sail to the new world…or perhaps all the way home. His or hers?
The island principality of Drogheda was twenty-six miles from her father’s kingdom of Penwyck. Jean-Paul’s uncle was the ruling prince, his father a powerful duke. Jean-Paul, as heir apparent, had been named Earl of Silvershire at twenty-one, much as the future king of England was vested as Prince of Wales when he came of age.
An earl was a suitable husband for a royal princess.
The idea shocked and excited and saddened her. If they married, it would be an official marriage, a merger between two ancient enemies who had tried to conquer each other since the time of Arthur Pendragon and his knights.
She faced the wind and let it blow the silvery webs of longing from her heart. She would never marry. It wasn’t in the cards.
“The sea is getting rough,” Jean-Paul called to her. “Come astern now. Grab a life preserver from the locker.”
She reluctantly did as told and rejoined him at the helm. He had removed his tuxedo jacket, shoes and socks, she saw. His shirt was open to the waist. He’d rolled the cuffs up and out of his way.
He motioned for her to sit, then dropped a rain slicker over her head and arranged its folds to cover her evening gown. His glance at her feet reminded her of the silver sandals she wore. She kicked them off and tossed them down the hatch into the hold.
He grinned and secured the hatch against the squall that was coming up. “I know a place,” he said, as if to reassure her he knew what he was doing.
She nodded.
Just as rain and the first rough wave broke over the bow, he turned the sailing yacht toward a long sea wall, scooted around its end and into a protected cove.
In the sudden stillness, Megan felt her heart pound. Her mouth went dry. They would most likely have to spend the remainder of the night here. She couldn’t decide how she felt about that.
Did she want to be seduced? Was the unconscious wish for fulfillment the driving force behind this strange adventure? Ever honest, she tried to answer, but soon gave it up as hopeless.
After he secured the ship, he opened the hatch and gestured for her to precede him. She went down the steps and stopped. He lifted the poncho over her head and hung it on a hook, then did the same with his shirt. From a cabinet, he removed two towels and tossed one to her. When he dried his hair, she did the same to hers.
The narrow space of the galley was much too restrictive for two people. His elbow bumped hers. His hip touched hers when he tossed the towel on the hook over his shirt, then moved past her to the galley stove.
“Coffee?” he asked, already starting the preparation.
She nodded, then said yes. “Please,” she added.
He paused in measuring water into the pot and stared at her for a breath-catching ten seconds. His smile warmed her as he bent to his task once more. “I love to hear a woman beg,” he murmured with wicked amusement.
“Don’t,” she requested. “I don’t play games.”
He set the pot to brewing, then leaned a hip against the counter and perused her. She smoothed her hair as much as possible.
“Sometimes I don’t, either. Turn around,” he said, and took a brush from a drawer.
He turned her with hands on her shoulders, then proceeded to brush the tangles until her hair hung smooth around her shoulders. He brushed his own dark locks in a few impatient strokes and tossed the brush back into the drawer.
“Beautiful,” he said as if he spoke to himself.
He ran his hand down her hair from the crown of her head to the ends, then he let his hand glide down her back. Goose bumps sprang into being all along her arms. When he guided her so that she faced him once more, she let him.
Their eyes met and held, his intensely blue, confident, arrogant even, hers green and unsure because that was the way she felt. Her heart questioned what was happening, but she shied from the answer. She really didn’t know.
He gave his head a little shake, and she realized the questions were in him, too. Neither of them quite knew why they were together, why they were alone on a ship in a storm, why the night seemed different.
Slowly she became aware of his heat. His chest was only inches from hers. His thumbs caressed the hollows of her shoulders with gentle strokes that were fiery and wonderful at the same time.
Inhaling was an effort. So was lifting her hands and laying them on his chest. Muscles tensed under her fingers as she moved them restlessly over his hard flesh.
He wasn’t a brawny man, but his masculine strength was evident in the lithe definition of his torso, the ropy musculature of his shoulders and arms. He was a man who worked and played hard.
And for keeps?
She tossed her head at the foolish question. She wasn’t expecting forever. So what, exactly, was she asking for?
“What?” he questioned, his eyes narrowing as if he witnessed the confusion inside her.
“Nothing.”
“I’m going to kiss you,” he warned a second before he did. His lips were intensely warm on hers.
She opened her mouth, but no protest came out. He took the kiss deeper, his tongue sweeping over her lips in long moments of sweet sampling before seeking more.
Fire erupted within her. Weakened by the heat, she leaned into him, experiencing him fully as their chests, bellies and thighs pressed hotly into one flesh.
Her breasts beaded and swelled, pushing against the confines of the support built into the silk.
His hands shifted so that his thumbs caressed just above the material. Then, so suddenly she couldn’t have anticipated it, he dipped one hand inside and lifted her breast into his palm, its tip wantonly seeking his touch.
When he lifted his head, he muttered something not quite audible, but she didn’t need the words. She knew in her soul what they were. She, too, felt the wonder.
They kissed again, more urgently this time. He stepped forward, his thigh making a space between hers so that their caresses became more enticing. She found herself reacting instinctively, knowing without words or past experience all that she needed to do.
After exploring the length of his back, she stretched up on tiptoe and ran her hands over his powerful shoulders, then up his neck and into his hair. He wore it somewhat longer than the current style. She gathered a handful and held on while their kiss rocketed through her again.
At last he caught her hands in both of his and held them behind her back, bending her slightly so he could reach the tingling flesh of her breasts above her gown.
Then he slid one hand to the zipper. And stopped.
When she opened her eyes, he said, “No games, right?”
She nodded.
“Come with me.”
It
