Part 38 (1/2)

He leaned over and touched his tongue, very lightly, to her nipple, then drew it into his mouth and gently sucked.

”Will that do for a start?”

”Dear G.o.d,” she rasped, as a white-hot shock of pleasure rayed through her limbs.

He drew leisurely hard circles around her nipple with his tongue, then introduced his teeth lightly into the surprise, while his hand wandered to cup and stroke her other breast. Drunk with the astonis.h.i.+ng bliss, she sighed and arched into it.

He kissed a soft trail down, down the seam that divided her ribs, dragging his fingers in the wake of his lips, and he nudged up one of her thighs and without further preamble, delved his tongue into the hot, velvety, very damp core of her, and licked. Hard. Slowly. Deliberately. Again, and then again. His tongue darted, stroking, diving, his fingers playing delicately with that tender, excruciatingly sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs, and she arched to meet him, undulated to abet him, to greedily take in this extraordinary new pleasure.

”Lyon . . . Oh G.o.d . . . Oh G.o.d . . .”

And as she screamed his name, her fingers knit through his hair and she bowed upward, feeling as if she might break in two from the explosive pleasure.

He rose up over her, and as she was still pulsing with release, he seized her hips and lifted her so he could be inside her in one thrust.

Slowly, slowly, this time. Savoring every inch of her, torturing himself, teasing her. She watched him, and the sun behind him gave him a corona, and his face was all shadow apart from his eyes, first brilliant flashes of blue, then closed, as his head tipped back and his own release rocked through him.

Chapter 21.

THIS TIME HAD, INDEED, been humbling and surprising for both of them.

Somehow it was now definitive: their desire was bigger than both of them. There was an endless supply of it, and the more they indulged, the more there was of it.

He was still catching his breath, one hand absently, idly, stroking her hair as she lay burrowed somewhere between his shoulder and armpit.

”Lyon . . .”

He lifted his head when he heard the tone in her voice. Instantly wary.

”Are you Le Chat?”

He went absolutely rigid. Very like a sword in a scabbard, for that matter.

He rolled away from her, onto his side, and his hand went down as if he was indeed reflexively reaching for a sword.

He caught himself in time and then fixed her with an inscrutable stare that she could have sworn contained something of admiration for arriving at that conclusion.

”Why do you ask?”

”The simplest answer would have been no.”

He was studying her shrewdly for signs of accusation or hysteria.

She thought perhaps she was too permanently sated for hysteria to ever take hold again.

Then he rolled over flat on his back and stared up at the sky.

She could say now, I was jesting. Of course you're not a feared pirate. She could release him from the question, so she wouldn't need to bear the burden of the knowledge.

But in the silence he was gathering his thoughts, and she could not go on without knowing.

She waited. A gull wheeled above them, and Olivia moved closer to him, pressing her thigh lightly against his. So he would feel safe telling her the truth.

He drew in a long breath, then blew it out at length. Clearly considering how to begin.

”Five years ago . . . I came, quite by happenstance-which means I charmed a drunk man into telling me at a dock pub one night-into possession of some sensitive knowledge. An investment group was engaged in the conversion of cargo into slaves. They owned a fleet of five s.h.i.+ps.”

She tensed at the idea of slave s.h.i.+ps.

He sensed it. He took hold of her hand and threaded her fingers through it, comforting her, holding her fast.

”They had already made multiple trips, successfully eluding the law, bribing just the right authorities apparently, and getting wealthier and wealthier from the sale of human beings. My personal wealth as a merchant-I adopted another name as a merchant-was burgeoning and my reputation was growing. I was approached as a potential investor in this hideous practice through a third party-exchanging cargo for humans and back again. As you may have guessed, I demurred. Diplomatically.”

She held his hand tighter.

”But there existed-exists, I should say-people in all walks of life who find the slave trade as abhorrent as you or I. And to put it succinctly, I discreetly gathered a crew. And my crew and I boarded each of these s.h.i.+ps in turn by night, removed their cargo, be it silks or spices or what have you, put their crews into boats, and set them adrift, and then we-”

”And then you blew the s.h.i.+ps to smithereens.” She breathed wonderingly.

Which would have essentially destroyed both the group's profits and eliminated any opportunity they might have to try again. Salting their earth, figuratively speaking.

And frightening the devil out of anyone who might want to traffic in slaves, ever, in European waters.

Very, very thorough. So much more thorough than merely alerting the authorities. And he had of course thought all of this through to this conclusion.

He turned to look at her. ”Yes.”

The word was gently delivered. But completely unapologetic.

”And by boarded, you mean wore a mask and used swords and guns. And removing the cargo, you mean stealing it. And by putting them into boats, you mean putting them into boats at sword and pistol point.”

She couldn't believe she was uttering those words, in that order, to Lyon Redmond.

”Yes, to the mask. When necessary, regarding the use of swords and guns.” He paused. ”It frequently was necessary.”

And then he actually smiled again. Albeit faintly. And it was a very unnerving, yet strangely thrilling, smile indeed.

She couldn't breathe.

”I know it was madness,” he said, thoughtfully. ”But I needed madness. I was mad. So I sought madness. And I found a way to expend it in a way I could justify, and that was very, very satisfying indeed.”

He had put himself in harm's way. Over and over.

Then again, he had won the Suss.e.x Marksmans.h.i.+p Trophy three years running.

The fact that he still lived was testament to how entirely skilled and clever he was. But then, he'd always been a planner.