Page 30 of The Pirate and the Pagan
For the next three days Summer saw nothing of Ruark Helford. He was gone on official business and she chafed at the wasted days that were melting away. She had only three weeks left until the mortgage was due.
On the fourth day at dawn she collected Ebony from the Helford stables and rode out along the deserted beach. The sea air was brisk and cold and she wasted little time in covering the usual five miles then turned and rode back.
Halfway home she saw Ruark riding to meet her. For a moment she felt panic that he would see her in breeches and shirt with disheveled hair, but since there was nothing she could do about it, she waved gaily, genuinely glad to have him back.
He called to her, and though the wind tried to snatch his voice away, it was so strong it carried clearly to her. “You’ll freeze to death in that thin shirt. Let’s go up to the house. I want to talk to you.”
She shook her head, letting the breeze blow her hair into a dark cloud. She noticed he, too, was in shirt sleeves.
“Then let me build a fire with some driftwood,” he suggested hopefully.
She nodded her pleasure and pointed to a small cove in the rocks. They dismounted to gather an armful of wood and Ruark stacked it and set it ablaze. Summer pointed to a large mass on the sands which looked like resin. “There’s a lump of ambergris washed up on shore.”
“Ambergris?” he echoed. “My God, it would be worth its weight in gold in London.”
“For what, pray?” she asked, laughing.
Ruark thought perhaps that even if he told her it was a rare aphrodisiac, she probably wouldn’t know what he meant. “A sort of tonic,” he said, and sat down with his back against the rocky cliff and held up his hands for her to join him.
She hesitated.
“You’re angry with me for spoiling your solitude. You’ve told me plain enough you like your privacy.”
“Of course I’m not angry with you. I just don’t like you to see me dressed in masculine attire.”
“Masculine?” he echoed, thinking how womanly she looked with the wet shirt clinging to her breasts.
“I missed you dreadfully.”
“Did you? Did you really, Lady Summer St. Catherine?” he asked, his eyes hungrily devouring hers. “Then why won’t you come and hold hands with me?”
She hesitated again. “I like holding hands with you,” she confessed. “If only you won’t do that thing that frightens me,” she said in a rush.
He searched her face. “You mean kiss you?”
She shook her head. “I’m even shameless enough to like being kissed. I mean the other thing you do,” she said, her face growing warm even in the cool breeze.
“Sweet, I’m at a loss; what is it I do to frighten you?”
“You make yourself … grow … enormous.”
“Oh God,” he swore. Very gently he took her hands and eased her down beside him. He kept his voice low and intimate. “I don’t make myself grow … you do.”
She gazed up at him, realizing this was one of those moments when he would reveal another piece of the puzzle to her. The mysterious male-female secrets which attracted and repelled her at the same time. She wanted to pull away; she wanted to melt into him.
“When you are near me, I have no control over it at all.” He started to harden and dropped his eyes to her mouth. He realized his mistake immediately as his shaft jumped and lengthened. “I just see you, or hear you laugh or smell your perfume and I become aroused. Hell, you don’t even have to be there at all, just thinking about you, thinking of touching you, and the damnable thing has a will of its own.”
She loved the idea of not even having to be there to affect him. Her fear was slowly dissolving and in its place a great curiosity was growing. She ran the pink tip of her tongue over her top lip, unconsciously teasing him.
He knew he must taste her. “I’ve hungered for you,” he said hoarsely as his mouth took hers in a demanding kiss.
She shivered at his touch. “You’re wet,” he said, concerned, as his brown hand brushed her breast through her clinging shirt. He was on his feet immediately to make the fire twice as hot for her. He loped down the beach to gather a great armful of driftwood and came racing back to their haven. He took off his wet shirt then slipped down again beside her with his back against the rocks.
She raised her long lashes to appraise his naked chest. “I know it’s wicked of me, but I’m wildly curious.”
“Curious about my body?” he asked huskily.
She nodded. “I cannot help myself … I have a burning need to look at you … to touch you … to know what you feel like when my hands and fingers explore you … and if it’s wicked, I no longer care.”
