"Victoria, are you all right?"
"I-I think so," she whispered.
Grant believed he should be still. Let her body adjust to his size. Wasn't that what you were supposed to do with virgins? He'd never had to worry about this before. "Do you want me to stop?" As if he could. This would be the ultimate test, buried in her tight heat and having to give that up....
"Yes."
No. Damn it, no! his mind screamed. He couldn't give this up. He'd just achieved heaven. But he looked down and saw that her eyes watered. The idea of her hurting tore at him.
His body set with determination, he pulled out, but beast that he was, he withdrew slowly, lingering inch by inch to enjoy what he'd only tasted.
She moaned low in her throat. "Oh, wait. I like that." Stunned, he drove back in. "Ow," she bit out.
He pulled out once more, and again she moaned. He was losing his mind. "Love, you can't have one without the other."
"Can you go in slow, like you go out?"
Could he? When every instinct demanded he plunge into her? Shaking, sweating with effort, he slowly, so slowly tortured himself in and out, finding a rhythm that pleased her and made him shudder. Sweat dripped from him onto her trembling breasts where it mingled with her own. He bent down to take a salty nipple into his mouth and drew on it. She moaned again, spreading her legs wider.
"Maybe a bit more quickly," she whispered in his ear. Again, he shuddered.
As she wished, he pushed in faster. When he saw her breasts shaking with each thrust, he knew it was only a matter of time, and when she moaned he took the ground she gave. Over and over, his hips drove into her, his hands trapping her thighs wide or fondling her breasts.
"Ah, Grant, yes." The harder and faster he took her, the more she called his name, until he was pounding against her and she was meeting him.
Then suddenly, just as he'd become so thick in her he could hardly move, she arched her back, breasts pushing against his chest. She cried out and he felt her squeezing around him, all along his cock, her body milking his.
No more. He could take no more. A last pounding shove. Yelling out her name, he exploded into her, his orgasm pumping on and on, relentless.
When he finally was spent, he realized he'd been squeezing her in his arms as he helplessly continued to buck.
Slowly, thoughts emerged from the haze. I'm holding her so tight, I might hurt her.... She's mine.... I don't know if I can let go.
He eased up to rise above her. As though clawing his way from a dream, Grant stared in disbelief at Victoria beneath him, at his body still languorously pushing inside her. He stared down at her delighted face and saw her tears.
What have I done?
Victoria lay in his bed, curled on her side. She slept lightly, with small twitches and movements of her eyes behind closed lids. Life on the island most likely had awakened that in her--that something deep within, that instinct reacting to sound, filtering the normal from the warning, the slapping of bristly palms in a breeze from the first low hiss of a storm.
He enjoyed watching her sleep, he realized, but she needed to get back. God only knew what he might do to her if she stayed, because he'd realized something about himself tonight. He was becoming more and more comfortable with losing control with her.
He shook his head, still staggered by his behavior. He'd never been free with a woman, never had more than a perfunctory release, certainly had never done what he'd pressed on Victoria--he'd always feared losing control, feared his needs being talked about among the women of his acquaintance. Perhaps that was why he never sought out women, and by no means slept with them more than once. He was far from a rake, but worried that if he ever got comfortable his restraint might slip.
And every time he'd eased the pressure himself, the fantasies and imaginings filling his mind had only reinforced what he already knew about himself and what he desperately wanted to hide. Men of his caliber should be able to control such baseness. But then, the men of his family had never been good at restraint. No one but him.
Until now.
He leaned over and turned up the lantern. When he reached her side, he noticed the four fading half-moon indentions in her palm where her fingernails had dug in during her pleasure. She made fists when she reached her peak.
And when he returned her to the hotel, she squeezed his hand as if in thanks. The memory of the indentions in her palms flashed in his mind. Something so small. It was really such a tiny detail and shouldn't mean so much.
He was lost.
Eighteen
Tori's lips curled up seconds after her eyes slid open to the morning sun. She stretched her body, her soreness making her grin widen. She'd been made love to thoroughly. Oh, the things Grant had done to her.... She'd never conceived of actions and words so wicked and stirring.
She shivered in delight. And now they would marry. Her future husband had a vigorous imagination--and a talented, powerfully built body. Reflecting on Grant's perfect pairing made a haze of contentment wash over her. She could now admit to herself that she'd fallen for Grant. Completely.
When she finally dressed and joined Cammy, they enjoyed a luncheon of eggs, rice, apples, and juice, in keeping with Cammy's new special diet. Both were so excited about her health, they giggled over the slightest thing.
But late that afternoon, when Grant still had not shown up, Tori's contentment and confidence withered. How dare he not come by? After a night like the last, she supposed she should feel used, but that would mean she'd given something up. She felt she'd received something instead. And that was why she was so livid. She wanted to...receive again!
That night, what was left of her patience was ragged. The second Cammy fell asleep, Tori crept out the door and hurried to the Keveral. The guards on deck took one look at her face and backed away, nervously chuckling as she swished her skirts by them. She marched to Grant's cabin and yanked open the door. No sign of him. She made her way toward the salon and heard his voice. Good. She couldn't wait to get this off her chest.
As she neared the door, she heard Ian as well.
"Are you going to tell me again that there's no chance of her having your babe? Because this time, I'm not--"
"No, there's every chance in the world." Grant's words were slurred.
Why were they talking about this?
"Ian, drop it."
"Just because you're foxed? It won't deter me. Listen to me clearly, Cousin. I was going to let you work this out on your own, try to see if you'd put things right, but you haven't. Tori's become like a sister to me and I'm about to act like a brother."
"How's that?"
"I'm going to wipe the floor with your face, if you don't promise to make this right by her. Damn it, man, I keep thinking about how Emma or Sadie would feel in her situation. They're all the same age, Grant. I would hope that someone would help my sisters like this if they needed it."
"You have nothing to fear. Though this lecture is absurd coming from you, it appears that I am going to do the honorable thing and marry the chit." She heard him clacking a bottle against a glass. "So, wish me well."
Chit? Well, he did say he'd marry her. A grin spread across her face.
She could swear she heard Ian exhale. "Good, you've finally come to your senses."
"No, I've just finally done something that I can't undo, and I'm going to pay the price. I'll own up to my mistakes."
Mistakes?
Ian echoed her thought. "Mistakes? How could this possibly be a mistake?"
"She's not what I want in a wife. She has no respect for rules. I wanted an asset by my side--her wildness will always be a liability. I shudder to think how she'll behave in London."
Tori pulled her head back as though slapped. Hot shame flowed through her, seeping into every inch of her body. Her breaths shallowed. Now everything became clear. She embarrassed him. He was ashamed of her. Making love to her was a mistake?
Everything she'd shared with him now seemed cheap and sordid. Her
wildness? Had she behaved inappropriately with him? Done something unacceptable in his bed? Oh, God. The humiliation was so thick she tasted it rising in her throat. She rushed to the gangway and retched.
Wiping her face, she leaned on the rail, her face in her hands. An uncouth girl. A sorry, pitiful woman, following him like a puppy nipping at its master's heels. She was the one who couldn't see what was so plain before her. She remembered Cammy's advice: Don't confuse love and lust.
Turning back to town, she ran the back of her hand over her tears until their sheer number defeated the gesture. It wasn't ever about winning him over, just trying a little harder to get his attention. She'd never had a chance.
That's why he didn't want to make love to her. That's why he felt so guilty afterward--because he'd reduced himself by it.
Oh, God.
She could barely make out her way through tear-clouded eyes, stumbling back to the hotel. Captain Sutherland would never have to worry about her bothering him again.
"Grant, you're an idiot. Mistakes, liability? Do you hear what you're--"
"What if she comes to want another?" His voice was low, hurting.
"So this is what it's really all about?"