didn’t care.
If there was anyone on the wharf foolish
enough to attempt to stop him from taking the sloop, he’d rue the
day he crossed Jamie MacQuaid.
“Stop. Oh, will you stop!”
Jamie wheeled on her when she grabbed his
arm. Feet planted wide in the sandy soil, arms on hips he faced
her. She should be intimidated. Few men could face Jamie when he
allowed his demons free reign and not cower. But she faced him
square. He was certain the breathless quality in her voice was a
result of chasing him, not fear. He was beginning to think he was
right. Everyone on the island was insane.
“It angered you to be called compassionate?”
she asked, her tone one of surprise and possibly a touch of
amusement.
“I’m a pirate, by God, not some crusading
fop.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Anne shot
back.
“Aye, ’tis possible ye have your doubts.”
Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Else why would you find yourself alone, and
defenseless?” He watched her features soften, then the breath
expand her chest as she realized their isolation. Around them
wind-trimmed pines and thick undergrowth isolated the bend in the
path.
Jamie stepped closer. “Mayhaps ye think me
too compassionate to take what I want? What was offered so
enticingly before?”
Without waiting for a response Jamie reached
out. His fingers speared through her hair, framing her face, and
sending the lacy cap and wooden pins showering to the ground. Her
only protest was a muffled, “No,” as his mouth swooped down on
hers.
His lips were hard, punishing. The tongue he
thrust into her mouth ignored her futile attempts to stop him. He
took; he plundered. He showed her what it was like to deal with
him; deal with him without the advantage of drugging potions and
cocked pistols aimed at his heart.
His kiss was relentless. His hands curved
round her head, angling her mouth toward his. And he took. Took all
that he could and still he wanted more. She aroused him from the
first moment he set eyes on her, standing before him, scared but
defiant. He wanted her then. And the ache she caused in his groin
only intensified when she took him to her room. And nothing, not
the drugged sleep nor the vinegar of her tongue had cooled his
ardor.
She squirmed beneath his hands, the movements
only fueling his passions. By God she saw him as some golden-haired
crusader she could bend and twist to her liking. He would show her
differently. He would show her who would bend and twist.
His hands forged down, tangles of dark curls
trailing along as he followed the line of her neck, the rounded
curves of her shoulders. She fought him, but he was larger than
she, stronger. And the force of desire heated his blood.
With one arm he yanked her against him, hard
to unbearably soft. His other hand swept down the swell of her
buttocks, pressing her tighter to his throbbing flesh.
Stunned.
From the moment he lurched toward her Anne
was stunned to inaction. She didn’t expected this, had begun to
think of him as less than the pirate he was. How very foolish of
her. Now she couldn’t stop his onslaught. His arms were like iron
bands, binding her, drawing her to him. And his hands were
everywhere on her body.
She wriggled but it did no good, tried to
kick but his powerful legs seemed to surround her, tangling with
her skirts and keeping her from squirming away.
And his mouth. His lips seemed to shape hers,
demanding that she move them in tempo with his. Anne tried to think
what to do, but she couldn’t seem to focus. Her skin tingled and
she felt an odd heavy sensation in her stomach. Her head was heavy
and when his lips left hers to burn a path down her neck, she
couldn’t seem to keep from swaying back, exposing more of her skin
to the heat of his tongue.
She felt drugged and euphoric.
His golden head dipped lower, branding the
rounded flesh above her bodice. He nipped, then soothed and Anne
thought her knees would lose their power to hold her upright. His
very breath,
If there was anyone on the wharf foolish
enough to attempt to stop him from taking the sloop, he’d rue the
day he crossed Jamie MacQuaid.
“Stop. Oh, will you stop!”
Jamie wheeled on her when she grabbed his
arm. Feet planted wide in the sandy soil, arms on hips he faced
her. She should be intimidated. Few men could face Jamie when he
allowed his demons free reign and not cower. But she faced him
square. He was certain the breathless quality in her voice was a
result of chasing him, not fear. He was beginning to think he was
right. Everyone on the island was insane.
“It angered you to be called compassionate?”
she asked, her tone one of surprise and possibly a touch of
amusement.
“I’m a pirate, by God, not some crusading
fop.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Anne shot
back.
“Aye, ’tis possible ye have your doubts.”
Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Else why would you find yourself alone, and
defenseless?” He watched her features soften, then the breath
expand her chest as she realized their isolation. Around them
wind-trimmed pines and thick undergrowth isolated the bend in the
path.
Jamie stepped closer. “Mayhaps ye think me
too compassionate to take what I want? What was offered so
enticingly before?”
Without waiting for a response Jamie reached
out. His fingers speared through her hair, framing her face, and
sending the lacy cap and wooden pins showering to the ground. Her
only protest was a muffled, “No,” as his mouth swooped down on
hers.
His lips were hard, punishing. The tongue he
thrust into her mouth ignored her futile attempts to stop him. He
took; he plundered. He showed her what it was like to deal with
him; deal with him without the advantage of drugging potions and
cocked pistols aimed at his heart.
His kiss was relentless. His hands curved
round her head, angling her mouth toward his. And he took. Took all
that he could and still he wanted more. She aroused him from the
first moment he set eyes on her, standing before him, scared but
defiant. He wanted her then. And the ache she caused in his groin
only intensified when she took him to her room. And nothing, not
the drugged sleep nor the vinegar of her tongue had cooled his
ardor.
She squirmed beneath his hands, the movements
only fueling his passions. By God she saw him as some golden-haired
crusader she could bend and twist to her liking. He would show her
differently. He would show her who would bend and twist.
His hands forged down, tangles of dark curls
trailing along as he followed the line of her neck, the rounded
curves of her shoulders. She fought him, but he was larger than
she, stronger. And the force of desire heated his blood.
With one arm he yanked her against him, hard
to unbearably soft. His other hand swept down the swell of her
buttocks, pressing her tighter to his throbbing flesh.
Stunned.
From the moment he lurched toward her Anne
was stunned to inaction. She didn’t expected this, had begun to
think of him as less than the pirate he was. How very foolish of
her. Now she couldn’t stop his onslaught. His arms were like iron
bands, binding her, drawing her to him. And his hands were
everywhere on her body.
She wriggled but it did no good, tried to
kick but his powerful legs seemed to surround her, tangling with
her skirts and keeping her from squirming away.
And his mouth. His lips seemed to shape hers,
demanding that she move them in tempo with his. Anne tried to think
what to do, but she couldn’t seem to focus. Her skin tingled and
she felt an odd heavy sensation in her stomach. Her head was heavy
and when his lips left hers to burn a path down her neck, she
couldn’t seem to keep from swaying back, exposing more of her skin
to the heat of his tongue.
She felt drugged and euphoric.
His golden head dipped lower, branding the
rounded flesh above her bodice. He nipped, then soothed and Anne
thought her knees would lose their power to hold her upright. His
very breath,
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