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“Not to punish you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. Spoke to her hair. “You must believe I didn’t do it to hurt you.”
She wanted to. But none of it made sense.
Before she could ask, he was talking. “The Siren. Beautiful women who could make a man throw himself into the sea. Temptation incarnate. Singing men’s deepest desires, making the impossible seem possible. They could make you believe your dreams had come true.”
“And poor Odysseus, stumbling across the wicked women,” she quipped. “If only he’d taken the long way round the island.”
He laughed, the low rumble a beautiful temptation. “Ah, but Odysseus didn’t stumble across them. He went looking for them, knowing what he was in for.” He looked down at her, his amber eyes glittering in the lantern light. “Like all the rest of us, he thought he could have a taste and not be lost.”
The story had Hattie thrumming with pleasure, fairly vibrating with desire for him to touch her. A Siren in his own right. And then he said, “It’s an apt name for a ship of yours.”
“Is it?” she asked. “I rather thought it seemed the opposite.” He tilted his head in silent question, and she said, “I am not exactly known for my feminine wiles. I lack the skill of temptation entirely, it seems.”
He gave a little grunt. Acknowledgment? Disagreement? It was impossible to know. “Hattie . . .” he said, her name trailing off into a low growl. “You cannot possibly think that. I’ve never in my life been tempted the way you tempt me.”
“And you have a keen fondness for sweets,” she quipped.
He didn’t laugh. “It’s the truth.”
“That’s very kind.” She smiled, though she didn’t feel it. “But you didn’t cede to it, and so you’ll certainly allow that I could be a better temptress. And I’ve leagues to go before I approach Sirenhood.” She laughed, small and self-deprecating. “No man will ever toss himself into the sea for a shot at good old Hattie.”
“That’s bollocks,” he said, and there was something in his growl that she’d never heard before.
“Odysseus had to have himself tied to his mast to avoid the temptation of the Sirens. Tighter and tighter, until he was bleeding from the ropes and screaming for his men to release him, so he could get to them. They tempted him to death.” She stepped back, out of his arms, away from him, knowing she wouldn’t be able to do battle with him again. Not now that she knew him. Not now that she wanted him so much. Not now that she loved him so much.
She would lose her boats, and she would lose her business.
But that seemed minuscule compared to losing him. And she’d never even had him.
She met his eyes and said, to herself as much as to him, “I couldn’t even tempt you to pleasure.”
She turned to leave, to find her way off this boat, away from him. But he came for her, her name on his lips, his fingers capturing hers and spinning her back as he caught her face in his hands and kissed her, long and lush and frantic, as though he was afraid that if he didn’t, she might disappear forever.
Hattie gasped at the sensation, and he pulled her tighter, stealing the sound, licking over her lips and claiming her mouth in long, slow, lovely sweeps until her knees were weak and she was loose in his arms and drunk with him. Only then did he release her lips—without releasing her—trailing kisses over her cheek to her ear, where he said, hot and devastating, “You tempted me. You have tempted me every second since I woke in your carriage, tied in knots.” He bit her earlobe hard enough to sting, then sucked on it until she clung to him. “You’ve tempted me to pleasure a thousand times. I’ve wanted to strip you of your clothes a thousand times. To lay you naked under the sun and the moon and the stars and worship you until we’ve both forgotten our names.”
She was wild with the words. With the way they set her aflame. “I thought you didn’t want me. I thought you didn’t care . . .”
He bit her neck this time, a sharp punishment chased with the pleasure of his slow tongue. “Lack of want does not leave a man hard for days.”
“Were you?” She swallowed, simultaneously embarrassed and thrilled. “Hard for days?” It wasn’t possible.
“I’ve been hard since the first time I heard your voice.” One hand roamed down her side, pulling her to him by the waist. “Since the first time I touched your body.”
She pulled back to look into his dark, promising eyes. “Really?”
He raised a brow. “Are you happy to hear of the affliction?”
“Yes.”
He laughed at her instant reply. “Well then, yes, Hattie. I was hard with the thought of you, with being inside you, with coming inside you, with staying inside you forever. And I wanted you back so I could tell you just how much I wanted you, and just how little of a chore making love to you would be.”
She smirked. “That sounds quite excellent.”
“I am happy to have had a chance to delight you, my lady.” He pulled her close for another kiss. “But you should know, Odysseus was a hero. And I am not.” And another. “He wanted to resist. I don’t. I want it all. I want every inch of you. It’s all I’ve thought of since the moment you left. Since before.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Christ, Hattie. I want all of it. I would happily be tied to a mast if it meant I could have a taste of my deepest fantasies. Which all feature you.”
She went hot at the words, at the vision they heralded, of this magnificent man, tied to the mast not three feet away. Her gaze flickered to it, and when she looked back at him, he groaned his pleasure. “Fuck, Hattie. You’re imagining it. I can see it in your eyes.”
She looked to him, knowing she should deny it. Instead, she said, “I am quite good with knots.”
He exhaled a long “Ahhhh . . .” And then, impossibly, flashed her a dark grin. “Prove it.”
Her eyes went wide. “You cannot mean . . .”
He pulled her close. “The other night, it was for you. But tonight. This . . . what if I told you it was for me?” The words became a low rumble. “Tie me to the mast, Siren; let me hear you sing.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
It wasn’t forever, she knew. She kept telling herself that as he backed away from her, without taking his eyes off her.
She followed without hesitation. It wasn’t forever, she reminded herself, again and again, because this man—this magnificent man—was making her feel like forever might be possible. Like their past and her family’s actions and the fact that he was in the way of all of her dreams didn’t matter in the least, because he was about to let her take her pleasure in ways she’d never imagined.
Never imagined, because she’d never even known such a man, such a moment, was possible. But they were possible. They were possible right now, as he stripped his greatcoat away with a lack of care, letting it fall to the deck.
She cast a look about the ship, grateful for the lowered center deck and the darkness of the docks, emptied of people that night. And still, she said, “We could be seen.”
“Unlikely, as someone has cleared the docks for this particular temptation.” He dropped his topcoat at his feet, revealing his knives, the leather holster crisscrossing his vest and the lawn shirt beneath. Unable to stop herself, Hattie reached for him; he froze as her fingers traced the leather straps.
