Captive Innocence by Fern Michaels Page B

he’d ever wanted a woman. And she was responding to him as urgently as he hoped she would. In their ardent embrace, he caressed her full breasts through the soft silk, feeling their rosy crests grow taut with desire, feeling her body meet his with unrestrained passion. He kissed her hair, her neck, her eyes, as she clung to him, her heart pounding, throwing caution to the winds, wishing it would never end. He wanted to take her right there on the deck, but knew he wouldn’t. With an inward groan, he let his passion subside and held her gently to him as her breathing relaxed and she leaned against him quietly, wanting more than his passionate kisses—wanting his love.
    A lifetime passed, and she gave an involuntary shiver.
    â€œYou’re becoming chilled. It’s late. Come, I’ll see you to your cabin.”
    Silently, she acquiesced and allowed him to lead her down the ramp to her stateroom door.
    The door was hardly shut behind him when he took her in his arms again. “So, my little lioness, the hunter has you in his arms at last.”
    She thrilled to his words, trembled to the low, husky sound of his voice. He had dropped the cool, courteous tone of the casual acquaintance, and he was once again that stranger, the wild, hot-blooded buccaneer she had known in Rio de Janeiro.
    He wanted her naked, wanted to feel her skin warm against his hands. Quickly, he undid the buttons on the back of her gown, helping her to remove it. His hands touched newly exposed flesh, always leaving it warm with the heat from his lips. He placed her hands on his belt, invoking her silently to return the favor. Their garments fell away like dry leaves from a tree, until they were both naked and wild as a winter storm in their hunger.
    They tore at each other, each seeking that which the other could give. There on the silken coverlet, they devoured each other with fevered lips and grasping fingers.
    When their passion was abated, they touched mouths with lips swollen with passion and tasting of the salt of blood and tears. They lay together feeling the warmth where their bodies touched, and when they sought each other again, it was with tenderness. Gentle mouths, delicate fingers, exploring, caressing. Passion quickened within her, and Sebastian calmed her with his touch and soothed her with words known only to lovers.
    He was gentle with her, so gentle, evoking in her a golden warmth that spread through her loins and tingled her toes. His movements were familiar, reassuring; his touch on her naked breasts, light and lingering.
    He gentled her passions the way he would gentle a wild cat, with a sure touch and a soft voice. He tamed her wildness, yet loved her wild; he quieted her cries with his mouth, and yet evoked moans of passion with his caress. When passion flamed again, it burned pure.
    Sebastian cradled Royall in his arms, a strange expression in his ebony eyes. Only with this woman could he experience such fulfillment, such deep contentment. This girl, no, this woman, with the strange name could match his ardor and without reservation would give herself totally to him. He felt an insane desire to leap from the narrow bunk and shout to all the passengers that he had found a part of life that was missing. How beautiful she was. How gentle she could be, and then she would become a raging riptide, swirling and crushing his volcanic outpourings until the molten lava and thundering waters were a marriage of one. This was a woman. His woman.
    Imperceptibly, his embrace tightened. Royall smiled into dark eyes that mirrored her soul. Sebastian’s thumb traced the delicate skin over her sooty lashes. She was a sleepy angel. His angel. He would never let her go. Never. She belonged to him, always had, ever since that night in Rio. Now, he must make her his forever.
    His tone, when he spoke, was a husky caress. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Lovemaking gives you the aura of an angel and