A Pirate's Revenge (Legends of the Soaring Phoenix) by M.L. Guida Page A

for wanting to kiss a man who detested her magic. His lips captured hers. She should be pressing her hands against his chest and pushing him away, insisting he stay away from her. Instead, she molded her traitorous body against him, her hands clutching his strong arms. Protective arms held her, and she felt safe, secure. ’Twas a falsehood. How many witches had died trusting a man who they’d thought accepted them, only to find themselves locked in a witch’s dungeon? She was the fool, the worst kind of fool. She knew the dangers, and still she kissed him, exploring his mouth, wanting to know the secrets he possessed. 
    William’s kiss deepened, and Mariah forgot all about Grand-mère , about leaving her home, about being tossed into a dungeon, about facing a demon. All that mattered was his kiss, his lips. Her heart quickened, and she ran her hands over his back, his muscles rippling beneath her touch. He was gentle and fierce, a warrior. Fearless but protective and tender. No man kissed like he did. Or at least, the ones she had kissed. They had been mere boys still not coming to their own. William was a man, a man cursed, a man determined to get what he wanted. And he wanted her.
    His hand moved up her dress and slipped into her bodice, his thumb brushing against her nipple. She trembled at the touch. His caress sent her into a whirlwind of hot sensations—blood thumped between her ears and her skin burned like molten fire. Her dress was too confining, and she wanted to feel his callous hands on her naked skin, stroking her, teasing her. And those lips. Lord, what she wanted him to do with his lips was sinful. She needed to stop. Needed to remember what he was—a man who denounced magic.
    Stop.
    The word screamed in her mind. Her body ignored her mind, and her lips failed to form the word, only allowing a soft whimper, laden with sweet desire. She had never wanted this before, had always pushed men away. Maybe he was the one casting the spell.
    Murmured voices carried down the hall, and William broke the kiss. He grabbed her arm and whipped her inside her canvas room. Cool air rushed over her breast. She glanced down at her dress, and heat washed over her cheeks. Her nipple peeked out of her dress. She twirled around and shifted her bodice over her exposed nipple.
    “I’m sorry,” William whispered. His male presence took up the small space.
    She stiffened and glanced over her shoulder. “Pourquoi?”
    He gently squeezed her shoulders. “When I’m around you, I lose control.” His voice shook with emotion. “I don’t see how I can listen to you when you’re trying to teach me how to control the dragon, when all I want to do is kiss you.”
    His words touched her. Maybe Grand-mère had been right about William. “So, you’re beginning to trust magic?”
    The tenderness fled his eyes and wariness replaced it. “No, I don’t. Magic only leads to heartache and despair.” 
    How could he be tender one moment and the next an arse? “The dragon’s an animal. Like you.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You can master it if you can lower yourself to believe in a menial witch.”
    “I didn’t mean to insult you,” he said, his voice sincere and his eyes intense. “’Tis…” He hesitated and tightened his lips. 
    “What?”
    “I’ve learned…not to trust magic.”
    “Why? Because of Kane?”
    “Not because of him. Magic corrupts.” Bitterness laced the last two words. Pain flashed in his eyes, and he blinked, then it vanished. His eyes hardened, and he motioned with his hand. “Look at Palmer and Zuto. ’Tis why your brother’s enslaved.” 
    “You’re wrong. Magic is not corrupt. Men are.” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “Get over it. You’re a magical beast.”
    “Unlike you, I didn’t choose this. I was cursed.”
    “That’s what you think I am? Cursed?”
    He clamped his jaw tight and turned away. She had the sudden impulse to slap her fingers across his face. “You need to start