What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [103]
It was at that very moment that she saw the vague shapes of people running toward her . . . a white shirt . . . a man . . . two men. She tensed automatically, but before she could think, one of them grabbed on to her arm, almost hurting her. She gasped, pulling back, but it was too late—the other man held her opposite wrist now and was soon jerking her hands together in front of her. The harsh scrape of rope tightened on her skin.
Looking up, she found herself gazing into the shadowy stare of someone familiar—Zack. Her first thought: Oh God, I can’t believe I’ve had sex with this guy twice but barely exchanged a word with him. Her second: Damn it, I’m being tied up.
“Thought you could get away, did you, wench?”
Brent was angry with himself—for his weakness. And he was angry with her—for making him this way. He’d have never dreamed the woman he’d met a week ago could affect him like this. Little Mary Sunshine? Not anymore, that was for sure.
Except . . . maybe part of her still fit that description—the guilelessly honest part, the openly inquisitive part. And maybe it was the combination that was getting to him, and the way she’d yielded to him sexually . . . so very deeply.
But it was the anger that surfaced when the wooden door to the captain’s quarters banged open. He lay across the bed watching with a strange mix of desire and resentment as Zack and Rico brought her inside, her wrists bound before her in thick rope.
The rear of the Spanish galleon reproduction was small and dimly lit by kerosene lamps, and for a moment, it was almost easy to believe he was his character—a ruthless pirate ready to slake his need between the legs of the nearest wench. Except the girl in front of him, looking lovely and innocent in white satin and lace, wasn’t just any wench. And despite himself, he liked that she appeared just a little frightened when she saw the look in his eyes.
“The wench, captain,” Rico reported.
“Leave us,” he said, shooing the other men away. He liked the darkness surrounding them, liked knowing that as soon as Zack and Rico took one of the rowboats back to shore, he and Jenna would be all alone, floating isolated, away from anything and anyone. Tonight, he needed to believe the Hotel Erotique didn’t even exist. Tonight he needed to fuck her—man to woman, not guide to guest or teacher to student. If he was going to surrender to his needs, he was going to surrender hard.
And he wasn’t inclined to make it remotely soft for Jenna, either. He knew none of this was her fault—but his anger toward her right now was real. No one weakened him this way—no one. Well, once, maybe, but that had been different, and sex had . . . sex had saved him in a way then. And no one had ever made him feel sexually out of control—until now. He couldn’t help it—he wanted to punish her for that. If she wanted him so damn bad, well, she would have him, all right. She would have every inch of him, every way he wanted to give it to her.
He wore a white, billowing pirate’s shirt now and the same breeches and boots from earlier. Rising slowly to his feet, he reached in the scabbard at his waist and drew out his dagger.
Damn, she truly did look pretty—so very innocent. Somehow it made him want to conquer her even more. Despite everything he’d told her today about why this couldn’t happen, he’d given in to his own desires and now here they were, both about to pay for it.
Stepping close to her, he curled his hand over her bound fists and lifted them firmly up over her head. Then he slid the dagger down inside the front of her nightgown and robe, aware that she was beginning to tremble, and—cruelly—liking it. She’d clearly picked up on the fact that the blades on the beach today weren’t real—and had now realized this one was. Carefully, he pressed the curved dagger flat between her breasts. “Does the blade feel cold against your skin, my lady?” he leaned nearer to ask.
Her answer sounded shaky. “Yes.