The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(34)
Tendons flicked like pianoforte strings beneath his skin. “We all have pasts to account for, Miss. Good or bad.”
“Aye, ’tis true.” She raised her hand to his face again, feeling a kinship with him for his plight as she caressed his cheek. “But ye still have a chance to make things right.”
To her surprise, he stared at her, momentarily speechless.
“Forgive me for bein’ persistent,” she said. “I’ve been told all my life pigheadedness will get me into trouble.”
“Stubbornness has its merits, Miss.”
He turned his face into her hand and placed a soft, bewildering kiss on the tender flesh of her palm. Jolts of pleasure rippled through her at the contact, the sensation warring with her mind, leading her to yearn for something she dared not imagine.
She yanked her hand away. “Visit them.”
“Who?” He studied her closely, searching her soul.
“Your parents.” A sigh of frustration escaped her lips, and she lowered her lashes, coming perilously close to begging for a real kiss.
Oh, she was a Thorpe through and through. Like her father and brothers, she lusted for something she shouldn’t have, despite shamefully, sinfully knowing that every desire led her to a chasm of no return. If she was wise—and truth be told, she felt far from wise standing before John Hunt—she’d turn on her heel and walk straightaway to her room, driving the bolt home behind her.
She was an impetuous woman intent on bringing this fisherman up to scratch. “Contact your parents, Mr. Hunt . . . I mean, John. Plead your case, whatever it may be.” His parents deserved another chance, didn’t they? “I’m sure you will be welcomed home like a prodigal son.”
“My mother and father are not young anymore, Miss.”
“Oriana.” Her pulse beat wildly in her neck, and she bit her lower lip in an attempt to hide the way it trembled. How she craved to hear this man call her by her given name.
“Oriana . . . Why are you so vexing?” His hand cupped hers against the side of his face. “You never give up, do you?”
She smiled, suppressing painful memories that had trained her never to give in, hoping to encourage him. “Never.”
He looked down at her thoughtfully. “You do realize it’s possible my return might kill one or both of them?”
Her eyes widened. “Is your predicament truly that bad?”
“The shock,” he said, “might be too great.”
Bold, sinful woman that she was, she couldn’t stop staring at John’s mouth as he admitted his darkest worry. His lips tempted her beyond endurance. “Ye can’t let fear stop ye from doing what’s right.”
Even if it means objecting to your family’s smuggling tactics and getting a beating for your trouble.
“You don’t understand,” he said, stepping back and shoving his fingers through his hair. “If you knew . . . If you even suspected—”
“I understand perfectly,” she interrupted. He’d gone astray. “Maybe ye became a fisherman against your father’s wishes. Some fathers hate it when their sons don’t follow in their footsteps.” Gabriel Thorpe was a prime example.
He held his palms wide, slowly narrowing the space between them. “Forgive me for saying so, but you cannot possibly comprehend my situation and what it entails.”
“Maybe not.” She pursed her lips, still unwilling to give up. “But refusin’ to try will haunt ye.”
“You cannot help everyone, Miss. No matter how hard you try.”
“I know that now.” She lowered her gaze as the memory of her failure to save Charles thundered in her mind.
“You have a good heart.” He returned to her, lifted her chin, and forced her to look up. “You’re young and incredibly strong.”
Like a fish caught in a seine net, Oriana struggled to catch her breath. A lock of John’s blond hair fell across his forehead, making him look more relaxed and approachable. Rum mixed with a salty, woodsy scent, all male, greeted her as he stroked her chin, the muscled planes of his body fitting against her as if they’d been sculpted of the same piece of clay.
She closed her eyes, basking in his touch, this man she neither feared nor trusted. Was she tetched for allowing this sort of intimacy to continue with one of her customers? The dream she’d had of the Regent and Charles flashed in her memory, reminding her that the sands of time were running out. If she didn’t soften her heart to a man now, she might never know the bliss men and women experienced. Is that how she wanted to die?
No. Not at all.
“Oriana is a beautiful name for such a breathtaking woman,” he said softly.
“Breathtaking?” His compliment nearly made her stumble, her knees going weak. She licked her lips as his rich, deep voice shuddered through her. “No one has ever called me beautiful or breathtaking before.”
“Men are fools,” he admitted.
She couldn’t agree more. As an innkeeper, she’d had little time to indulge in personal pleasure of any kind. Even if she wasn’t meant to experience the love of a man who wouldn’t abuse her, lie to her, or use her, she had no way to know if John was as trustworthy as the Regent. But something about him called to her. How he’d implored her to understand his reasons for not going back to his family, the eager way he’d said her name—these things led her to believe that if she died tomorrow, she could have done no better than succumb to this man’s charms.