Chapter Eighteen
Catherine woke alone in bed. She sat up and glanced around the cabin. She was its sole occupant. She collapsed back, pulling the covers up to her chin and shaking her head, her tangled mass of silver hair splaying over her pillow.
Good Lord, what had she done? She peeked beneath the sheet at her nakedness, shutting her eyes when she recalled all the exquisitely titillating things Lucian had done to her and how she had responded with such abandonment.
Warmth spread along her lower belly down between her legs until it turned into a tingle. Not an inch of her flesh had gone untouched by his hands, lips, or tongue. Repeatedly he had brought her pleasure and repeatedly she had brought him his.
She smiled, thinking that although his body was large, it had been extremely accommodating. He fit her perfectly and he made her feel —
Her body shivered from sensuous remembrances.
Their only thoughts had been of each other and the passion they had hungrily shared. They had loved deeply and fulfilling. They had made memories and now the night was over.
Whatever would she do now?
Nothing.
She warned herself. There was nothing she could do. The choice was up to Captain Lucifer.
She still hadn't found the papers proving her father's innocence. She had searched long and hard through his cabin but found nothing. With the situation changed, she wondered if he would offer the documents to her. She had paid a high enough price for them.
Tears stung her eyes. Who was she fooling? She knew why she surrendered to Lucian last night. Simply put — she loved him. It confused her. He wasn't always lovable. He was fearfully large and domineering and yet strangely enough those very traits offered comfort and protection.
Lord, she loved the devil himself. Surely she had lost her mind. He lusted for her, but love? She wondered if his hate and need for revenge consumed so much of his emotions that he was incapable of loving.
She shook her head. He might think that of himself, but it was far from the truth. Deep inside he possessed strong, passionate emotions he kept locked away, fearful of being deserted and hurt once again. He felt alone and betrayed and he lashed out, wanting others to suffer as he had suffered.
He needed to heal, to let go, to allow himself to love freely without fear or guilt, to lay his past to rest. Catherine realized that the only way he could heal completely was for him to face his accused — Randolph Abelard.
The cabin door opened and she instantly sank farther beneath the covers, her thoughts fleeing.
"You hide from me, madam?" he asked sternly. His steps sounded heavy as he crossed the room. "Was my performance last night that unsatisfying?"
She held the covers beneath her chin and stared wide-eyed waiting for him to come into view. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.
His black breeches molded to muscular thighs she was all too familiar with and hugged a waist she had hugged repeatedly last night. His white linen shirt hung open exposing his broad chest she had lain against, and Lord how she had kissed those hard muscles. And his lips?
She moaned.
He laughed and yanked the cover from her hands, stripping it completely off her.
She cried out and scrambled up, rushing down the bed to retrieve her protection.
"Oh, no you don't." He laughed and grabbed her about the waist, twirling her around to anchor her against his chest.
Her breath caught at the feel of his warmth against her cool flesh. "Lucian," she cried, her hands rushing to his chest to shove at him, fearful more of her own reaction than his.
"You haven't answered me," he warned, his voice low, but far from menacing.
"Answer?" She couldn't even recall the question. He held her too close, he felt too good, and his lips looked too inviting. He was too damn tempting.
He repeated it for her, his mouth a mere inch from hers. "Was my performance last eve unsatisfying?"
"No," she whispered, fearful of moving.
"Good." He captured a kiss, fleeting yet sensuous. "Neither was yours. You —” He paused abruptly about to describe her performance as satisfying. The significance of the word disturbed him and he altered his response. "You pleased me."
"Now what?" she asked courageously, her body willing to capitulate, but her mind prepared to defend.
"Now we strip off our clothes and feed the passion that fires our souls." His mouth came down on hers again.
Her mind faltered, listening to her body's cries for surrender, feeling his hand cup her breast and squeeze gently, knowing in seconds she would be completely lost to his masterful touch.
Somewhere deep inside reason doused her flame and fought to surface. She shoved at his chest and ripped her mouth from his. "Lucian, we must talk."