Addicted to the Duke (Imperfect Lords #1)(34)

She stood and moved around the table to stand at his side. Cupping his chin, she stared into his eyes for what seemed forever. “True. You’ve only ever let me know the hero; I’d love to know the man.”

Then she bent and placed a soft kiss to his lips before abruptly turning and leaving the cabin.

“No you wouldn’t,” he whispered to the empty cabin. A wave of unease crept over his skin. He didn’t want her to know the man beneath his facade, because she would be very disappointed if not disgusted.

“I’d love to know the man.” It was a husky entreaty in her voice that filled him with such longing. He almost believed she might forgive him his trespasses.

His body was tearing itself up inside. He hated wanting her when he knew he did not deserve her. A feeling of such loss overcame him and it was so painful he almost doubled over, laying his head on the table.

This is what he had feared. She would needle her way under his skin and his resolve would be shaken. He pushed back his chair, not caring that it crashed behind him. He gripped the table as a dizzy wave of longing gripped him. He took a few deep breaths and felt the power of the ship beneath his feet. His resolve was back. No happy ending, just his revenge—that’s all he could see, all he’d allow himself to see, of his future.

Then he strode for the deck, feelings of self-loathing suffocating him. He burst out onto the deck, tears in his eyes, his chest heaving for fresh, cool, air. He knew without a sliver of doubt that he was doing the right thing for Hestia. Protecting her. Protecting her not only against Fredrick, but also from becoming tied to a man who saw nothing but hate, death, and revenge.

His body filled with pain, smothering the ache of his physical need for release. The call of the laudanum bottle could be heard above the sounds of the rigging, but he’d sworn off the drops until Murad was dead. Then he could lose himself in a dream world. A world where he had a chance at happiness with a woman he might have been able to love, if Murad had not twisted his heart and soul into something black and evil all those years ago.

He should feel at peace with his decision, but he knew it was one more thing to hate himself for. In his cowardice at facing a future that he might never have, he would hurt her.

And he’d never forgive himself for that.

—

Fear. So much fear.

That’s what she saw when she looked into Alex’s eyes. She had never considered a man like Alex would be afraid of anything, but until four years ago she never knew men like Murad existed. Being held captive for only a few days still gave her nightmares, yet Alex had been his captive for over two years.

Sick to her stomach with guilt, she made her way to David’s cabin to help with the sailors’ medical needs.

This was her fault. She should never have gone to Alex for help. She knew the type of man he was and knew he would never have refused her.

That’s what appealed about Alex. He was handsome as sin on the outside, strong, chiseled jaw, but he was soft and lovable on the inside. His warmth and humility drew her like a moth to a brightly burning flame.

Well, she’d wanted to learn more about him and she had. He had fears and nightmares.

She vowed to protect him as much as she could. She bit her lip. What if when they got to Mallorca she paid to send a message to her father? Perhaps Jacob could help her find someone reliable. Then she would instruct Alex to return home. Her father, once warned, would have to take responsibility for his own safety.

If something happened to Alex because he was helping her father, she would never forgive herself.





Chapter 10


Through extreme willpower, which was constantly tested on board what seemed to be his shrinking ship—even a seventy-four-gun ship was too small to escape her—Alex managed to avoid Hestia over the following days. Her flowery orange blossom scent warned him of her close proximity. Whenever the scent wafted on the air, it gave him ample time to make himself scarce.

Over the last few nights he’d had little sleep, and what sleep he got was filled with visions of her soft, naked, and pliant body begging him to give her pleasure, but just as he reached for her, she’d laugh and run away.

Of all the bad luck, yesterday he’d accidentally walked in on her bathing in the tub room. He had not expected her to be up so early, the sun had just risen, and he’d come off the night watch.

She’d been standing naked in the middle of the tub reaching for a small towel on the stool nearby. Her skin shone in the sunlight coming through the porthole. He quickly closed the door before she knew he was there.

Why had he not knocked?

Because he was busy planning how to kill Murad.

Tonight, that one glimpse of perfection had his body at fever pitch. For the past few years a fully clothed Hestia had lingered in his waking thoughts, while an imaginary sensual Hestia had sometimes shared his dreams. Gowned she was enough to drive a man to distraction, but now he’d seen her stripped bare—his vivid and overactive imagination from lack of feminine company, burst into life. He could almost feel her heavenly body under his lips and hands. He’d wanted to touch her soft silken skin and enter her womanly heat—she was infinitely more arousing than anything he’d imagined.

Sleep was now torture. He’d had to take himself in hand, literally, something he hadn’t done since he’d been a young schoolboy. His fingers itched like stinging nettle to use the laudanum he had tucked away in his trunk. He wanted to succumb to its mind-dulling effects, and he hadn’t felt such a powerful pull in over four years. Not since he’d saved Hestia.