Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)(86)

She moaned. She keened. She arched into his thrusts and took him deeper. And finally he felt the little flutters in her thighs and intimate muscles that told him her peak was near. He raced toward it with her, his cries joining hers as the pleasure consumed them both.

And then he simply held her, for as long as he dared.

“Well,” he finally said, withdrawing from her body. “You got what you wanted, then.” A bitter edge tainted the lingering tremors of pleasure singing through him. “We both did.”

“Did we?” She pivoted to face him, and he choked on his breath. How dangerous her beauty was. He thought it might be the death of him. She smoothed the hair off his brow, and he winced at the tenderness in her touch.

“Gray, if you found my book, surely you must know that this kind of …

encounter … is not all I want. I want so much more. And I want it with you.”

He closed his eyes, and that picture of the two of them lounging under a willow tree appeared behind his eyelids. He shook his head to dispel it.

“You want some fantasy, spun from a girl’s imagination. You want a dream that can never come true.”

The flush of her cheeks faded as she searched his face. “I suppose you’re right. That dream can never come true, if you don’t share it.”

“It’s not—”

“Enough about my dreams.” She put a finger to his lips, then trailed the touch down his jaw. “What is it that you really want, Gray?”

He seized her shoulders. “I want no more lies. No more wild tales and secret fantasies. I want you to tell me everything. Who you are, where you came from, where you’re going. Everything.”

Something softened in those clear, lovely eyes. “I’m so sorry for deceiving you, for hurting you. But I was desperate, don’t you understand?

You were pushing me away, and I cared for you so much. And that was nothing, compared to what I feel for you now.” She pressed her hand to his face. “Gray, I—”

“I don’t want to hear this. I want the truth, not excuses.”

She stiffened, withdrawing her touch. “Now there is a falsehood. No one ever wants the truth from me. They just want the pretty package it comes in. If you really wanted to hear the truth, you’d listen. My feelings for you, they’re as true a part of me as my name, or my place of birth. But you never want to hear them. You just keep running away.”

He swallowed, uncertain what to say.

“And of all the people to accuse me of dishonesty—the man who told me I was worth nothing to him but six pounds, eight shillings? The man who ordered me to go to my berth and thank Almighty God he didn’t want me?

You have no idea how your lies hurt me.”

Oh, God. “Sweet, if I could only take back those words—”

“But you can’t. You have to live with them now, just as I do.” Arms twisted behind her back, she adjusted and relaced her stays.

“Do you know what I think?” she asked, cocking her head and narrowing her eyes. “Never mind the lies—you were happy to be my first. I think you were damn near overjoyed to discover I was a virgin. I doubt you ever truly believed otherwise. It was only when you found the money that everything soured.” She jabbed a finger in his chest. “I know precisely what you were hoping that day. You were hoping your pure, innocent virgin had come along, to spread her legs and redeem your sins with her mystical virtue. Well, surprise, Gray. I’m not perfect. I’ve sins enough of my own to deal with, and I’m not here to save you from yourself.”

Once again, she left him with no words. She was getting far too good at that. Tightening the cord on his trousers, he released his breath in a bewildered sigh. It was so damned hard to argue with the truth. “Sweetheart

—”

Holding her dress together with one hand, she threaded the milk pail over her other wrist. “I do have dreams, Gray. Beautiful dreams. And yes, depraved fantasies. I also have a heart. You’re tangled up in all of them, and you can ignore me or run from me, but you can’t ask me to deny my feelings any longer.”

She stopped and studied him. Then she rose up on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek. It struck Gray as a pitying sort of gesture, but he could not bring himself to spurn it.

“I know what you want, Gray. I know what it is you really need to hear. When you’re ready to listen, come let me know.”

Her kiss lingered, long after she’d gone.

“Something’s amiss,” Gray said, jerking his chin upward. “Fore topgallant lift.”

The Kestrel crewman hoisted a lantern and peered up into the darkness.

“Where, again? Can’t say as I see it.” Then he turned and peered at Gray.

“It all looks right as roses to me.”

“A line’s gone slack.” With an exasperated sigh, Gray extended a hand.

“Lend me your marlinespike; I’ll see to it myself.”

The sailor did not argue, but handed over the marlinespike with a shrug.

“You’re the captain.”

Gray scaled the foremast rigging, climbing hand over hand past the foresail and fore topsail yards. When he reached the topgallant, he made a perch for himself and rested. There was nothing wrong with the line, or the sail. He’d known that before he began climbing. But there was something amiss with him, and he needed the space and distance to examine it. Cool night air buffeted him, rushing through the loose weave of his tunic and blasting the staleness from his skin. It felt almost as good as a proper bath.