Promise Me Forever Page 11

  "Drew, I—"

  He shifted, pulling her down to his chest so he could ravish her lips again. “Tell me you want me as badly as I want you, love,” he whispered, his lips skimming up, nibbling at her ear. “Because, my lady, I do want you. I want to feel you all around me.” He chuckled as she groaned into his neck. “I want to make love to you the way you should be made love to, Heather. Slowly. Sensually."

  His words sent a shudder through her. Her head swam with the sensations whirling through her body. The ache began, centering on where he gently stroked her. Her thoughts were even more sluggish now, words slow to rise to her lips and she had to force them out. “Stop ... Drew ... you ought not ... say ... such things."

  "Says who?” he demanded in a throaty voice. “Who makes up these damned rules you feel you must follow?"

  She shuddered, feeling the tingles starting to grow, to radiate out from where he stroked her with such expertise. “Drew..."

  "Do you deny you want me, love? You know your body does...” He withdrew his hand to reach for the fastening of his trousers. “I know mine does."

  "I—I can't..."

  "You can, Heather,” he urged, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a heated whisper. “To hell with what is proper. There is nothing wrong with making love in a chair. Do you deny you want me?"

  "No.” That one word emerged as the most breathless of sighs. No, she didn't deny it, but still—

  He didn't reply, but instead lifted her off to set her on her feet. Confused, she watched as he rose before her and his lips lifted in that seductive, sleepy smile that made her insides melt. Before she could ask what he was about, he reached to snag two handfuls of her gown and chemise.

  "What are you doing?” she asked in a breathless whisper as he tugged and both garments dropped in a heap about her ankles.

  He didn't answer, but instead bent to capture her breast with his mouth. At once, she sucked in her breath, her fingers thrusting into his hair as his tongue slowly circled about her nipple. The moist heat filled her with languorous warmth and she leaned into him as her head spun from his attentions. His fingers skittered over her back as he tugged her closer. She shuddered against him as he pulled away to transfer his lips to her other breast.

  "Drew, you ought not—"

  He lifted his head then, smiling. “I'll not heed to any protests, sweetheart. The only words I'll heed are words of love."

  "Words of love?” she asked as he straightened up to part his shirt, easing it from his shoulders.

  He bent forward to brush her lips with his. As they moved over her ear, he whispered, “Words of love, Heather. Such as ‘More please, Drew,’ or ‘Harder, Drew', ‘Faster, Drew', or ‘I love what you are doing to me, Drew.'” He squeezed her closer. “And of course, ‘Do that again, Drew.’”

  She couldn't hold back her laughter as his tongue dipped into her ear. “Oh, I could never—"

  He cut her off. “Of course you could. And you would be pleasantly surprised by how readily I will respond to your requests."

  As he spoke, his trousers hit the floor with a solid whump and his arms were around her waist, his hands cupping her derriere, lifting her against him. “Kiss me, sweetheart, and let me show you how readily I will respond."

  Heather slid her arms about his neck, hoping like mad he'd not drop her. “Drew?"

  He kissed her then, hard and passionate, his tongue delving between her lips to tease hers. As his mouth moved against hers, he lowered her, catching her soft sigh as he guided her over him. Her fingernails bit into his neck as he pulled away long enough to whisper, “Put your legs ‘round my waist, darling girl, and prepare to offer up those words."

  Heat seared her as he pulled her firmly against him, but she managed to do as he instructed. His fingers dug into her hips as she accepted him completely and it was her turn to catch his sigh of delight. Her hold on him loosened a bit and she pulled away, smiling coyly as she asked, “And which words did you wish to hear first?"

  Drew groaned, his expression one of utter bliss as he managed to smile and reply, “I care not, love. They will all drive me mad."

  With that, he lowered her, sending a ripple of pleasure through her. He repeated the motion, and she couldn't help but dig her fingers in again, an airy sigh rising to her lips. “More, please, Drew."

  It was difficult to discern whether he laughed or groaned. But she did know that he did as she asked, breathing out a growly, “As you wish, lady."

  When he lifted her once more, Heather ran her hands down over his arms, feeling the solid bands of muscle cording them. Those muscles bulged beneath her fingers as he brought her down again with agonizing slowness. The heat became fire as he increased his speed. His eyes grew darker still, holding hers the entire time. His lips caught hers in a fierce kiss as he pulled her against him again. She savored each stroke. The knot was tightening to be sure, but the buildup was torture of the sweetest sort. Her fingers found their way back into his hair, clutching it as she took a deep breath to whisper, “Faster, Drew."

  Another groan and the air erupted from her lungs in a whoosh as he suddenly turned to press her into the wall. Delicious fire shot through her at the new sensations tearing up her insides as scorching pleasure threatened to reduce her to mere cinders. She melted against him as he increased the intensity of his thrusts, holding her tight as he surged into her. Her legs tightened about his waist, her fingers twisted in his hair. Her back arched against the cool, satiny oak as the ache erupted into a fireball of bliss, engulfing her in a maelstrom of pure pleasure. When she managed to whisper, “I love what you are doing to me, Drew,” he responded with a low growl and a swift, hard thrust.

  She couldn't hold back her long, throaty moan of pleasure. It felt so wonderful, those sensations roaring through her, leaving her breathless and reducing her to mush. She clasped him tight, fingernails digging into him as her climax squeezed her in a tight fist, her cry hoarse and plaintive with need as she shuddered in his arms. Her legs clamped about him as he surged into her with a powerful thrust, sending a blue flame of heat scorching through her. Her head fell forward, spinning wildly from the combined sensations of their mutual climax. She struggled to breathe, kissing his neck and managing a ragged, “Do that again, Drew?"

  This time, his laugh was weak and breathless. He gathered her close, fighting to catch his own wind as a shudder rattled through his entire body with enough to force to make her wonder if he was about to drop her. He didn't, but nuzzled her, breathing deep and whispering, “For you, love? Anything."

  Heather shivered against him as he punctuated his words with feathery kisses along her neck. She felt wonderfully sated, a bit drowsy, and perfectly content to remain in his arms. As his lips skimmed her neck again, he said, “Now, that wasn't so difficult, was it? Love words seem to come to your lips with the greatest of ease."

  She sighed, pulling away to gaze into his eyes. “I am afraid I've become far too brazen with you."

  "Never, love,” he assured her, brushing her lips with his. “You've no idea how sensual it is, hearing you voice your desire for me. How it makes me want to satisfy them. You never need be afraid to use any of those phrases, love. Not ever. Hearing them is most delightful."

  As he spoke, he backed towards the chair and carefully sunk down into it, cradling her against him, kissing the top of her head as she snuggled against him. She felt so soft, so warm, in his arms, and he was most unwilling to let her leave them.

  Heather snuggled closer, reveling in the feeling of being surrounded by such complete maleness. Never before had she felt so safe and so cherished as he held her tight, his fingers dancing over her back, the heat from his body seeping into her.

  "Ah, love,” he murmured, his fingers moving over her hair. “I could remain like this forever, holding you in my arms."

  And I would gladly remain here, she thought, letting her fingers skim down his chest. She couldn't muster the energy to do much more than murmur, “Mmmm...” as she was e
ngulfed by the most wonderful sleepiness.

  With that sigh, his arms tightened about her. She felt so wonderful, so deliciously sleepy, that she would be perfectly content to drift off right there. Yes, a nap sounded wonderful. Most wonderful, indeed—

  "Captain Kennedy?"

  Heather couldn't hold back her groan at Jeremy Allen's voice coming from the far side of the door. No. Not now, she thought feverishly, shaking her head. Not now.

  "Captain Kennedy? It's Jeremy. I need to speak with you at once, sir. It's of utmost importance."

  Heaving a disgusted sigh, Drew grumbled, “Son of a ... I'm sorry, love,” and leaned around her to call, “I'll be right there."

  She nodded, her voice sluggish as she replied, “It's a thankless job, being the captain."

  "You can say that again.” He kissed her ear and squeezed her gently. “The last thing I wish is to move from your warmth, Heather."

  "Still, your crew needs you as well.” She couldn't keep the wistfulness from her voice.

  "I suppose they do. And I suppose I ought to heed that, instead of lazing about here with you."

  The teasing in his voice made her laugh. Lifting her head, she met his eyes and murmured, “I am a distraction, aren't I?"

  "The best kind, love,” he said, kissing her softly. “The best kind."

  With that, he helped her dress again, re-lacing her chemise and pulling her gown back into place, his fingers lingering over her skin, as if reluctant to pull away from her. He sighed softly, smiling at her as he rose from the chair, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a pillow. He set her on her feet, then brushed his lips over hers. “I'll be back, and I will have something for you to occupy yourself with."

  She nodded, smoothing her skirts back down as he finished righting himself as well. “Of course."

  At the door he paused, a hand on the knob. “When I return, it will be to whisk you back to that bed and I'll not be leaving it until the sun rises tomorrow."

  A delicate flush heated her cheeks as she said, “And perhaps I will hear some love words from you?"

  "Would you like to?” he asked, grinning as her flush deepened. As she nodded, he said, “Well, rest assured then, sweetheart, you will definitely hear them from me. They're quite wonderful, the things you do to me, you know. I will be more than happy to ask you for more of the same."

  Her cheeks grew hotter, but her smile never wavered as she shook her head at him. “Go."

  "As you wish,” he replied, still chuckling as he left the cabin. Stepping out into the corridor, he faced Jeremy Allen, the Aphrodite's master-at-arms. “What is it, Mr. Allen?"

  "It's Henry, Captain. He is refusing to eat."

  Drew sighed. “Why did I think this would be a hassle-free voyage?"

  "Could it have to do with the lady awaiting you in your cabin?” Jeremy asked with a sly smile, his hazel eyes alight with mischief.

  "Very funny,” he replied dryly. “Need I remind you I am the captain of this vessel?"

  "No, sir. Need I remind you that I've known you longer than anyone else on board this ship?"

  Drew chuckled. He and Jeremy were boyhood friends and no one else on board would dare take the liberties with Drew that Jeremy took, even if they were only taken well out of sight and earshot of the others. “Very well. What does Mr. Mason have to say about it?"

  Sam Mason was the ship's surgeon. Jeremy shrugged. “He said to let him starve. He'll eat when he gets hungry and there is no way to force him to do so."

  "Then that is what we shall do. Is he giving you any other trouble?"

  "Other than swearing revenge, no. I don't think you have to worry, though, Captain. He has no way to get out of those chains. They've been kept well-oiled and rust-free."

  "Good. We certainly don't need any more trouble."

  "No, sir. Although, Scottie did mention that it looks as though a storm is moving in. The skies have gotten quite gray."

  Drew sighed. “Well, there is nothing I can do about the weather. Let's go up, shall we, and take it from there."

  Fourteen

  The storm hit that night, much to Heather's dismay. All lamps and fires on board were extinguished, windows were bolted shut, and everything battened down. She could hear the wind picking up strength as it howled outside the window. The water grew rougher, foamy whitecaps rising up and stretching out as far as she could see.

  Seawater slammed against the window, streaking down the glass as Heather peered through it. She was astonished to see the sky was now pewter-gray with an ominous black hue creeping in from the distance. Lightning flashed, slicing across the odd-looking sky, and thunder rolled through the heavens like the roar of some angry mythical beast.

  She moved away from the window as the ship lurched beneath her feet. The skies opened up then, and rain pelted down. She could hear it hitting the decks overhead. The wind howled, whistling in around the window every so often with a mighty gust that rattled the glass in the brass frame. One such gust actually blew the window open and the wind roared through the small cabin, sending Drew's carefully arranged papers airborne.

  "Oh, dear,” she groaned, hurling herself at the window to close it. She managed to fasten the latch, turning to see the papers scattered every which way on the floor around and beneath the desk. Another groan and she hurried to scoop them up before they became even more mixed up.

  She tried to organize them, but had no clue what she was looking at. The swirling wind had jumbled them all together and she tried to rearrange them, muttering, “I do so hope I can explain this before he goes in search of something again."

  Finally, she got the stacks neatened, facing the same way, and set them back atop the desk. Then, she snatched several thick books from the shelf above the desk to weight them down.

  "There,” she said, smiling as she stepped back. “That should do it.” She studied the piles for a moment. “Well, maybe one more book. That should do it."

  Her fingers brushed the book of Keats’ poetry and she yanked her hand away as if the faded red cloth burned her fingers. She had no desire to see that love note tucked within its pages. If she didn't see it, it didn't have to exist as far as she was concerned.

  She didn't know why it troubled her so that Drew kept that note pressed between those pages. There was no date on it. It could have been from a boyhood love that he had long since forgotten. If only she could make herself believe that, though. Each time she glanced at that shelf, her eyes were drawn to that blasted book, the note beneath its cover mocking her at every turn. Perhaps she was letting her judgment become clouded. Perhaps she was letting Drew into her heart in a way that she shouldn't be.

  "He does not care for you, fool,” she whispered, placing the last book atop the last stack. “He bought you, just as he would have bought any woman whose room he entered that night. It's no different."

  But she did wish it was different. She turned away from the desk, her brow furrowing. Where had that come from?

  When she finished tidying up, she dropped into the chair at the desk, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully. Why had he been at Madam Allison's that fateful evening? She certainly didn't believe it was because of some mysterious beauty, nor could she believe that a man as handsome as he was needed to pay a courtesan to satisfy his baser needs. Certainly, he must have women swooning at his feet. Of course, those women may also be constantly on the hunt for the all-important marriage proposal. Didn't Henry tell her that Drew wasn't a marrying man? But if that was the case, then why had Drew told her about his fiancée?

  The thoughts raced around her brain, slamming into each other, giving her a headache in the process. She squeezed her eyes shut to try to halt them. “Stop it already,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “If you keep this up, you will surely drive yourself mad."

  But the thoughts lingered, jabbing her brain like loose springs poking through a coach seat.

  The ship gave a mighty lurch then, toppling her from her chair to send her sprawling acros
s the polished floor. Lightning streaked across the sky once more. Thunder clapped, successfully knocking her troubled thoughts from her mind, as she jumped with each crash.

  The ocean grew rougher still as the hours passed, tossing the Aphrodite as if she weighed nothing. The books weighting down the stacks of papers proved quite useless as the ship pitched wildly, sending books and papers sliding to the floor.

  Heather groaned, her stomach roiling with every rise and fall of the cabin. This time, she didn't care about the mess. She felt far too horrid to care. “I do so hope this is the only storm we face,” she groaned.

  She had dragged herself from the chair to the bed, where she lay curled in a ball, knees drawn to her chest and her eyes squeezed shut. She was terrified she was going to retch, and tried to fight off the rising nausea with every fiber in her body. The last thing she wanted to do was befoul Drew's cabin.

  Several more hours passed before the door swung open and Heather forced one eye open to see Drew lurch in. He appeared thoroughly soaked and looked exhausted with dark bruise-like smudges marring the skin beneath his eyes, as if his battle with the elements had turned physical.

  He staggered over to the wardrobe, opening it and rummaging through it until he came up with a towel, which he draped over his head. She watched as he vigorously rubbed his hair dry and let the towel drape about his neck as he crossed over to stand beside the bed. “Are you all right down here?"

  She nodded weakly, afraid that if she opened her mouth, she would indeed be ill.

  He frowned. “You certainly don't look well. In fact, I'd say you look rather green. I was afraid of something such as this happening. I'll have Bobby bring you a bucket, Heather. You look as though you might need one."

  She swallowed hard against the rising sour taste in her mouth. “I'll be fine."

  He smiled at her weak whisper. “I'm not so certain of that, my lady."

  She took a deep breath to quell another surge of nausea, determined to put it from her mind. “How is it topside?"

  He rolled his eyes. “If Hell had water, I'd think that was where we were."