Page 58 of Captain Jack’s Woman

Kit’s eyes glazed as Jack’s thrusts settled to a steady pounding. This was different from last time. The urgency coursing his veins communicated itself to her. She responded instinctively, lifting her hips, tilting them to draw him deeper still. She felt his fingers tighten about her hips. Her lids fell as she eased from her elbows to lie back on the table, her hands fastening on Jack’s forearms, her fingers digging into muscles that flexed as he held her immobile against his repeated invasions.

The fever inside her burgeoned and grew, rapidly overtaking all other sensations. Her whole being was focused on his possession of her, complete and devastating as it was.

“Lift your legs.”

Kit wrapped them about his waist.

Jack groaned and drove into her, wanting every fraction of an inch of penetration he could get. Her body welcomed him with heat and yet more heat, her muscles clenching about him in time with his thrusts.

A blinding explosion rocked Kit. Her body arched; her nails dug deep into Jack’s arms. His response was to lean forward and take one nipple into his mouth. He suckled and she cried out. The waves of sensation abruptly intensified, breaking in a glorious climax to flow as molten passion through her veins. Her throbbing contractions continued long after. They were still with her when Jack reached his own release, spilling his seed deep within her.

Jack drew a shuddering breath and looked down at Kit, spread in wanton abandon before him. She was barely conscious, lying back on the table, struggling to breathe as he was, waiting for some measure of physical ability to return.

He couldn’t resist a smug smile, but it turned to a half grimace as reality intruded. Five days had passed before she’d returned to his side. Once he touched her, she was his, but out of his reach, she was clearly one of those females with a very long fuse. There were ways to shorten that fuse, things he could do to ensure she burned with a passion to match his, not only in intensity, but in frequency, too. He didn’t know where their lives were headed, only that they’d remain inextricably entwined, and, at least for him, the ties went deep. Strengthening the ties that held her to him seemed a good idea.

Kit lay still and waited for Jack to do something. She wasn’t capable of doing anything herself. Her extended climax had drained her, physically and mentally. She remembered she’d come here to talk but couldn’t recall any pressing urgency about the matter. While her flesh still throbbed and he remained inside her, she couldn’t even recall what her point had been.

When he eased from her, Kit opened her eyes. From under weighted lids, she watched as he discarded his clothes. Naked, he came to her, a smile of male triumph on his lips, the expression echoed in his silver eyes. She suspected she should take exception but could only manage a weary smile.

“Come on. Up with you.”

Jack caught her hands and drew her to sit on the edge of the table. While he divested her of her coat and pulled her shirt over her head, Kit wondered how she’d ever be able to face him across this particular table again. All he’d have to do was look at its surface and she’d curl up with embarassment.

To her relief, he swung her up in his arms and headed for the bed, presumably understanding that her legs were as incapacitated as her brain. Kit sighed contentedly when Jack laid her between the sheets. She curled into his arms, entirely at peace.

Beds she could cope with. Tables were something else again.

Chapter 19

It was a perfect summer night, the air soft and balmy. Kit stood beside Delia close by the cliff, waiting for Captain Jack. A sickle moon rode the purple skies, shedding just enough light to distinguish the huddled shapes a few yards away as men, rather than rocks. Their muffled conversation drifted past Kit’s ears.

Facing the waves, Kit registered their regular ebb and flow, a parody of her confusion. Jack had unleashed all manner of wild longings; they sent her surging forward to some unknown fate. A deep-seated acknowledgment of what was due her position, her loyalty to Spencer, drew her back. Wednesday night had been a disaster. Kit’s lips lifted in a self-deprecatory smile. A delicious disaster, but a disaster nonetheless. She’d intended to convince Jack of the folly of running “human cargoes.” Instead, she’d been convinced of the folly of self-delusion.

No one, not even Amy, had warned her of the fever in her flesh. Of the aching void that, now the way was open, seemed to have grown within her. Her mind longed to recapture that moment of completeness. Her body yearned for the flame to transform her fever to consuming passion. She’d sensed it even after that first night at the cottage—a restlessness, a need she’d tried to ignore and had done her best to stifle. Wednesday night had left her with no alternative but to admit her addiction to Jack’s loving.

Delia shifted, blowing low. Kit peered down the beach but could see nothing. She’d intended to bring up the subject of the spies once she’d recovered from Jack’s amorous welcome. But he’d never let her recover. He’d stirred her awake far too soon; rational conversation had not been his aim. The night had dissolved into an orgy of mutual satisfaction. She couldn’t deny she’d enjoyed it—her pleasure had been his command.

With a grimace, Kit shifted her stance. She might revel in Jack’s attentions, but she wasn’t about to let passion rule her life. Yet the niggling suspicion that Jack had intended Wednesday night, certainly the latter half of it, that he’d planned and executed their play like some campaign, had remained, a shadow in her mind. At dawn, he’d helped her dress, his touch deeply unsettling, then he’d saddled Delia. He’d told her of tonight’s run, making it unnecessary for her to attend the meeting last night in the Old Barn.

Naturally, she hadn’t gone, knowing that if she did show her face, she’d be admitting to him her addiction to his company. Instead, she’d gone early to bed. But not to sleep. Half the night had passed in tossing and turning, the fever burning slow and steady and unfulfilled.

Had he purposely drugged her with passion?

The broad shoulders of her nemesis hove into view. Kit watched as he rode up on Champion, George and Matthew, as ever, in attendance. Jack’s silver-grey gaze swept her, the comprehensive glance followed by a fleeting smile. He dismounted, and the men milled about him.

Kit waited until the men moved to their positions, George and Matthew with them, before stepping forward. “Where do you want me tonight?”

Immediately, she bit her tongue. Jack had been glancing down the beach; at her words, his head swung about, an arrested expression on his face. For one fractured minute, she thought he’d answer with the words in his mind.

Jack was sorely tempted. The sound of her husky tones confidently voicing such a query sent a spasm of sheer desire through his veins. But he clamped a lid on that particular pot and set it aside to simmer. A slow, infinitely devilish smile twisted his lips. “I’ll think about it for the next hour or two. I’ll tell you my decision later—at the cottage.”

Kit wished she could say something to wipe the smug expression from his face.

“But for now,” Jack continued, suddenly brisk, “I need you on lookout. Wherever you like, since you won’t obey my orders.”

Kit tilted her chin. She turned and set her foot in her stirrup, pointedly getting on with her business.

The large hand that caressed her bottom shattered her complacency. After one leisurely circuit, it boosted her up to her saddle. Kit landed with a gasp. In daylight, her glare would have fried him. In moonlight, he stood, hands on hips, a patronizing expression on his face and gave her back arrogant stare for stare.