The Buccaneer(54)

Catherine hesitated a moment before anxiously answering. "I was wondering when you would return and thought perhaps they would know.

"Your wit is quick, madam."

Catherine almost laughed nervously. In one breath he insulted her and in the next, unwittingly, he praised her.

Tense silence followed and then in the next instant he descended on her, grasping her slim arms in his powerful hands. "I'll have the truth, Catherine."

His voice warned, his manner promised, that she would answer or else.

Her father had taught her that when in a contest of wills and an impasse seemed likely; turn the opponent's own questions back on him. She braced herself for a confrontation when she asked, "What do you think is the truth, Captain?"

His fingers dug into her soft flesh. Catherine refused to respond to the pain he caused her. Instead she sent him a glaring challenge.

Lucian shoved her away from him in disgust. "I think, madam, that you offer lame excuses and that you sought to satisfy your lusty hunger."

"If that is what you choose to believe then so be it."

Lucian exploded. "What I choose to believe? You flaunt yourself at me, begging me to appease your passion, telling me it has been too long since you have had pleasure, and you expect me to believe you didn't seek to find what I refused to give you? Don't insult my intelligence with such stupidity."

Her own temper flared hot. "Don't impugn my intelligence."

"You have none to impugn. If you had, you would have followed my instructions and behaved."

"Like a good little girl," she said sarcastically, recalling the times her tutor would instruct her to be a good little girl and play with her dolls.

"I doubt you were ever a good little girl."

Catherine stiffened against his insult. She had always been an extra-good girl, trying to please, trying to learn, trying, trying, and trying until she had cried with frustration and fear. Then Randolph Abelard had entered her life and changed it completely.

A smile lit her lips. "I was daddy's little girl."

Her sweet smile and sincere words ignited a second fuse in Lucian and once again he blew up. "I should have remembered you're Abelard's daughter and, like your father, a liar and cheat."

"I refuse to debate my father's character. He is a good man no matter your opinion." She turned her back on him, her intent obvious, she would argue with him no more.

Lucian still ached for a fight. "Don't turn your back on me."

"I have nothing more to say to you," Catherine said without turning to look at him.

Lucian advanced on her with each word he spoke. "I have plenty to say to you, madam."

Catherine listened to his steady approach and prepared herself for further combat.

Bloody hell, but he was outraged. He wanted to shake her senseless and then kiss her breathless. She was playing havoc with his emotions, and what was worse, he was succumbing to her talents. He struck out at her with his words. "If you need a man, Catherine, I'll find one for you."

Catherine swerved around, her eyes rounded, her lips partially open and dewy with moisture.

Lucian felt his loins tighten and cursed his inability to control his reactions to her.

Fearing her words might be true, her response was a bare whisper. "I want no man but you, Lucian."

Her sensual confession fired his own hot passion. He fought against his emotions, fought like a man fighting for his next breath.

"Lucian," Catherine whispered again, softly innocently, achingly.

Lucian groaned and reached out for her, his hand circling her neck and drawing her to him. His mouth reached down and covered hers.

She pressed against him, opened to him, returned his passion with wild sensuality. His hand roamed her arching back, urging her closer against him. Her full breasts thrust against his chest, her small hand dipped into his open shirt, splaying her hand on his warm, muscular chest.

He anchored his leg between hers and she moaned moving against him. He felt the swell of her heat. It matched his own and he wondered why they both didn't burst into flames so torrid was their passion.

He wrapped his hand in her silky blond hair and pulled her head back slowly.

She whimpered her disappointment, he sought to appease her.

He bent his head to her breast and took her nipple into his mouth wetting the material with his tongue. She hardened against him and he teased the peaked nipple through the material, nipping, sucking, and circling until he could tolerate no more.

His teeth deftly tugged and pulled at her low neckline until it slipped down off her breast and her rosy pink nipple popped into view. His mouth gratefully captured it and feasted.

She moaned again, low and erotic. He was reminded of a purring cat that needed petting. And he certainly wanted to pet her.