand down her belly. When he halted just above the juncture at her thighs, her whole body began quivering. Even her small breasts, still gleaming from his ministrations, moved with her shaking.

He eased his fingers down to her soft folds.

Moist. Hot. He nudged her legs apart and kneeled between them, pushing her knees up. When he had her open to him, he slid a finger in slowly, edging inside. Her whole body tensed. Had he hurt her? But his finger glistened when he pulled it from her. He pushed in once more, and her head thrashed to the side as she moaned. Out...in...she began to meet his hand. His lips curled in anticipation. She was so tight.

Again and again, he drove his finger into her, fondling inside, no more able to deny that searing, hungry sheath than he could quit breathing. With each give and take, her panting breaths and little cries came more quickly. Her pale arms fell back over her head, and her legs stretched wider. She already neared her peak.