Sexual Hunger (24 page)

Maria took two faltering steps in the deep, loose sand and fell flat on her face.

“Maria! Are you all right?”

“Perhaps we should go along to—”

“Stop it! Leave me be!” Her face flushed the color of her suit as she struggled to her feet. Not even away from the lifeboat, and already she’d floundered! Sand had filled her pumps and crept down her cleavage, and her upswept hair felt so loose it might come unpinned at any moment. Why would the dashing Jason Darington—or the swaggering Johnny Conn—even look at such an incompetent, sand-matted woman who’d sprawled on the beach when there was nothing to fall over?

Because she’s a damsel in distress. What man can resist such a helpless, vulnerable creature?

Maria blinked. Perhaps appearing confident and in control wasn’t her best ploy.

With a naughty chuckle, she tore open her new jacket, trying not to care that its mother-of-pearl button flew askew, to be washed away by a wave. She speared her fingers into her hair and mussed it more. Kicked off her pretty pumps and tossed them back to the perplexed pair of guardians who watched her warily. Afraid for her sanity, no doubt.

But what good was sanity? If she didn’t take Jason home with her, unhappiness would eventually lead her down the lonely road to dementia anyway. A laugh escaped her as she wiggled her toes in the wet sand. Then she lifted her skirt, focused on the shanty, and slogged awkwardly toward it. “Ahoy, there!” she cried in a husky voice. “Anybody home?”

She negotiated a few more yards of the beach. A pair of sandpipers eyed her, snatched at a morsel worth sparring over, and then skittered farther down the beach.

“Anybody here?” she repeated more urgently. “I—I’ve washed ashore! Lost my way! Help me, please!
Anyone?
”

Was that the clinking of bottles she heard? The sorry little shack had glass left in only one of its windows, and the wooden steps leading to its weathered door sagged to one side. If Johnny Conn had plundered three laden ships, why would he be holed up in such a dilapidated place? Maria stopped a short distance from the shack’s entrance and glanced over her shoulder.

Rubio, O’Keefe, and the little boat had vanished. She was on her own.

If her brother had mistaken the vibrations from this place, what did it matter if she hollered? If Jason wasn’t here—

What if someone else is? Some shiftless vagrant you’ve awakened with your noisy approach? By now he’s had time to grab his gun and—

A shot rang out. Maria screamed.

“Halt in yer tracks! Who goes there?” A scuffling noise came through the gaping windows, along with a cantankerous amount of cursing.

This wasn’t how she’d planned it. Should she turn and run?

“Answer me, damn it! I knows yer out there, and I knows yer up to no good!” The shack’s tenant fired a second time and the remaining pane of glass shattered. He swore some more, and then two forearms poked out of the empty window frame on the far side of the door.

Such ragged, dirty shirtsleeves should have warned her what she was up against, but it was the pistol dangling from one hand that held her attention.

“Drop yer gun, fer chrissakes!” she cried, mimicking his thick, antiquated speech. “If ye’ve not got a spot o’ rum fer me parched throat, then ta hell with ye, man! Plenty o’ other places fer a lady the likes o’ me to find what she needs!”

“
Lady,
are ye? Then wot the hell’re ye doin’
here?
” With a final effort, the owner of that whiskey voice hoisted himself up to the window casement. He stared at her with eyes that seemed to spin, even from this distance.

Maria’s hand flitted to her chest, and then to the jeweled butterfly. The vagrant who gaped at her sported no jaunty pirate’s bandanna. His untrimmed hair and dirty shirt weren’t much to go on, either. Yet she studied him, hoping…“Jason?” she demanded. “Jason Darington, of the Wildwood estate near London?”

A rude chortle escaped him. He leered at her as he tipped a bottle to his lips. “Ye must be drunker’n
me,
wench, if ye’re believin’ I be anything but the dregs o’ society. But I got a mighty sword pokin’ outta me pants! Wanna see ’im, girlie-o?”

She fought a snicker. Edged closer, hoping for a better look at his bearded face. “Johnny Conn, then? The pirate what’s got the law cursin’ yer bloody name?”

His bottle slipped from his hand as he gawked at her. “Who’re
you
to be sayin’ that?” he demanded in a hoarse voice. “Johnny Conn’s a
legend
—nothin’ more’n the thin air he comes and goes from.”

Ah. So she’d struck a sore spot. But she reveled in the thundering of her pulse—in her heart’s recognition of the man camouflaged by the grime and his liquor. “I’s heard Conn has a way with the ladies,” she teased, standing more erect to thrust out her bosom. “But yer not him, obviously. The pirate I’m seekin’ has the reputation of a dandy, not a man who lives with the pigs. Ye’ll not be gettin’ none of
my
favors, boyo.”

She pivoted in the sand, nearly tripping over the silk skirt that clung to her legs. Would he fall for the line she’d cast? Would he come out of that shack—or sink back into his bottle? And why was he in such a state? She’d imagined the cocky, flamboyant pirate who’d posed for that
WANTED
poster, not the has-been who now belched from the window.

“Stop, or I’ll shoot ye!” he bellowed. “State yer business here!”

Maria paused, her back to him. Surely Rubio and O’Keefe could hear what he was saying and assess if she were in real danger. But she saw no one in the thicket of trees…no sign of the lifeboat. Nothing on the beach except forked branches of driftwood and gulls searching for food. She turned slowly, hoping the right words came. “I’d hoped to meet the illustrious Johnny Conn,” she replied in a brazen voice, “on account of how me…puss is hungerin’ fer a mighty sword to fill ’er. I could make a man of ye, boyo, but yer not my type. Too nancy by half.”

“Nancy?” he shot back. He lumbered to the doorway, holding on for support as he squinted at her. “
Nancy,
ye say? Show me yer tits—if yer woman enough! Make it worth me while, damn it!”

Now
that
was the sort of thing Johnny Conn—or Jason—would say! Maria inhaled to control the pounding of her heart. It was too late to back out of this randy cat and mouse. But she had to play for keeps. “Drop yer pistol and I’ll give ye a peek!” she countered. “If there’s a damn bullet hole in one of ’em, they won’t be a matched set fer the next fella! And ye can’t grab me arse if yer holdin’ a gun, now, can ye?”

He took a hesitant step forward, gawking as though recognition might dawn. His chest heaved with exertion—or was it need?—and as he spat, still studying her, he tossed the pistol aside. “Hell with it,” he muttered. “If the law sent ye to set me up, ye’ll be worth the trouble. Ain’t seen titties like that fer many a blue moon. Jesus, woman!”

She had him where she wanted him—or at least on his way. Maria shrugged out of the jacket, exaggerating her motions so her loose breasts jiggled at him in their black lace casing. “Like wot ya see?” she taunted as she shook them. “Now—gimme a peek at that sword yer braggin’ on. Matter of fact, git outta all yer clothes, boyo. Yer gonna take a bath afore y’even git yer hands on these two darlin’s.”

When she grabbed her breasts from either side and squeezed them together, her prey moaned and swore in the same breath. Hastily he peeled away his dirty shirt, and as he dropped his pants, Maria turned away. She swayed across the beach…unfastened her skirt and let it flutter to the sand…flashed her bare bottom and silk-stockinged legs at him as she approached the ocean.

His ragged breathing accelerated behind her…he gasped as he followed her into the chilly waves. When they were knee deep, Maria untied the camisole’s laces, then gripped the two sides of it—

“Turn yerself around and stand still, damn it! If I grab ’em, I’m a goner.”

Maria’s heart flew into her throat. Jason had teased and tormented her that way, playing rough-and-tumble pirate! Were Rubio and Eric O’Keefe still watching? They were about to get an eyeful, but she was beyond caring…even if, when she got a closer look, this man was
not
Jason.

And what’ll you do then? If you expose yourself, you can’t apologize for mistaking his identity! You’re in it up to your…hot little puss now.

Maria turned slowly, and then yanked the two halves of the camisole. Her pursuer’s eyes nearly bugged from their sockets—and yes, his erection swung high and hard between his muscular thighs. She knew that body! Eyes closed or open, daylight or dark, she’d recognize Jason Darington—and here he was! In the flesh! Wanting her so badly his hands curled as though he were kneading the soft breasts he’d always worshipped. It was the answer to her prayers!

Not that religion was on either of their minds.

Maria stood stock still while the waves lapped at her knees. Her nipples pointed at him like persistent little fingers as she stood like a wanton, in her black garter belt and lace stockings, with her camisole flapping in the breeze. He gazed hungrily at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his desire. Did he recognize her? Or did he just want to?

Do you think he really cares? He’s a man! And he’s got a very big itch to scratch.

It was an alluring itch, too. Thick and randy, his cock gazed at her with its tiny eye. A droplet of juice dripped off its end. “Jason?” Maria breathed. “You and Blackbeard—do you remember me at all?”

He frowned. Studied her again, now that she’d dropped her coarse, accented speech. “I don’t know what yer talkin’ about, lass, but I wants what I sees. I’ll beg ye fer it, but ye’d better not be teasin’ me or we’ll both be sorry.”

He shook his head as though to clear it. Still gazing at her breasts and thighs, Jason stepped into the oncoming wave to let it wash over him. He rubbed his face and body all over, both to sober himself and to be clean enough to deserve her. And when the cold water ebbed Jason stood before her, dripping wet and still so erect she had difficulty not grabbing his familiar, magnificent cock.

“Oh, I’m not teasing,” she rasped. “You might not know me, but I guarantee I could
never
forget the likes of
you,
Lord Darington!”

He backed away warily. “Darington. Man by that name owns a shippin’ company, headquartered in Charleston—”

“He’s your father! And—and he has recently passed on, Jason,” she blurted. This was
not
the way she’d planned to restore his memory, but what else could she say? “I’m sorry to inform you this way, but
you
are now his heir! And your twin brother, Jude—”

“Ye think I
care
about such nonsense?” he demanded brusquely. “All I want is to plunge between yer legs and fuck the livin’ daylights outta ye, lass! And then I’ll want to do it again! So why’re we standin’ here like we don’t know what comes next?”

She stepped toward him. “My name’s Maria—”

“Is it, now? And ye think I give a flyin’ fig about—”

He was on her then: threw his arms around her as though she might be a figment of his inebriated imagination, might float away if he didn’t hold her so tightly. Or
was
he drunk? His lips certainly knew their way around hers. As he ground himself against her, his breath came in short gasps with each intense kiss, until he settled in for a very long one. He tasted of rum and fermented fruit, a heady combination that made her suck his tongue into her mouth and hang on.

As the surf surged around them they kissed hard, as though they were opponents rather than lovers. Jason’s erection poked her thigh as he grabbed her ass and rubbed his chest against her breasts. “Let me in,” he muttered. “Damn it, wench, I won’t wait no longer!”

He trotted her beyond the waves and together they landed on the wet, packed sand. Jason grappled to be on top and Maria opened herself, reveling in the way he took what he wanted without apology or question. “Ride me, then!” she challenged. “You’re the one who claims he can fuck the living daylights out of—oh! Oh God, Jason—Jason!”

He plunged deep inside her and she spread wider to accommodate him, to glory in the reunion of their bodies and souls. Her hips bucked upward as he straddled her, drilling her with a piston that got hotter and harder with each entry. “I—don’t know—who ye are or how ye think ye know me,” he rasped as he drew closer to climax, “but I’ll not be fergettin’ this fuck anytime soon. Jesus, woman—yer squeezin’ the jizz outta me—”

On impulse, Maria shoved him up and to one side. It was
her
turn to mount this wild pirate and hang on until they both collapsed, quivering, in the sand. Her effort caught Jason by surprise—

And so did the driftwood log.

She saw what was about to happen but couldn’t stop in time. When his head hit the petrified tree trunk with a sharp
thwack,
he cried out—yet it only fanned his flames! “Wicked wench! Tryin’ to knock me outta me misery, are ye?” he panted. “I’m gonna shoot you fulla my—”

“Jason! I can’t wait—can’t stop—” Her hips spasmed crazily, driven by the clenching of her inner muscles. Her back arched as she drove them faster, more frantically, toward sweet release. The first shot of his wetness made her scream and lose all pretense of control.

Together they rolled and tussled until all their spasms were spent. Maria collapsed on him, aware only of his animal strength—the body she’d longed for—as the waves lapped around their legs. They caught their breath, neither of them letting go.

Had she done a foolish thing? She’d been in such a mad rush to couple—to control him—she hadn’t noticed the log until it was too late. What if he became totally lost now? Unable to recall
anything
about his previous privileged life? Maria lay with her face on his chest, inhaling the salty scent of man and sea…praying her adventure hadn’t come to an end before she reclaimed the Jason she loved.

“Christ,” he muttered. “I’ll have one helluva goose egg, but it’ll be worth it. Maybe you knocked some sense into me.”