Tamsyn was the one lady he desired.
Brave, beguiling Tamsyn.
Deftly, he patted her toes, wiping the sand from them.
But little by little, the cravat whispering over her skin became a caress, and his hand encircled her ankle to lift her foot and dry her heel, fingers lingering on the delicate bones.
This gesture had been meant as purely practical, but now the eroticism of the scene enveloped him, and Tamsyn must have sensed it too, as her breathing shallowed in harmony with his own.
Yet she did not draw back.
Dazedly, he tried to remember his rules, but unbidden, his touch swept her shin, abandoning the cravat for naked fingertips upon naked skin.
Soft, damp and satin smooth.
“Jack?”
His gaze flicked up and found passion, longing and surrender, storm-blue eyes following his fingers as they slid past her knee, beneath her skirts.
Thrumming desire besieged him and with his other hand, he grabbed a loose trail of dark hair that rested upon her shoulder, twirling it around his fist, drawing her toward him.
Inches separated their mouths and never had he anticipated anything more.
He’d tasted yesternight, so brief and sweet, but now he wanted deeper. Her spirit and soul.
“Jack,” she murmured again, his name a plea. And like the fellow in that mermaid’s tale, he was powerless to resist her lure.
Their lips met.
Tentative and supple.
He could tell she had little knowledge but it tantalised him, that bewitching mix of innocence and sensuality, and unlike before in the dark, this kiss wasn’t created from turmoil, but from mutual need and downright desire.
Hands grasped his shirt and he reciprocated, parting her legs and hauling her close, plundering her mouth. Tamsyn moaned against his lips, and his senses unravelled as she acquired knowledge fast, meeting his tongue, full breasts pressing to his chest, fist clutching at his nape.
Yearning tied his body taut and his hand moved up her thigh, so silky and–
A surge of cold engulfed his knees and he pulled away, panting.
“Th-the tide’s coming in,” she whispered, and assuredly, the stretching reach of a wave had drenched his breeches. “My feet are soaked again.”
Wrenching his hand from Tamsyn’s thigh, he pulled back to his haunches, for once unsure of himself.
“I should not have done that. I apologise.” Those were the wrong words to say to a woman, he knew that, but true nonetheless. Never did he kiss maidens and certainly not in such a manner, ferocious and needy.
She stood, her grey skirts falling to veil the agreeable view. He’d expected upset or bewilderment but was instead greeted by…acceptance.
“You are a rogue, are you not?” she stated, rearranging pins in her hair. “And rogues kiss women all the time. I expect you’ve kissed half a dozen since arriving in Cornwall.”
He should agree. Shrug. Cause her to feel as though she was one of many.
“My lips,” he said, rising to his feet, “have not roamed since I left London and met you. But…you are correct, I am not a constant creature.”
Smiling, she cupped his cheek, and he refrained from turning his face to kiss her palm.
“Many men seduce from behind masks with sham words, Jack, so I appreciate your sincerity. And I hear a sennight is your limit for a dalliance, so mayhap in a day or two, you would lose interest.”
For some reason, that irritated him. But he kept it to himself.
