Yet he'd never been good at idle conversation. He answered, "Never thought about it," "No," "Occasionally," and
"I have no favorite number."
"Oh," she said, disappointment lacing her tone. But then she rallied. "My favorite number's fifteen. I believe I'll share it with you."
"Why fifteen?" he found himself asking.
"That's how old I was when I finally got the hut to hold together in storms. I never had to rebuild since." She sighed and ran her fingertip along the rim of her glass. "Fifteen was a good age."
Here he was thinking about himself, concerned over his future in the face of such temptation as Victoria leaning back in her chair, smiling over at him with winered lips. Now he was reminded of all that she'd missed. At fifteen, she should have been celebrating grown-up dresses or her first peck on the cheek. Instead, she'd been content because their home wouldn't crash down around them.
"What were you like when you were fifteen?" Her voice sounded languorous.
Now he wanted to respond, but he'd been a prankster, bent on terrorizing everyone around him with his tricks. "I was staid and grim, just as I am now. I followed my hellion older brothers around and learned how not to behave."
When she chuckled, Grant's brow furrowed. How could she think he was amusing in any sense of the word? He was steady and serious. To avoid the risk of becoming anything else, he supposed he'd taken those attributes to the extreme and become, well, dull. Amusing he was not, yet at that moment, he wanted to be the kind of man Victoria would like.
She took another sip of wine. "What's your favorite color?"
"Green. Green's my favorite color."
"Oh, mine too," she cooed, and leaned forward, setting the glass down and perching her elbows on the table. Her bodice gaped and displayed the tops of her breasts. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. Was it just his imagination, or had they gotten larger? She appeared fuller, softer all over, and for a man already struggling every hour to keep from touching her, the change was not welcome.
She innocently licked a drop of wine from her plump bottom lip, and need fired in him. Take her on the table. That's what I should do. Of course.
He was on his feet as though burned by the chair. "I'll walk you back."
She blinked in surprise, then stood. "Do you dislike me?" When he gave her a confounded look, she added, "You don't care to be around me. Even now, it seems as though you can't wait to be off."
He raked his fingers through his hair. "It's complicated...."
"You don't think someone like me would understand?" She sounded dejected.
"No, that's not it," he hurriedly said. "I might like you in an...an inappropriate way."
The fingers she'd been twining fretfully paused. "Oh."
No, she wouldn't understand. How could she, when even he didn't? He took her arm and escorted her across the slick deck. The wind blew mist over them, but he welcomed it, hoping the brisk water would cool him. At her cabin door, she gazed up at him through wet, spiky lashes as though deciding something. Or awaiting something.
Get away from her. Get her out of reach--and out of temptation's way. "Good night, then."
"Yes, thank you for dinner."
He drew himself up. "Sleep well, Victoria." He closed the door behind her but didn't walk away, instead leaning against the wall as though stunned. She couldn't be more alluring to him, and he wanted her with a ferocity that alarmed him.
He didn't fantasize about laying her down and making love to her. He fantasized about devouring her, making her come beneath his lips before he pinned her hands over her head and rode her furiously. If he ever gave in to it, he worried that he'd hurt her in his desperation. He fought to ignore his erection, sensitive against the fabric of his clothing, and shook his head to clear thoughts of her naked and writhing beneath him.
Aside from his fear, he knew he couldn't have her unless he married her. He attempted to list all the ways they would disappoint each other if they were to wed. Lengthy lists, to be sure. When he had promised Belmont to find Victoria, he'd had no idea he'd be facilitating his own ruin. And hers as well.
Grant looked up at the stars. Their placement in the sky was all wrong.
Tori had been so sure he was about to kiss her. Even now, her heart drummed in her chest. Though disappointed that he hadn't, she couldn't be upset. For one thing, the wine was making her giddy. For another, she realized he did at least want to kiss her.
As though in a dream, she pulled her nightgown from the trunk and stepped out of her slippers. Everyday actions seemed trivial compared to the power of feeling she'd just experienced. Her fingers went to her dress to remove it--where were the buttons? Curse it! In the back. Maybe Cammy was still awake. She opened the door to find the captain leaning back against the wall, eyes closed.
"Captain?"
He opened them in a flash. "Where were you going?"
"I just realized I can't get out of this." She waved a hand to indicate her dress. "I was going to ask Cammy to help."
"She's abed by now."
"Then Ian."
In a heartbeat, he had her back in the cabin, kicking the door closed behind him. "You are not going to get my cousin to help you undress." His voice was brutal.
Was he jealous? Or was this another breach of propriety? "Then it must be you."
He spun her around and unbuttoned, quickly at first, then slower, as if he began enjoying it. The dress was soon loose, and she had to hold the bodice to her breasts, but he didn't move for several moments.
Just when she was about to say something, she heard him mutter a curse. Then she felt the backs of his fingers skim down her neck. Her eyes slid closed, and she nearly swayed from the small touch. Her head fell to the side to offer him more. When he pressed his warm lips on her skin, she trembled.
"So fair," he whispered as he brushed his lips down to her shoulders. "Your skin's like porcelain." She moaned softly from his words and leaned back into him. Her free hand trailed up to curl around his neck. As if invited, his hand slid into her loosened bodice to cup her. "Yes," she gasped in delight. Was he finally going to show her more?
He hefted the weight of her breast, molding the flesh. It felt swollen and heavy beneath the heat of his rough palm. When he drew her other arm up around his neck, the dress floated to the ground, leaving her in just a filmy shift. With another sweep of his lips, he ran both hands down her sides, squeezing her hips, then back over both her breasts, pausing at her nipples to pinch gently. Her eyes were heavy-lidded as she watched his fingers kneading her in the soft lantern light.
Her whole body shook when his fingers trailed over her belly and down to her inner thighs, and she feared her legs wouldn't hold her much longer. She wanted desperately to touch him. Even now, her fingers were twining wildly in his hair.
He put his lips to her ear, and she felt a shock of pleasure, making her boneless. She twisted around and glanced up at his eyes, at his lips.
"Victoria, I can't do this to you," he ground out, the words sounding as though they cost him much. Yet he reached out to grasp her around the waist and slowly draw her near. She didn't wait--she pushed herself forward, falling into him, lacing her arms around his neck to pull herself even closer.
He kissed her fiercely, taking her with his tongue, as if hoping to frighten her away. During their kisses on the island, she'd been overcome and passive. Now she boldly met his tongue with her own. He groaned against her lips.
"Please," she whispered, but didn't know for what she begged. "Grant..."
He froze, then stepped away, looking as though he came out of a daze.
Grant. It was the first time she'd used his name. How many times had he imagined her saying it? Imagined hearing it on her lips when he drove inside her? It was intimate, too intimate between this girl and himself. He had to remember that.
No. "No." He struggled to catch his breath, struggled not to see her obvious longing.
He had nearly...he had nearly made love to Victoria Dearbourne. To Lady Victoria, who faced him now with her eyes dilated and her lips swollen from his kiss.
He still wanted
to.
Grant tore away from her. Consequences. Honor. Trust. His mind repeated the words until he managed to get his breathing and his aching erection under control. When he turned to her, she stood in her shift, trembling.
"Grant, why?"
Grant knew she was asking "Why not?" In seconds, he would call her to him, and she would come walking to their doom, willingly. "Because I swore to protect you--not ruin you. You are under my protection and I need to start remembering that!" He still was fighting the urge to take her.
He needed to get her out of his sight--and his reach. He stormed out the door and down the deck, steps thundering. He'd vowed to protect her. As if his vows meant anything anymore. Damn it, he was a man noted for his integrity and honor. But when he was confronted with his desire for Victoria, both vanished as if never there.
What does that say about me?
"You look like you've grown used to being shipboard, milady," Dooley said as he lugged away the sail Tori had mended. He folded it, stowed it, then brushed his hands together to scan the ship, no doubt for more work. He settled on harvesting fresh water from the rain barrels filled by this morning's storm. Hell for Dooley would be uninterrupted leisure.
She smiled as she glanced over the busy scene. She had adjusted to life at sea, having come to trust the captain implicitly.
When Dooley marched off, Tori's gaze was drawn to Sutherland. He appeared so solemn as he stood on the bridge, staring out at the water. His men saw his outward shell of decorum, strength, and control. Tori had seen his inner self of want, power, and need. She could scarcely believe the upstanding captain was the same man who'd kissed and touched her in his cabin just a week ago.
Since that night, he'd been curt with her, but she'd become even more captivated by him. Never taking her eyes from him, she envisioned his barely harnessed aggression, the way his rugged muscles had tightened around her. When he'd broken away, she'd realized they were at a critical point. Tori sensed that should she move near him, touch him in the tiniest way, his resolve would crumble. Yet she was beginning to know he would feel wretched afterward. She was beginning to care enough that it mattered.
But she'd known that body intimately, had seen every inch of it, and would again. If it killed her. Tori had a plan, and if all went by it, she'd have him. She thought that perhaps the man should be doing the pursuing, that that was what traditionally happened. But she was used to seeing something she wanted and then working to get it. Cammy had called her a problem solver. And not having Grant was a problem.