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Alex felt like a hypocrite, denouncing the ton and their values, yet unable to withstand their scorn. And Drake was so proud, their relationship so fragile; she could never confide her fears to him. He already despised women, especially noblewomen. She had finally made some small progress in convincing him that she was different. She did not intend to undo all that she had done.
If only he loved her; if only he had said the words. That would have made all the difference in the world.
She closed her eyes, tired, drained, but not sleepy. Every roll of the ship bothered her; even the bed felt odd beneath her after weeks of sleeping on the ground. She felt so out of sorts.
The door swung open, and Drake entered the cabin, closing the door behind him. His thoughts were still in a turmoil from the conversation with Smitty. How he longed for the peace that had temporarily been his and now seemed lost and unattainable.
“Drake?” Alex met his troubled gaze.
Perhaps peace could be had … for a brief interval.
Drake tossed his clothing aside, climbed into bed, and seized his wife in his arms.
“Don’t ask me any questions,” he whispered. “For I have no answers to give.” He stared into her concerned face and was gripped with a sudden irrational need to lose himself in her. “Don’t talk at all,” he growled, silencing her reply with his mouth. “No words, none. Just the feeling of your body next to mine, my body inside yours.” He parted her lips with his, possessed the sweetness of her mouth with his tongue. “I need you. Alex …”
He never finished the thought. Nor was it necessary. For Alex, hearing the raw emotion in her husband’s voice, wrapped her arms around him and helplessly gave him everything he wanted and needed from her. And he took it all, greedily, desperately, tearing the shirt from her body and plunging into her softness with every ounce of strength and passion he possessed. Alex cried out, but he didn’t slow, couldn’t stop. And it didn’t matter. At this moment all that mattered to Alex was that she loved him and that he needed her.
The ache inside Drake built to excruciating proportions, and still he battered her with his frantic thrusts. The craving was bottomless, endless, consuming him in a white-hot blaze that raged on and on, built higher and higher. He was lost in a red haze of sensation, unaware of anything but his rampant need to find relief from the throbbing ache in his loins, in his heart. He caught his breath, poised on the edge of a feeling so stark, so intense, that it was unbearable. And then he erupted wildly inside her, calling out to her hoarsely again and again, burying himself so deep inside her that he could touch her soul.
Drake collapsed against Alex’s small, soft body, reality filtering, back to him in gradual stages of awareness. His first coherent thought was that he had all but raped his wife, and his heart contracted with fear.
“Alex?” He raised himself up on his elbows, searching her flushed, damp face. Her eyes were closed, her lips swollen from his brutal kisses, and scratches caused by his beard’s abrasive contact stood out against the golden tan of her cheeks and her chin. His gaze dropped lower. Red marks of his passion marred the honeyed perfection of her shoulders and her throat.
He had never felt like such a bastard in all his life.
“Sweetheart …” His voice was hoarse, his hand shaking as he raised it to touch her face. “Alex?”
Alex opened her eyes slowly, barely able to focus. Her body was still awash with the wondrous aftershocks of her climax. She had never imagined such a fiercely tender union, never dreamed she could merge so completely with another person. Awed by what had transpired between them, she stared up at her husband’s handsome face in wonder.
“Princess, are you all right?” As his words penetrated her sensual haze, Alex became aware of the concern in his voice, the harsh regret on his face. Why did he look so remorseful when she felt so utterly blissful?
“All right?” she repeated in a whisper, totally at sea.
“Did I hurt you?” He traced his fingers over the scratches on her face, then leaned down t
o kiss each one of them. “I didn’t mean to. I would never …” His voice broke, and he rolled off her, because he knew if he stayed inside her he would make love to her again. Make love? Hah! He had brutalized her. And still she looked up at him with innocent adoration in her eyes.
For the first time Drake felt ashamed. Ashamed and unworthy.
“You didn’t hurt me.” Her soft voice interrupted his self-chastisement. “It was beautiful.”
He turned toward her, seeking the truth in her eyes. She smiled, snuggled into his arms. “Actually, I feel wonderful. Quite a bit better than I was feeling before you arrived.”
He cradled her against him, relief flooding through him like a great tide. “I never intended to take you so violently. I don’t know what came over me.”
She kissed one powerful bronzed bicep, wisely remaining silent.
He grinned, still heady with relief. “I must say that it was a welcome change to make love to you on a real bed, though.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I rather liked our crude bed of grass on the island.” She laughed. “It made everything feel rather … primitive and exciting.”
“Princess,” he wound her hair around his fingers, “I don’t think it can get more primitive than it just did.”
He could actually feel her blush against his chest, and he chuckled, all the fear and confusion temporarily forgotten. But he knew that they remained, held at bay by emotions that superseded them.
He lifted her face, cupped it tenderly between his strong hands. There was so much he needed to tell her before they docked in London, so much she would have to absorb.
So much she would be unable to accept.
