The Captain of All Pleasures (Sutherland Brothers 1)

He struggled to rein her in, almost methodically attempting and rejecting hold after hold. It would only be a matter of time before he bested her, but she fought on. Until unexpectedly, he shifted her in his arms, one hand groping for some means of holding her.

And then...the unthinkable.

His hand slipped through her open cloak and up her shirt until...it landed on her breast.

Aside from her heavy breaths, she grew perfectly still. She didn't know why: Because he had stilled? Or because she couldn't think of anything but his--hand?

Big, scratchy, ablaze with heat, it left an imprint on her skin. Was that his finger tumbling over her nipple? His hand seemed to move over her, his grip shifting from brusquely covering her breast to gently, curiously...cupping her. No, now it was his thumb.

She should begin kicking again. She should. But he'd rendered her body boneless. Captain Derek Sutherland had his hand on her breast, her mind repeated like a mantra.

His hand on her breast.

Did she hear him mutter a curse? Her skin felt chilled when he tore his hand from her shirt as if he had been burned. He spun her around, and the whole front of her body rubbed against his.

Nicole made a vain attempt to marshal her scattered thoughts. Her father's worst rival held her in a back alley, alone with him, so why didn't she fight? Because she was weak. Breathless.

Then he ran his hands down her arms and placed them on her hips. Warmth flooded her body anew and pooled in her belly.

She'd been around men most of her life, had lived in close quarters with them for extended periods of time, but she had never experienced this unexplainable yearning that seized her so suddenly and so forcefully.

Nicole shook her head, wanting to deny the feeling. She'd simply been so frightened, and he held her safely, or rather, safer, in his arms. The man warmed her, she reasoned, like a cocoon in the stinging night air. And his cleanly crisp smell tickled her nose. Male. His scent was...male. Not like the liquor and cheap perfume she expected from a blackguard like him, but so alluring that she wanted to bury her face in his broad, hard chest and breathe him.

Even as her face inched closer to his body, a part of her mind argued that he might not have gotten a good look at her face. Her hood was still on her head. She could run--

As if he could read her mind, Sutherland enclosed her more tightly in his arms. With a gasp signaling part disbelief, part something else she couldn't begin to name, she felt his hardened arousal pressed high against her belly. Startled, she twisted away, which only caused her to brush more closely against that part of him.

He inhaled sharply in response, and his whole body went rigid around hers. "Easy," he said. The word rumbled like lingering thunder after a storm.

"Let me go--I have to...go," she pleaded. She couldn't manage more than standing there panting, her body a mix of tension and a melting flow. She stared at him, this unyielding man who gave no indication that he would release her. When one of his large hands loosened its hold, she sensed he was about to remove her hood. She didn't want that, couldn't have that, but her body was immobile, drawn by the warm strength of his.

Not quite in resignation, she studied his cruel-looking face, saw the skin pulled taut except where it crinkled into a scowl. His eyes found hers and held. She'd known from the night before that his eyes were cold. Now she could see more than that.

Sutherland looked like a man aboard a sinking ship--who suffered no delusions.

A whisper of air fluttered over her face when his hand sought the hood of her cloak. As he untied it and pushed the fabric back over her hair, his fingers brushed her cheek as if in a caress. Her whole body quivered from the sensuality of that sheer touch. She still trembled when he studied her face...and when he stroked her hair...and even when he effortlessly lifted her up and threw her over his shoulder.

Chapter 3

N othing surprised Derek anymore. He expected the worst outcome, the worst in everyone, and most times they didn't disappoint. But when he'd detected the girl from the Mermaid beneath the hood, everything inside him went a little crazy.

And outside, too. His blood-pounding erection was raw and swift, like that of a rutting animal scenting a ready mate. He didn't know if his surprise came more from finding the prostitute again or from this aggressive reaction to her.

She was dumbfounded, of course, to be draped over his shoulder with her backside pointed up in the air and her face buried in his spine. It wasn't long before she began kicking and scratching with as much spirit as before.

"Down! Now!" she ordered, punctuating each command with a swat or a kick. "Put--me--down--this--instant!"

He scoffed at her continued attempts to hurt him, smug because she simply hadn't the power to do so. A stab of pain pierced his moment of gloating--the Valkyrie had sunk her strong little teeth into the back of his arm.

"What the hell?" He shook her loose. "Damn it, I'm trying to help you. I don't see those men around here, but that doesn't mean they've gone."

When she had stopped struggling long enough to listen, he continued, "I'm taking you somewhere safe, and if you fight me you'll only prolong the inevitable."

She huffed, "I'll humor you. For now."

His lips nearly curved at her attempt to keep her dignity even though she hung over his back with her cloak bunched around her waist. But he became tense and alert when he reached the corner and searched the area. Confident the men had run ahead, he strode in the opposite direction, toward the Southern Cross.

"You could let me down now. I won't run away," the girl offered after bouncing along for a few steps. He should let her walk, but he didn't want her to try to get away again. Not until she explained some things.

"We'll go quicker this way." As an afterthought, he added, "Aren't you done in?"

When she inhaled deeply and sighed, he felt it on his back. "Yes," she admitted reluctantly.

Fury fired in him as he pictured those men running down this small, defenseless young woman. Yet he became angrier with himself--he'd come so close to leaving her--and his tone was harsh. "Who chased you, and why?"

She stiffened. "That's none of your business."

"It is now, since I just saved your hide."

When she didn't say anything, he jostled her a little with the arm under her backside. "Tell me now."

"You'll have to shake a lot harder than that to get me to talk. Since I know you won't--let's not waste each other's time," she said in a nasty voice from behind him.

The girl was...provoking him?

"I wouldn't wager on that, sweet." His ire, always considerable, rapidly banked. "You obviously lack the sense to be afraid of me."

She rose up off his back. "Should I be afraid of you?" she asked in a sensible tone.

No mincing questions for this one. "That depends on whether or not you keep me happy. And right now I'm not happy."

"You don't look as if you've ever been happy," she mumbled, her cheek resting on his back again.

He slowed. "What do you mean by that?"

Derek could feel her as she took another deep breath and rose up again. "You've got a deep groove between your eyebrows from scowling, but no matching ones around your eyes like you'd get from laughing. You scowl a lot, don't you? I bet you are right now."

Hell, he was. He despised it when people analyzed him. "You don't know a damn thing about me--"

"Clearly, I know you don't laugh."

Enough. He purposely swung her down as if he was dropping her.

"Wh-whoa!" she squealed as she fell, but he caught her just before she tumbled to the ground.

After steadying herself, she pushed her thick, tangled hair out of her face and tilted her head. With a hurt expression, she asked in a genuinely confused voice, "What'd you do that for?"

He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. The wench had a great mane of hair. He took in the piles of curls tousled from the night, curls that couldn't quite decide if they wanted to be red or gold.

They framed her oddly pretty face and curved along her slender neck. His lips itched to kiss that neck....

He shook his head at such driveling thoughts. "I'm not sure I want to take you anywhere safe. You have a barbed tongue on you and don't know the meaning of gratitude. You belong at the Mermaid."

Her chin jerked up. "You," she said in a rising voice, "were there right along with me. Or were you too drunk to remember?"

"Lady, you're on your--" he began, but saw her eyes dart toward the sound of a fight breaking out not twenty yards behind them. Her face fell, and her body shook. For all her bravado, she was truly afraid.

Before she could run, he grabbed her waist and tossed her over his shoulder once again. Marching toward his ship, he felt a curious satisfaction as he carried her along.

He didn't know what it was about the girl. Perhaps it was that no one had ever looked at him the way she had in the Mermaid, like a siren.