Natalya (23 page)

The closer they got to Philadelphia, the more intense her fantasies became. She had never been with a man before, so she wasn't certain if her imaginings were accurate, but when she watched the play of muscles in Grey's body as he moved, when she felt the caress of his voice and the heat of his stare, and when she caught a whiff of his scent, Natalya knew enough.

She tried to write a romantic scene between Eloise and Charles and felt consumed by her own desires. The memory of Adrienne's words taunted her. If she didn't seek fulfillment now, would the opportunity be lost forever?

At dusk on the afternoon of the twenty-fifth, when Grey brushed past her on the companionway and casually mentioned that they might see land on the morrow, Natalya made up her mind.

* * *

"I surely don't like the way you've been looking these past few days, mistress," Charlotte declared as she fastened her hammock to the brass hooks. Stumbling with each roll of the ship, she had to take several minutes just to accomplish the one task. "You've been flushed and your eyes are so bright."

"Charlotte, dear, I'm
happy!
I assure you that I've never felt better in my life." Natalya hummed to herself as she poured wine into cups.

"Well, I don't like it. You may think you're happy, but you look more like delirious to me. Insisting on a bath, and washing your hair—it wasn't good sense, but you're too naughty to pay me any mind. Now, just get into bed and I'll tuck you up nice and snug."

"How can you call me naughty, Charlotte? Have some wine with me and let us cry peace." Natalya held out a cup to the girl with an ingratiating smile. "You're overwrought, and it will help you sleep."

Charlotte pursed her lips. "If I drink this, will you behave yourself and go to bed?"

"I promise."

Soon the cabin was dark and Charlotte's hammock was swinging gently, matching the rhythm of her snores. Moonlight streamed through the transom over Natalya, who was having a hard time containing either her mirth or her excitement. Charlotte had been absolutely right to accuse her mistress of being naughty, for Natalya had put a small dose of laudanum in her maid's wine. The last thing she wanted was Charlotte Timkins waking up later on and staggering around the ship in search of her mistress.

Natalya already knew that Fedbusk had the night watch, and she had been fortunate enough to overhear Grey telling his first officer that he was retiring early to read since the sea was so peaceful. Now she lay in her bunk for what seemed an eternity, waiting until there were no more sounds of movement on the lower deck. The moon above told her that midnight was at hand when she crept at last out of her bunk. Clad only in her thin nightgown, she tiptoed across the cabin, stepped into the lantern-lit gangway, and turned in the direction of Grey St. James's quarters.

* * *

Grey closed the volume of
Rene
that Natalya had given him at Chateau du Soleil and placed it on the shelf next to his bunk. The cabin boy had changed the sheets earlier that morning, and they felt wonderfully sensuous against his clean bare legs. He was about to blow out the candle and slide down into bed when there came a faint tap at his cabin door.

"Yes?" Had Fedbusk run into difficulty after all? Had another ship been sighted?

The door opened and, to his utter astonishment, Natalya Beauvisage entered. He blinked, certain he was seeing things, for the woman who stood on the threshold was the embodiment of his most forbidden dreams. Haloed by the lantern light from the gangway, her body was clearly visible through her transparent nightgown. Grey drank in the sight of soft curves and hollows, long slim legs, and the shadow where they met....

For a long moment he was paralyzed, but at last he found his voice. "Is—is there something wrong?" he said hoarsely. "Have you need of me?"

Natalya gave him a radiant smile and closed the door. "Yes, I have need of you." Slowly she walked toward the bed, her luxuriant hair swirling about her shoulders. "Grey, I want you to make love to me."

His black brows flew up as he bit back a grin. "Is that so? Dar God, Natalya, I do love your flair for drama! You are the most original woman I have ever known!"

She stopped, frowning. "Don't you dare laugh at me, Grey St. James!"

"Laugh? I?" His eyes danced with mischief, but he struggled for an expression of gravity. "It is just that you have taken me by surprise. I must own that, given our past history, this was the last thing I expected you to do." He reached out for her hand. "I imagined that you were counting the minutes until you could bid me farewell forever in Philadelphia, but it seems that I, foolish male that I am, have misread your feelings."

"Are you teasing me?" she demanded, trying to read his irresistibly handsome face in the candlelight. "You must
know
that I am not here to do anything so ridiculous as pledge my love for you or any nonsense of that sort."

"Natalya, darling, my state of undress prevents me from coming to you, so I suggest that you sit down right here"—Grey patted the edge of his spacious bunk in the manner of a cat coaxing a canary—"and tell me just exactly what has been happening in that fascinating mind of yours that led you to plot my seduction."

"I have
not
been plotting your
seduction,"
she cried in tones of outrage.

"Shh." He placed a lean finger over his lips in a way that maddened her. "You'll wake the crew. Now, come and sit down."

Feeling increasingly foolish, Natalya did as he bade her, perching on the edge of his beautifully carved walnut bunk. Grey sat next to her, the covers drawn up over his hips, his wide, strong chest nut-brown against the snowy pillows. She felt a change in the cadence of her heart, and her palms grew moist as he looked at her and waited patiently, trying not to smile.

"You're spoiling it all, you know, making me explain!" she burst out in a furious whisper. "This was not the way it was supposed to happen. I came here because I want to become a... woman, in the true sense. I mean—"

"I think I know what you mean," he said dryly.

"This seemed the perfect opportunity. I felt that I should have this experience for the sake of my art, and—"

"I like that bit," Grey interjected, nodding.

"And since I don't intend to marry, I began to doubt whether I would ever have another opportunity after I reach Philadelphia. I'm not one of those women who could have love affairs, and they sound like such a bother, don't you think?"

"Well, there wouldn't be any question of
this
being a love affair, would there? Once we reach Philadelphia, you'll be rid of me... and no one would know about tonight, hmm? You're a very practical woman, Natalya."

His gray eyes were roaming over her body as he spoke, and she began to feel quite warm. "I didn't mean to be practical," she protested. "I thought that we would share an interlude of-of..."

"Passion? Ah, yes, I understand now. You'd invented a scene of high drama and reckless desire in your mind, and I'm not playing my part very well, am I? Do you want to go back out and come in again?"

His attitude of subtle, ironic amusement was more than Natalya could bear. Her composure gave way completely and she began to cry. "No," she burbled, "I don't want to come in again!"

Grey was instantly contrite. He had reveled in his own enjoyment of her with no thought for her feelings. "I'm sorry, darling. I've been a cad to tease you." Gathering her into his arms, he felt her tears moisten his shoulder.

"Yes"—she nodded emphatically—"you are... a very bad, bad..." Her voice trailed off as she became suddenly, acutely aware of the warm, strong arms that held her and the crisp chest hair that tickled her cheek. His smell was impossibly wonderful, a mixture of soap, fresh air, and his own male essence. "I thought that you—you wanted me," she confessed in a small voice.

"God help me," he said, now deadly serious, "but I do." The desire Grey felt was excruciating. He buried his face in her glossy, fragrant hair and drew a ragged breath. Then his mouth found hers, burning Natalya's soft, sweet, full lips. Her slim arms rounded his shoulders. Grey could feel the pounding of her heart, while the pressure of her breasts drove him mad.

Reaching down, he drew back the covers. "I want to see you," he whispered, kissing the tiny contours of her ear.

Each touch of Grey's lips and hands sent showers of hot sparks over her nerves; it was as if he had put a spell on her, and she was utterly powerless to resist. Dimly Natalya thought that
passion
was a most inadequate word for this storm of sensation that was building between their two bodies.

Staring into her eyes, Grey slipped the night gown over her head. He eased her back against the pillows, then gave his hungry gaze free rein. Natalya was the incarnation of his fantasies, just as he'd suspected that night in the library of Chateau du Soleil. Her body was soft and creamy, her breasts full and firm with exquisite pink nipples. Her waist was small, but the curves of her hips and derriere were lush, and there was an adorable triangle of burnished curls where her elegant legs met. Natalya Beauvisage was a feast of womanhood.

Finally his eyes returned to her face. Her hair was splayed over his pillows and there were rosy smudges across her cheekbones. She was watching him with a mixture of apprehension and thrilled daring. Grey ran his fingers lightly from her throat to the gentle curve of her belly, watching her shiver in response.

"You are the most extravagantly beautiful woman I've ever seen," he said.

Natalya's blush deepened, but she smiled. "I had no idea. Thank you for saying so."

It was stunning for Grey to think that she was still chaste at twenty-six, that no other man had reaped the pleasures of her body before this night. "You're certain about this? I feel as if I don't deserve—"

"Grey, I want to do this. I am very... attracted to you." She wanted to tell him that she found him physically magnificent, too, but couldn't find the words. The mere sight of him kneeling beside her in the candlelight was almost unbearably stirring. "May I touch you?"

"Oh—by all means." He looked heavenward, his voice a raspy whisper.

Natalya turned on her side, rising up on an elbow, and reached out with her right hand. She felt the texture of Grey's hair, the roughness of his cheek and the chiseled line of his jaw. How brilliant God had been to devise such differences between men and women! Her soft fingers wandered down his corded neck and over the breadth of his shoulder. Brown, taut skin covered the steely muscles of his arms and chest, and she loved the crisp black hair that curled from the base of his throat across the expanse of his chest and then tapered into a thin line down his hard, ridged belly. Grey reached out to grasp her wrist before she could venture lower. Natalya hadn't dared look before, but now she stared in fearful fascination.

"Oh, my," she whispered involuntarily. She had only seen this part of the male anatomy on statues and little boys. She understood that desire caused it to grow but had never imagined—

Her curious gaze heightened Grey's arousal past any point he'd known before. Her eyes seemed to scorch his tumescent manhood, and he lay down beside Natalya feeling as if he were venturing into highly dangerous territory. She came eagerly into his arms, pressing herself against the length of his body, running her hands over his muscular back. They kissed for long minutes before he turned her onto the pillows. His mouth traveled over the graceful curve of her throat, then lower. When Grey kneaded her breasts, the aching, tingling sensations intensified in her loins, and when he took one of her nipples in his mouth, she moaned aloud.

"Oh, please."

He caressed Natalya's back, her bottom, the tender insides of her thighs, all the while sucking gently at her pink nipples until she began to arch her hips against him. His lean-muscled thigh pressed gently between her legs and he could feel how wet and swollen she was. When he met her eyes again, a sudden rush of emotion surged up to join the cresting wave of his desire. Her response was so guileless and free, her body so soft and sweet fitted to his. When they kissed, more than passion flared between them.

Natalya was touching his buttocks, then one hand stole around and came in contact with his throbbing member. He flinched.

"You mustn't touch me; I can't bear it," he groaned.

"Unfair." She giggled softly, taking it in her hand. "How very big you are!"

"All for you, my incorrigible darling," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Will it fit?" Natalya was panting now as he rubbed against her. A core of hot, maddening sensation was concentrated there, and she felt as if she were about to explode, pausing, almost—

When Grey came slowly into her, the delicious aching heightened further. The feeling of him inside her, hard and hot and pulsing, was indescribable. Gently he pushed past the barrier of her maidenhood, and Natalya gasped at the sensation of fullness when he drove in to the hilt. Instinctively her hips arched to meet his thrusts. She looked up at Grey's face, splendid in the flickering candlelight. Tendons stood out in his neck, and she was pausing again, pushing against him, yearning for the release that came suddenly in shuddering, warm, euphoric waves that radiated from their fused bodies.

Feeling her contractions, Grey surrendered to his own burningly powerful climax. Damp with perspiration, their hearts thudding in unison, they shared a breathless kiss. Still joined, Grey curved a hand around her bottom and turned her with him on his side.

Natalya felt suddenly shy. "Thank you."

"Whatever for?" He reached out to smooth disheveled curls from her brow.

"You've made me a woman."

Grey laughed softly and ran an appreciative hand down the length of her body. "Darling Natalya, you were a woman long before tonight. You just needed the chance to prove it."

Smiling, she snuggled against his chest and murmured primly, "It's kind of you to say so." A moment later, she was sound asleep.

Part 3