Chapter 21
For the next three days Summer saw nothing of Ruark Helford. He was gone on official business and she chafed at the wasted days that were melting away. She had only three weeks left until the mortgage was due.
On the fourth day at dawn she collected Ebony from the Helford stables and rode out along the deserted beach. The sea air was brisk and cold and she wasted little time in covering the usual five miles then turned and rode back.
Halfway home she saw Ruark riding to meet her. For a moment she felt panic that he would see her in breeches and shirt with disheveled hair, but since there was nothing she could do about it, she waved gaily, genuinely glad to have him back.
He called to her, and though the wind tried to snatch his voice away, it was so strong it carried clearly to her. “You’ll freeze to death in that thin shirt. Let’s go up to the house. I want to talk to you.”
She shook her head, letting the breeze blow her hair into a dark cloud. She noticed he, too, was in shirt sleeves.
“Then let me build a fire with some driftwood,” he suggested hopefully.
She nodded her pleasure and pointed to a small cove in the rocks. They dismounted to gather an armful of wood and Ruark stacked it and set it ablaze. Summer pointed to a large mass on the sands which looked like resin. “There’s a lump of ambergris washed up on shore.”
“Ambergris?” he echoed. “My God, it would be worth its weight in gold in London.”
“For what, pray?” she asked, laughing.
Ruark thought perhaps that even if he told her it was a rare aphrodisiac, she probably wouldn’t know what he meant. “A sort of tonic,” he said, and sat down with his back against the rocky cliff and held up his hands for her to join him.
She hesitated.
“You’re angry with me for spoiling your solitude. You’ve told me plain enough you like your privacy.”
“Of course I’m not angry with you. I just don’t like you to see me dressed in masculine attire.”
“Masculine?” he echoed, thinking how womanly she looked with the wet shirt clinging to her breasts.
“I missed you dreadfully.”
“Did you? Did you really, Lady Summer St. Catherine?” he asked, his eyes hungrily devouring hers. “Then why won’t you come and hold hands with me?”
She hesitated again. “I like holding hands with you,” she confessed. “If only you won’t do that thing that frightens me,” she said in a rush.
He searched her face. “You mean kiss you?”
She shook her head. “I’m even shameless enough to like being kissed. I mean the other thing you do,” she said, her face growing warm even in the cool breeze.
“Sweet, I’m at a loss; what is it I do to frighten you?”
“You make yourself … grow … enormous.”
“Oh God,” he swore. Very gently he took her hands and eased her down beside him. He kept his voice low and intimate. “I don’t make myself grow … you do.”
She gazed up at him, realizing this was one of those moments when he would reveal another piece of the puzzle to her. The mysterious male-female secrets which attracted and repelled her at the same time. She wanted to pull away; she wanted to melt into him.
“When you are near me, I have no control over it at all.” He started to harden and dropped his eyes to her mouth. He realized his mistake immediately as his shaft jumped and lengthened. “I just see you, or hear you laugh or smell your perfume and I become aroused. Hell, you don’t even have to be there at all, just thinking about you, thinking of touching you, and the damnable thing has a will of its own.”
She loved the idea of not even having to be there to affect him. Her fear was slowly dissolving and in its place a great curiosity was growing. She ran the pink tip of her tongue over her top lip, unconsciously teasing him.
He knew he must taste her. “I’ve hungered for you,” he said hoarsely as his mouth took hers in a demanding kiss.
She shivered at his touch. “You’re wet,” he said, concerned, as his brown hand brushed her breast through her clinging shirt. He was on his feet immediately to make the fire twice as hot for her. He loped down the beach to gather a great armful of driftwood and came racing back to their haven. He took off his wet shirt then slipped down again beside her with his back against the rocks.
She raised her long lashes to appraise his naked chest. “I know it’s wicked of me, but I’m wildly curious.”
“Curious about my body?” he asked huskily.
She nodded. “I cannot help myself … I have a burning need to look at you … to touch you … to know what you feel like when my hands and fingers explore you … and if it’s wicked, I no longer care.”
“Sweet love, it isn’t wicked, it’s natural and beautiful. Don’t you know I have exactly the same needs? I can’t keep myself from touching you when you’re this close. Be bold, my darling, touch me. Give me one glimpse of that wild little pagan I’m falling in love with.”
She moved to kneel in front of him and reached out her fingers to touch the furry pelt and the heavy muscles. He held his breath, keeping an iron control on himself. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her off when she was this close.
With her eyes on his she slowly began to unbutton her wet shirt. Then very deliberately her eyes lowered to the place between his legs. He held his breath as hot desire pulsed through him, not quite believing what she was actually about to do. His balls tightened and he knelt up in front of her to let her see the full physical change she made in him. The blood surged and pulsed into his shaft, swelling, filling, lengthening, hardening it until the bulge threatened to burst from the confining breeches.
Her eyes widened with pleasure at the power she had over him. Very slowly she removed the shirt and held it out to the fire. She was an irresistible combination of pagan and innocent.
His mind centered upon her naked beauty.
I’ve done this before, she thought, yet that was absurd, for of course it was the first time. The silence which stretched between them was a conversation without words. Then with reverence he reached out to cup the beautiful globes and bent to bestow a kiss upon each. “These are more aphrodisiac than any ambergris,” he breathed, and then she felt the velvety caress of his tongue as he licked her nipples until they sharpened into dusky pink darts.
She was without shame, without reserve, and she thought with pity of all the women who were shy or reluctant when they loved. Ruark was both fierce and gentle with her at the same time and she knew as he took possession of her mouth that she loved the things he did to her, loved the way he made her feel and in spite of the fact that she was not yet ready to trust any man, she knew she could love him if he delivered her from her difficulties and fate was kind to her.
With his hot mouth on hers she felt half mad with passion. It raged in every part of her, her head, her heart, her belly, her naked breasts. Her frenzied hands longed to cup him, fondle him, crush him, yet they fluttered wildly over the forbidden male weapon while she gathered her last drop of courage to seize what she wanted.
“Cat!” The shout came from the clifftop above them. She gasped and snatched up her shirt. “It’s my brother Ruark. I must go.”
Reluctantly he brought her horse and helped her mount its bare back. He looked into her eyes which were alive with silent promises, like windows into paradise. His heart soared wildly that she felt as he did, the same flame, the same longing. He picked up the ambergris and handed it to her. “It must have magic powers.”