Page 45 of Scandalous

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Sarah was in her cabin unpacking several other items the French women had pressed upon her as well as a small leather-bound dictionary she’d found at the tiny island bookstore, when the door to the cabin flew open. Bouchard swept inside without asking permission and slammed the door behind him.

“What is it?” she asked, alarmed.

“What is it? What is it?” Scornful disbelief disfigured his handsome face. “Did Daniels buy you that dress?”

If not the last thing she’d expected him to say, it was a close second. “What?”

“That dress you are wearing—those pearls, did Daniels buy them for you?”

“No, he did not,” she stammered before she could help it.

“Where did you get the money?”

She frowned. “Not that it is any of your business, but Mies—”

“Mies? Mies!” His voice shook the room, and his eyes went wide like those of a crazy person.

Sarah held up her hands. “Goodness, Captain Bouchard, would you please lower your voice before the entire ship discovers you are in my cabin.”

His eyes narrowed until they were yellow slits. “Oh, and that would concern you, would it? Who do you want in here, eh? Mies, perhaps?”

She gasped. “Are you demented?”

He was on her in an instant, moving in the quick, silent manner she’d seen several times before. He pinned her in the narrow space between the cot and wardrobe. “So, you are thinking to capture yourself a nobleman?”

She had to replay the words several times before she understood. “You . . . you . . . odious, arrogant—”

His mouth crushed, and his tongue stabbed. It was not a kiss, but rather a declaration of war, an all-out offensive with one objective: domination.

Her body rejoiced at his touch.

But her mind was still stunned by his anger. What had he meant? Why had he been so furious? Something told her she needed to find out.

She somehow dredged up the will to resist; she clamped her lips shut and pushed as hard as she could on his chest. His body didn’t budge, but his head jerked back, an odd look in his eyes. His breaths came in short blasts, and his jaw worked, as if he were chewing something indigestible. Before Sarah could think of something to say or do, his lids dropped, and he lowered his mouth again.

She assumed the same defensive posture, but the onslaught never came. Instead, her traitorous body swayed toward him and met his halfway, as if pulled by an invisible string.

His lips were soft and teasing, the light flick of his tongue on the seam of her mouth tantalizing rather than assaulting. His body was heavy and hard against her, but his hands—oh, they held her head so very lightly, as if she were breakable.

She opened to him, unable to resist the invitation in his kisses. Her entire body began to melt, a slow, warm collapse of resistance that left her too weak to move.

Don’t do this, her mind shrieked. But the warning voice faded without any echo as his tongue slid between her lips. Sarah sighed at the gentle, inexorable invasion and pressed her body against his, opening her mouth to take him deeper. She stroked the side of his face, marveling at the flexing of muscles beneath smooth, warm skin as he angled his head and delved deeper. He murmured at her stroking and pressed his hips against her stomach. Sarah shivered against his hardness. He was aroused for her—only her. She slid her hands around his neck and pulled him closer, rubbing against him as if she could merge their bodies by pressing hard enough.

His hands roamed the sides of her torso, hot even through the fabric of her gown. He grazed the tops of her exposed breasts with a maddeningly light touch. She pushed herself into his hands and grew bolder, exploring the wet heat of his mouth more deeply, her tongue tangling with his before she captured him and sucked.

A low, animal growl rumbled in his chest, the sound primitive and intense. Her body responded with a hot pounding need that turned her bones to water.

A hand grazed the bare skin of her thighs, and Sarah startled. The voice that had been muffled by desire rose again to the surface. He’d managed to insinuate himself beneath her skirts without her even noticing.

“Captain—”

“Martín,” he murmured, taking her lower lip in his mouth and gently sucking it before running a path of kisses across her cheek, stopping at her ear. “Say it,” he ordered softly.

The name fit him perfectly—exotic and beautiful. “Martín.” Her voice was so throaty and low she wasn’t sure it was really her speaking.

“I want to give you pleasure, Sarah, and your body needs release. Tell me, do you want me to stop? You only need to say stop, and I will.” His hands drifted up and down her thighs, as light as a feather.