Brazen and the Beast (The Bareknuckle Bastards #2)(103)

He stiffened, the cool breeze whipping around them, and for a moment Hattie thought that he might release her. She supposed that was reasonable. She supposed she should pull away from him, as she’d just made the very important point that she didn’t want to be his burden.

But the truth was, she didn’t want to pull away from him.

She wanted to stay with him.

Forever.

Because she loved him. Because she wanted to keep him safe.

His arms tightened around her, and she inhaled, filling her lungs with him—lemon and bay and his delicious warm spice. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to him, the mast at his back making an already sturdy, strong man even sturdier. Even stronger.

“The Siren,” he said after an age. The words lost in the breeze coming off the river, but there, at her ear. “The ship is called the Siren.”

She nodded. “It’s the largest of the six you bought to punish me.”

“Not to punish you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. Spoke to her hair. “You must believe I didn’t do it to hurt you.”

She wanted to. But none of it made sense.

Before she could ask, he was talking. “The Siren. Beautiful women who could make a man throw himself into the sea. Temptation incarnate. Singing men’s deepest desires, making the impossible seem possible. They could make you believe your dreams had come true.”

“And poor Odysseus, stumbling across the wicked women,” she quipped. “If only he’d taken the long way round the island.”

He laughed, the low rumble a beautiful temptation. “Ah, but Odysseus didn’t stumble across them. He went looking for them, knowing what he was in for.” He looked down at her, his amber eyes glittering in the lantern light. “Like all the rest of us, he thought he could have a taste and not be lost.”

The story had Hattie thrumming with pleasure, fairly vibrating with desire for him to touch her. A Siren in his own right. And then he said, “It’s an apt name for a ship of yours.”

“Is it?” she asked. “I rather thought it seemed the opposite.” He tilted his head in silent question, and she said, “I am not exactly known for my feminine wiles. I lack the skill of temptation entirely, it seems.”

He gave a little grunt. Acknowledgment? Disagreement? It was impossible to know. “Hattie . . .” he said, her name trailing off into a low growl. “You cannot possibly think that. I’ve never in my life been tempted the way you tempt me.”

“And you have a keen fondness for sweets,” she quipped.

He didn’t laugh. “It’s the truth.”

“That’s very kind.” She smiled, though she didn’t feel it. “But you didn’t cede to it, and so you’ll certainly allow that I could be a better temptress. And I’ve leagues to go before I approach Sirenhood.” She laughed, small and self-deprecating. “No man will ever toss himself into the sea for a shot at good old Hattie.”

“That’s bollocks,” he said, and there was something in his growl that she’d never heard before.

“Odysseus had to have himself tied to his mast to avoid the temptation of the Sirens. Tighter and tighter, until he was bleeding from the ropes and screaming for his men to release him, so he could get to them. They tempted him to death.” She stepped back, out of his arms, away from him, knowing she wouldn’t be able to do battle with him again. Not now that she knew him. Not now that she wanted him so much. Not now that she loved him so much.

She would lose her boats, and she would lose her business.

But that seemed minuscule compared to losing him. And she’d never even had him.

She met his eyes and said, to herself as much as to him, “I couldn’t even tempt you to pleasure.”

She turned to leave, to find her way off this boat, away from him. But he came for her, her name on his lips, his fingers capturing hers and spinning her back as he caught her face in his hands and kissed her, long and lush and frantic, as though he was afraid that if he didn’t, she might disappear forever.

Hattie gasped at the sensation, and he pulled her tighter, stealing the sound, licking over her lips and claiming her mouth in long, slow, lovely sweeps until her knees were weak and she was loose in his arms and drunk with him. Only then did he release her lips—without releasing her—trailing kisses over her cheek to her ear, where he said, hot and devastating, “You tempted me. You have tempted me every second since I woke in your carriage, tied in knots.” He bit her earlobe hard enough to sting, then sucked on it until she clung to him. “You’ve tempted me to pleasure a thousand times. I’ve wanted to strip you of your clothes a thousand times. To lay you naked under the sun and the moon and the stars and worship you until we’ve both forgotten our names.”

She was wild with the words. With the way they set her aflame. “I thought you didn’t want me. I thought you didn’t care . . .”

He bit her neck this time, a sharp punishment chased with the pleasure of his slow tongue. “Lack of want does not leave a man hard for days.”

“Were you?” She swallowed, simultaneously embarrassed and thrilled. “Hard for days?” It wasn’t possible.

“I’ve been hard since the first time I heard your voice.” One hand roamed down her side, pulling her to him by the waist. “Since the first time I touched your body.”