Wicked Loving Lies. Rosemary Rogers

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      He cast a pitying glance towards Marisa who was smothered under the bedcovers, and he was angry enough to glower at the captain. He had no right to treat a young, unprotected child as if she were some dockside trollop picked up for his pleasure!

      Dominic Challenger, reading what was in the older man’s mind, gave him a sarcastic smile. “Why should I need to seduce her when both you and she keep reminding me that she’s ruined already? And I happen to have a taste for champagne tonight—and none at all for your preaching, you old reprobate!”

      Donald opened his mouth to speak again and found his speech cut off by a steely, threatening look. He left without speaking again.

      Suddenly a spicy aromatic scent filled the cabin, making Marisa’s mouth water in spite of all her resolutions. Dominic had taken the covers off the silver dishes that Donald had brought in, and the delicious smell was almost too much for her to bear! Marisa bit her lip, her back stiffening, and the next moment she jumped as a cork popped loudly.

      ‘So that’s his game. I’m supposed to crawl and beg for my food now…. Well, we’ll see!’

      The odor of seafood and spices and saffron-flavored rice took her suddenly back to Martinique. Oh, why hadn’t maman left her behind on that warm, happy island with her grandparents instead of dragging her off to France?

      She was so hungry that even his presence could not stop the involuntary growling of her empty stomach, and Marisa blushed with shame.

      “If you’re not hungry, petite, perhaps a glass of champagne will help you cheer up. We’ll soon be in France, and you might want to celebrate the parting of our ways!”

      Lately he had taken to speaking to her in French; and as usual, his sarcastic tone of voice made her grit her teeth with anger. If she didn’t eat he was just as likely to have the meal cleared away as soon as his own appetite was satisfied.

      Wrapping a sheet loosely around her, she finally sat down opposite him. Captain Challenger’s shirt was open to his waist, and she could not help noticing, all over again, the strangely wrought medal he wore on a silver chain around his neck. She had asked him about it before, and he’d only shrugged, telling her it was a good-luck charm given him by an old friend.

      “It looks like a heathen thing to me!” she’d said primly and saw his lip curl ironically.

      “You would appear the heathen to the man who gave me this, little wildcat. Stop acting so curious.”

      Well, she would not ask him any more questions. She knew all she wanted to know about him, although his behavior tonight puzzled her. He had made Donald lay the table as if for a formal dinner party; and now he instructed her on the correct implements to use, all the while keeping her glass full to the brim with champagne.

      “You might as well learn to eat like a lady instead of a hungry savage! Do you want this aunt of yours to feel ashamed of you? Or your lovers—”

      “I would not take any lovers! Now that you’ve taught me what men really want from a woman I think I would much rather be a nun, after all!”

      “Just think what you would have missed—immured in a Spanish convent!”

      His eyes crinkled at the corners—why did she have to notice that? And when she would have answered him loftily, Marisa choked on her champagne instead. She spluttered, breathing up bubbles of champagne that seemed to penetrate her very brain, making it float away from her body.

      “I think it’s time for your next lesson, ma fille.”

      The sheet she had wrapped herself with had somehow vanished, and she was lying backward on the bed, her head spinning alarmingly.

      “Since you are so determined to become a nun, you had better learn the ways in which men can take advantage of you.”

      Had she dreamed the husky whisper? Marisa gasped with shock as something cold and wet trickled over her breasts and down her belly. Her body jerked, arching involuntarily, and her eyes, as she tried to focus them, held a puzzled, confused look.

      “You are pouring champagne all over me! Are you mad? Stop—”

      Marisa began to giggle helplessly the next moment when Dominic, bending his dark head to hers, said severely,

      “Will you hold still, vixen? It would be a shame to waste all that champagne.”

      Neither of them had eaten very much, being far too occupied in arguing, and she thought for a moment that he was as drunk as she. She became aware, all of a sudden, of a strange sensation. His lips and tongue were tracing the path of the champagne, and going even further, in fact…

      Marisa tried to wriggle away, but he held her pinioned, concentrating first on one quivering breast and then the other until she felt her whole body burning with embarrassment. And—and—oh, it was the strangest feeling, but although she struggled and moaned, she did not really want him to stop, not even when her nipples were achingly sensitive under his hands, and his seeking mouth moved much lower—across her taut, shrinking belly—lower still, until—

      Until frightened both of herself and him, she began to fight against him in earnest, her breath sobbing in her throat, limbs writhing as she fought to close her thighs against this different kind of encroachment.

      Forgetting her pride in her fear, Marisa began to plead with him, although somewhere in the back of her mind a small demon sat grinning and damned her for being a hypocrite. She had come closer than she ever had before to understanding desire—so close that when with a muttered expletive he slid himself up her body and kissed her mouth instead, she was almost sorry. She felt as if she had been on the brink of some strange and new experience, and now she had lost it.

      Still, when he parted her thighs with his hands she made none of her usual protest, but let him, quivering again only very slightly when his fingers touched her. There, where his lips had brushed only moments ago.

      “My poor jeune fille. Is the thought of seduction so frightening to you that you have to fight me tooth and nail?”

      She realized then that she had actually clawed at his shoulders. When he leaned over her, penetrating her quickly and deeply, she tasted his blood against her lips and wondered in the back of her mind what had made him so patient with her tonight. Any other man she might have called kind, but she had learned that Dominic Challenger wasn’t. He was a man who took what he wanted, and women were a convenience, no more—she remembered that he had snarled that at her one night.

      She would never understand him, why even try. It was the champagne that made this time different from all those others and made her head whirl and her breasts ache against his chest where the funny foreign medal he wore pressed into her flesh, warm from his body, like a brand.

      He held her against him all night, his flesh still part of hers. And he took her again in the morning when she was still half-asleep, quickly and impatiently this time, without a kiss or a caress. But at least he pulled the covers back over her when he left; and turning over with a sigh, Marisa slept again.

      When she woke it was well past noon. Donald, his eyes carefully averted, brought her a tray and informed her that they were approaching the coast of France. They should be safely berthed in the harbor of Nantes by nightfall.

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