Page 44

Andrew broke their kiss and dragged his mouth over her jaw and neck as his fingers brushed the folds between her legs and up across her clitoris, setting her alight. With two fingers, he pinched the sensitive spot and rolled it between his fingers. Her hips bucked, feet planted hard against the floor, and her hands clawed at his back in desperation for more.

He remembers. The thought tore through her as violently as a sob. Despite all the years apart and the hatred he must feel for her, he remembered the way she liked to be touched and the exact rhythm of his fingers that promised her release.

Her body arched again, demanding more while his free hand snaked up to shape the curve of her breast. His fingers slipped into the edge of her bodice and yanked it down as far as it would go. It was enough to free her breast and, as she cast her gaze down at the man lavishing attention on her, he lowered his head, closed his lips around her nipple, and sucked.

She cried out as her orgasm rolled through her, pulsing and pushing her along. Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer until her face was buried in the crook of his neck. Maybe she should’ve held something of herself back, but she was lost in the touch of the man who’d once known her so well. It was all she could do to hold on as he continued to circle his fingers, drawing out every last bit of her desire.

The muscles of her thighs quaked when his hand finally stilled. With her eyes closed, she could hear the pant of his breath. He’d always been like that, taking a quiet but proud pleasure in her enjoyment as they’d explored one another’s bodies with the care of two young people who believed they had a lifetime together stretching out before them.

But then he’d sailed off that last time, bound for the Caribbean, and everything had changed.

She opened her eyes and found Andrew sitting on the wood floor, his elbows braced on bent knees, staring hard at her. A chill that had nothing to do with the sweat cooling on her skin rocked her, and suddenly she knew what would come next.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I should’ve shown more restraint.”

A mistake. He thought this was a mistake. Something inside her chest twisted—whether it was her heart or her pride, it didn’t matter—as she realized that this hadn’t been about his desire or her pleasure or even the temptation found in the comfort of a long-lost lover.

She tilted her chin back, determined to push past the embarrassment. “Really? That’s your first concern?”

“A man should respect a lady’s wishes and—”

She put a hand up. “I was a more than willing participant in what just happened, and I’m certainly not delicate enough to break. I never was, or don’t you remember, Andrew?”

For all the guilt he seemed to be holding, his eyes flashed icy cold at the mention that this was neither the first time she’d found herself with his hands up her skirts nor the only time she’d enjoyed it.

“We shouldn’t have kissed,” he gritted out.

The words jabbed her low and true in the gut, because in that he was not wrong.

“That is, I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he said, not seeming to notice that her face had fallen. “A sailor should know discipline.”

She snorted. “Not according to some of the stories I’ve heard.”

“A captain should be able to control himself,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’m not the boy I was when we knew each other. I’ve changed, and I should know better. Becoming . . . involved in any way could compromise my ability to look out for your safety.”

Oh. He had changed so much, and yet in one fundamental way he would always be the same man. Even through his obstinate belief that she’d betrayed him, his first concern was her. He’d been protective of her from the first time they played together. Eight-year-old Caleb had shoved her off the side of the road, knocking her into a ditch. Andrew had jumped down to haul her up and then punched her brother on the arm so hard the bruise had been black and purple for weeks. It was juvenile justice—the kind that needed no explanation. Anyone who trifled with Lavinia would have to answer to Andrew. It had only been a matter of time before she was madly, head-over-heels in love with him.

She leaned back on her hands, aware that he kept glancing over to her still exposed breast and her disheveled hair. She’d spent many years sure of his anger for her, but she refused to be ashamed of his desire for her or her desire for him because he was still the Andrew she’d known.

“There are many things that might be broken between us, but sex was never one of them,” she offered, her lips crooking into a smile.

He shook his head and began to tug at his necktie to set it to rights. “As your handler—”

“As a woman, I can promise you that if you call me your asset one more time, I’ll scream.”

That lifted his lips a fraction, but they fell just as quickly.

“If I can’t think clearly around you, I could put you in danger,” he said.

“And holding on to your anger against me lets you see me or this mission any more clearly?” she asked.

After a long pause he shook his head. “No.”

“Then perhaps we call this evening what it was. Inevitable.”

Andrew had been prepared for many things when he’d walked into Mrs. Parkem’s, but ending up on the broad plank floor with a wanton Lavinia in his arms hadn’t been one of them. Now she sat there, exposed and unbound, as though defying him to look away and, weak man that he was, he couldn’t.

Ever since he’d learned that she was to be his last operation, he’d spent all of his energy focusing on not recalling the halcyon days of their youth. He was exhausted because it was an impossible task. How could any man will himself to forget his first love, first kiss, first everything?