Beyond the Savage Sea Read online

  She nodded. “Thank you, Drake.” Her heart was pounding so hard it jarred his chest. He let his hands slide up her shoulders to her lovely neck. He cupped her face and put a kiss on her mouth. Her mouth opened, hot and willing under his, but she was shaking so badly their teeth met and clicked. He drew back with a gentle smile.

  “If you don’t stop shaking, we’ll hurt each other.”

  “I know.” She tried to smile, too. It was the bravest effort he’d ever seen in man or woman. This tall, decent woman, trying to put an ugly past behind her. Though her body was hot, her hands were ice. He took them, chafed them, tried to rub warmth into them.

  “Let’s sit you on the bed, Edwinna.”

  She began to pant in terror. He gazed at her in worry.

  “You only need sit there, Edwinna. Edwinna?”

  She nodded and allowed him to lead her to the bed. He sat her on the edge of it, then knelt below her on the bed step and gently opened her nightrail, taking a long time untying each of the sets of ribbons down the front. His hands brushed her chest. Her heart pounded against his fingers.

  “I—I’m too thin.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “Drake?” He looked up at the edge of panic in her voice. Tense, the sexual sweat was already rising on his brow, his erection swelling in painful need.

  “Do you want me to stop, Edwinna? I’ll stop.”

  “No.”

  Slowly he drew the night rail down from her shoulders, uncovering first one arm, then the other. He pooled the night rail around her bare hips. Her eyes were huge. He could see her heart thudding in her throat.

  “You’re lovely,” he said. Despite her slenderness, she had full breasts, beautifully curved on the underside, white and soft as the breast of a dove. He touched them. Her heart pounded. Below her taut, flat abdomen her curly nest was soft, the sunny brown color of her hair. He longed to put his mouth there, taste the sexual musk, touch his tongue to her pink pretty place. But he must not frighten her.

  As it was, she stiffened when he tried to make her comfortable, tried to lay her back on the pillow. So he took a few minutes just to kneel on the bed stair and hold her against him, whispering reassurances. “Edwinna, this is Drake. I won’t hurt you. Never. I swear it.”

  “Drake, I’m sorry I’m so stiff—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t mind. Truly.”

  “I’m not—afraid of you, Drake. It’s the bed—”

  “I know...I know.”

  He gently drew her night rail down to her feet and discarded it. It slid to the floor with a soft plop. She had beautiful legs. He touched them. They were long and shapely. She shivered.

  He kissed her mouth. Her eyes leaped with fear as he rose and went to the opposite side of the bed and shed his breeches. Aroused, his erection was a blatant fact, nothing he could hide, so he didn’t try. He eased into bed and lay on his side, facing her, hoping he wasn’t scaring her. He knew what she saw, for he knew what he looked like aroused. Shoulders too damned broad to fit in a shirt without splitting the seams. A chest matted with black hair. A trail of black hair descending to a black bush, his erection florid and throbbing there.

  “Drake!”

  “Don’t be frightened,” he whispered. “My body means you no harm. Don’t be afraid of it.” Her hands had stiffened into fists. He took the nearest one and brought it to his lips, kissing each tight knuckle, kissing her thumb, gently raking his teeth over the nail. Gradually, her hand relaxed, grew pliable and willing. He pressed his lips to her palm. She trembled, not entirely from fright. She desired him. His erection surged fuller. Her eyes grew large and dark and bruised. She breathed through her mouth—scared, shallow breaths that made her lovely breasts rise and fall. Poor darling.

  To show her there was no harm in his body, he took her soft hand on a tour of his body. He pressed her palm to his cheek, letting her feel the smooth-shaven skin with its underlying promise of tomorrow’s beard. He took her hand and drew it across his brow, his eyes, his nose, his lips. He held her palm to the hot, pounding artery in his neck. She watched, breathless, eyes huge, as if her hand was a disembodied thing and not her own.

  He pressed her palm to his chest, letting her feel his heartbeat, learn his rhythm. Here, her strong hand came to life, moving of its own accord. Eyes scared and huge, she touched his nipples. Propped on one elbow, he let his head fall back and closed his eyes, rejoicing, sweat breaking. He watched her through sensually drooping eyelashes. Her gaze flickered between his chest and his eyes.

  “Dear God, that was sweet,” he whispered.

  Watching her eyes, he took her hand lower. He drew it to his waist, then guided it down the lean, hard muscles of his belly. Here he began to pant. Her hand trembled and curled up into a tight claw.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said hoarsely. “My body means you no harm.”

  “I-I know.” Her breath was shallow, labored. He shook her hand a little, to relax its tenseness, and brought it to his mouth to kiss. When it uncurled and became willing again, he gently took it to his groin. When she trembled but didn’t pull away, he let his head fall back and gasped with joy. He pressed her palm to his testicles. She touched his silken scrotum with gentle wonder.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “God, no.”

  Needing to feel her hand there, he seized it and pressed her palm to his erection. His erection stood up like a post, its color vivid, its heart-shaped head bulging, the slit stretched. He was so aroused that a drop of translucent liquid rose from the slit and shimmered in the muted candlelight. He watched her eyes.

  “It’s my seed, Edwinna,” he whispered raggedly. Then, too close to going off, he abruptly ended the exploration. He kissed her hand, sat up, threw his legs over the edge of the bed, and planted his feet on the bed stair. Gently he reached for her and gathered her into his arms.

  “Sweetheart, face me. Sit on my lap.” He didn’t want her in the submissive position—it might scare her, revive memories of her rape.

  She came into his lap shaking, but hot and willing. He breathed hoarsely as her nest met his. He took one lovely leg and gently wrapped it around his hip, then the other. He put her hands on his shoulders and drew her close. Her breasts burned against his chest, and the heat of his erection seared both their bellies. They both panted: he in ecstasy, she in fear and desire.

  “Don’t be afraid, Edwinna.”

  “I-I won’t.”

  Her mouth opened even before his mouth reached it. He kissed her in every way he knew to kiss a woman—tonguing her, sucking her, nibbling, gently biting, giving her his tongue to suck and nibble. She clung, trembling, her body hot as fire, her mouth sweet and generous, returning like for like.

  He trailed kisses on her shoulder, her neck. He cupped her breast and suckled hungrily while she gripped his head, her hands clawing his hair, her heart beat like a hammer. He slipped a hand under her taut, firm buttocks. She was wet. He gloried in it. Gently he found her love hole and slipped one finger in, spreading her honey, preparing her for entry. She gasped. Her muscles gripped his finger so tightly he nearly came, imagining his rod there.

  “Oh, Edwinna. Hold tight to my neck, Edwinna.” He drew her forward, lifted her buttocks, and positioned her over his throbbing erection. Breathing raggedly, he gently coaxed her down on the head.

  “Drake—” she cried out in fear.

  He kissed her mouth. “Little by little. Take what you can. Don’t hurt yourself.”

  “Drake, I’m frightened!”

  “I’ll stop, but, God, please don’t ask me to!”

  He groaned, sucking on her shoulder while she took him, gasping, inch by scared inch. He encouraged her, whispered words of praise, fragments of love words, sex words, and when he was fully in her, he gently began to move. She clung, her forehead hot and moist against his. Their musk rose like thick perfume. With one hand around her hips, supporting her, he licked his other hand and slipped it down the front of her soft belly and f
ound the spot where a woman needed to be touched. He caressed it.

  A deep, shuddering cry erupted from her. “Drake—”

  “Yes, it’s my gift.”

  “Drake!” She arched, breasts thrusting into him.

  “Edwinna, yes!” If he hadn’t wrapped his arms tightly around her, she might have thrown herself to the floor. Her thick, curly hair tumbled. He gripped her, holding her close and safe while she panted wildly and came. It was a thrilling moment. Her muscles gripped his erection so tightly he started to come himself. When she’d finished, he crushed her close, thrust once, and stiffened as if he had been lightning-struck. The ejaculation tore out of him. He nearly blacked out at the force of it, and when he finished, they held each other, shaky, sweating, gasping.

  “Oh, Edwinna.” He panted. “Edwinna.”

  When his erection went down and he could move without hurting her, he lifted her onto the bed, put her dazed head on the pillow, and lay beside her, an arm possessively draped over her.

  She lay there pleasantly exhausted, all the muscles of her face relaxed, eyes closed, lips kiss-stung and parted. He smiled. She looked as if she were adrift in a lovely dream. He watched her for a long time. When her silken lashes flickered, he buried his face in her neck, kissing her softly there.

  “You thrilled me, Edwinna.”

  It took her so long to respond, she might have been on another planet. He smiled, pleased that he’d given her this.

  “As to that...I don’t know.”

  “I do know. You’re a thrilling woman, Edwinna Crawford.” He kissed her neck, softly, languidly, enjoying her glow. “I will need to do this to you every night and every morning. Can you bear it?”

  She smiled drowsily, eyes still closed. “Only...twice a day?”

  He smiled into the slender column of her neck and kissed her there. “I have an idea. Let’s drive David stark raving mad. Let’s burn the candle all night long, every night.”

  She smiled in drowsy amusement. “Let’s.”

  He kissed her bare shoulder, then licked at the spot he’d kissed. “You are a passionate woman, Edwinna Crawford.”

  “Am...am I?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Her lashes parted. She opened her eyes and gazed at him with so much love it startled him. He felt a stab of guilt. He didn’t love her. He was fond of her, delighted with her in bed, but he didn’t love her. His conscience stung.

  He gathered her into his arms. Carefully. He wasn’t idiot enough to think one session of bed had cured her. She probably would carry the scars from her paternal rape for the rest of her life. Tenderly he kissed her eyelids, her nose, her chin, then rubbed his face in the cleft of her breasts, licking the salty moisture there.

  “I like the way we smell together. Our sweat. Our musk,” he said.

  “I like it, too.”

  “Why did we wait so long?”

  “I don’t know,”

  They gazed into each other’s eyes. Hers were smoky, bruised. To his amazement, desire shot through him as strongly as if he’d not just sated it.

  “Edwinna,” he whispered. “I fear I need you again.”

  He made love to her again, very gently, before they fell asleep. As he’d fearfully anticipated, she’d suffered a flash of terror when he started to mount her in the traditional way, and he instantly stopped and swept her into his arms, rocking her, soothing, petting, whispering words of assurance while she clung to him in fear, whimpering.

  “It’s all right, Edwinna.”

  “Drake—I’m sorry.”

  “Shssh, shssh, I understand, I do.”

  “I don’t want to be like this.”

  “I know, I know, shssh.”

  When he’d calmed her, they’d lain in each other’s arms and talked gently. Later, he’d made love to her in an unorthodox position, but one he found arousing and erotic, and they’d both found satisfaction. He thought it a blessing she knew nothing of common sexual practices, aside from her father’s brutal attack. For she was a tabula rasa—his blank slate. He could write on her, teach her.

  They fell asleep side by side, letting the trade winds caress and cool their bodies, lying on their backs, hand in hand, fingers companionably twined. As he drifted off, he realized he’d not felt so content in years, if ever.

  * * * *

  Edwinna awoke before dawn, well before the six o’clock bell. There was the initial shock of the unfamiliar room, the bed, and Drake asleep beside her, his broad shoulder and black hair strikingly dark against the pillow. The shock passed, and she lay quietly watching him, listening to the sound of the grinder, remembering the splendor of the night.

  She hadn’t known he’d be so gentle. Instantly she contradicted herself. Yes, she had. She’d known it from the moment she’d met him in Simon Tarcher’s cottage, else she wouldn’t have found the courage to marry him. Taking care not to wake him, she eased out of bed. The cool floor planks met the soles of her feet. Everything felt different this morning.

  She fished about on the floor to find her nightrail and pulled it over her head. She felt sore from his lovemaking, but pleasantly so.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his voice husky with sleep. She jumped. He’d rolled to his back, arms under his head, tufts of black hair glistening in his armpits. He was watching her.

  “To the privy.”

  “Not without giving me a kiss.”

  She smiled a little, brushed a hand through her tangled hair, and leaned over the bed. He reached up with gentle hands and drew her down on top of him. His breath smelled stale, of last night’s endless kisses. So did hers. Neither cared.

  “There is a cardinal rule in this marriage, Mrs. Steel. Neither of us leaves the bed in the morning without giving the other a kiss. It’s rude.”

  Mrs. Steel. Joy filled her. “I don’t want to be rude.”

  “Good.” They kissed—a sweet, warm kiss. Sleep-warmed, Drake’s shoulders were smooth and muscular to the touch. They kissed again, softly, until their heartbeats quickened, but then the six o’clock bell clanged in the trade winds.

  Drake loosened his grip and gave her a rueful smile. “We’ll have to start earlier if we intend to do this every morning and do harvest, too.”

  “Yes.”

  He smoothed back her hair, an affectionate gesture.

  “Edwinna, I’m fond of you.”

  Fondness wasn’t love. She knew that. His love was buried with Anne Steel. But she could make do with fondness. She could! She would rather have fondness from this gentle man than love from any other man in the world.

  “I’m fond of you, too, Drake.” Then, stabbed by the dishonesty of it, she said, “That isn’t true. I love you.”

  She pushed off the bed and hurried out of the room. Drake watched her go with worry. He felt a stab of guilt again. He wished he loved her. But the truth was, he did not.

  * * * *

  Love her or not, he was surprised by the surge of pleasure and well-being he felt when she came out into the cane fields to visit him that morning. Perhaps this was love, of a different sort. It was not the possessive, fiery love he’d felt for Anne. This was more peaceful, pleasanter. An “old man’s love,” he thought humorously, though at thirty-three, he did not yet feel completely ancient.

  He smiled as she came striding to him, and she smiled, too, her eyes fiercely proud and shining. She’d come out to the field on a needless errand, and that pleased him. She wanted to be near him. He slipped an arm around her waist and walked her along the cut cane rows, staying clear of the oozing, sticky stubble. Fresh cut, the field smelled of sugar. They strolled along companionably, estimating the morning’s tonnage together, talking, walking. His shirt was so wet with sweat the tail of it flapped in the trade winds, yet she didn’t object to being near him.

  * * * *

  During the first noisy half of the midday meal at Crawford Hall’s table, Matthew Plum failed to notice anything different. Then, suddenly, he became aware. H
is eyebrows lifted. Something was different here.

  He stopped chewing in midbite and glanced at Edwinna, then at Drake. Edwinna glowed. There was a radiance to her, and whenever Drake made the slightest comment conversing with the men, her eyes flew to him.

  He looked at Drake. Something was different here, too. Drake had never looked more relaxed, more the master of the plantation. He sat at the master’s place with an easy grace, speaking no more than his share, but speaking sense whenever he opened his mouth. Drake’s eyes went often to Edwinna, and he asked her opinion on every issue that came up.

  Something lovely was happening here. Plum didn’t want to spoil it. He finished chewing his mouthful of food, rose, and directed his overseers to get back to their work. They looked up in surprise, but promptly got up and went out. Plum courteously thanked Edwinna and Drake for the meal, then left, telling Edwinna he did not wish to look at accounts this noon. He wanted a nap.

  “How very odd,” Edwinna said to Drake, when Matthew Plum had left. Striding away from the house whistling, he scarcely sounded like a man who needed a nap.

  Drake smiled against his propped hands.

  “It isn’t odd at all. Plum’s an astute man. He has eyes.”

  “What do you mean?” She felt breathless with Drake looking at her that way. Awareness heightened, like the smell of a fresh wind. What a beautiful feeling.

  “How about you, Mrs. Steel? Do you ever nap?”

  “No, never.”

  “I do. Would you care to join me?”

  Gazing into the frank invitation in his eyes, she felt her heart thrash against her ribs. I want this! I’m a woman. I want what other women have, I want to love and be loved.

  Upstairs, they bolted the door against Tutu and Priscilla and reached for each other. They kissed, mouths open, warm, moist, seeking. She trembled at the touch of Drake’s mouth as he roamed everywhere—her breast, her neck, her waist, her armpit. He was shameless, avid. He took her hand and brought it to his stiff, hot erection, teaching her to move sensually on it.