"Grant!" she yelped in a broken voice.
He couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying. He reined his mount around to her. Her horse plowed sideways into his. Both horses shrieked at each other in warning.
"Oh, for God's sake." He reached over and, gripping her under the arms, plucked her off her horse and into his lap in one sweeping motion. He snagged her dangling reins and whistled for the stable boy to retrieve her horse. Her body shook with laughter.
"Oh, my Lord. Did you see me? Was that not the funniest--?"
"Get down."
Her face fell and she laid her hands on his chest. "Let me try again. Please!"
Grant exhaled loudly. "Get down, and I'll help you up behind me."
And just like that, her face grew bright again. She slid down, immediately raising her arms to be lifted. He hid a smile, grabbed an arm, and helped her behind him. "Hold on to me."
She squeezed her arms around his torso and rested her head against him. He was certain he felt her smiling against his back.
Fifteen
Grant leaned back on a blanket, letting the late afternoon sun warm his face. He was full from their lunch of cold turkey, cheeses, and apples--though they'd skipped the two bottles of wine that had managed to find their way into the basket, no doubt under Ian's direction.
He was content to observe Victoria exploring the beach, running in the sand, fleeing from approaching waves or studiously examining shells. In fact, time had passed too quickly today. He hated to tear her away, but they needed to get back. He stood, stretched, and collected their blanket. A wind was whipping up and had driven all the locals back to the city. He looked down the strip both ways. Deserted.
"Put on your shoes and pack your things," he called. "We need to get back."
When she waved and ignored him, concentrating on something in the water at her feet, he muttered a curse, then started for the horse to pack up.
The basket clattered to the ground. There was no horse.
After rushing both ways up and down the beach, searching, he realized their transportation was gone, and--he'd wager--not coming back. Stifling a vicious curse, he returned to meet Victoria.
"Where is he?" she asked. She had her hand to her forehead and was scanning the shore.
He ran a hand through his hair. "Stolen? I don't know."
"What are we going to do?"
"We can walk back."
"If you think that's best." She seemed less than thrilled at the prospect. It had taken them two hours over rocky terrain to get here. She glanced down at the shoes in her hand. She was having trouble getting used to them again.
They'd also be walking through a patch of Cape Town he'd rather not venture into after dark. Escorting a beauty with no weapon. He swore under his breath. Just the way to protect her.
Yet when faced with his other choice--staying alone with Victoria until some people from town returned in the morning--he actually was considering it. She might be safer chancing the docks than a night with Grant.
"There are some bathing huts in the next cove. We'll stay there until someone returns."
Victoria exhaled in relief. "Thank you! I wasn't looking forward to blistering my feet." Her tone was animated. In fact, she appeared so excited about the situation, he wondered if she'd untied their only transportation. He narrowed his eyes. Would she do that?
He gathered up their basket, then led her past the wall of rock separating the two beaches. Since the tide had risen, they had to wade past, and the waves crested up to her hips, but she slogged through.
Grant found the first three shelters in the row of brightly colored huts locked, but on the fourth, the door eased open. When he ushered her in, she tripped on her sodden skirts.
"Are you all right?"
"There's a reason women shouldn't wear all this," she said in a bright tone, though she was shivering.
"You need to get out of that." He noted he sounded less than pleased with that proposition.
"Sutherland?" she said in a small voice.
He exhaled loudly. "Turn around and I'll undo the buttons." She twisted around and lifted her hair. Each button revealed more creamy skin, lightly dewed with water. His hands were unsteady by the time he was finished. "Done." His voice was low.
She stood and slipped the dress down her body. This time he didn't turn away. He acted as any other man on earth would when confronted with an enticing woman disrobing, admiring her, wanting her. When she wore no more than a shift, he forced his eyes away to look for something warm she could wear. The best he could find was a pile of folded towels. He handed a couple to her. "Dry off."
She nodded and took the offered cloths, drying her legs and stomach. He never took his eyes from her intimate task as he forced off his boots, throwing them into the corner, and stripped off his soaked shirt to dry his chest. Though uncomfortable, he decided to leave the trousers on. Grant sat on the small floor space, resting his arm on an upright knee, and tried not to think of the fact that he was alone with a nearly unclothed Victoria.
She wrapped a cloth over her shoulders, spread their blanket on the ground, and then sank back down next to him. She rooted through their basket and brought out one of the bottles of wine.
He cast her a chiding look, but when she couldn't open it, he helped and even shared it with her. They sat shoulder to shoulder, passing the bottle back and forth, behaving like the very people he sought to avoid by staying here.
After turning it up a last time, she stowed the bottle, then ducked down and butted her head under his arm. He raised it, wondering what the hell she was doing, and as soon as he did, she settled in under it.
He stiffened, but let his arm rest around her. She laid her head on his chest. And it felt natural. Right.
"I love listening to your heart. It's so strong and calm. Wait, it sped up." She looked up and smiled.
A kind of fatalism crept over him. They were in a cabin, separated from the rest of the world. Fate, destiny, or Victoria had conspired to situate them together here in this isolated place. Grant was tired, so tired of fighting what now struck him as inevitable.
"Will you kiss me?" she whispered against him.
What man on earth would fight this? Why try? Ian had asked him that. Grant had given him an answer, but right now, with Victoria's soft breath fanning across his chest, he'd be damned if he could remember it.
She moved to her knees before him and caught his gaze with her own. Before he'd consciously decided to, he reached out and stroked the curve of her cheek, and from his tiniest touch, the merest whisper of contact, her lips parted and her eyes slid closed. She trembled and her breasts pouted just before him, with her nipples tight against her damp shift.
He groaned low in his throat and ran his thumb over her lips. They felt so moist and soft, he knelt in front of her and replaced his touch with his own lips. She sighed against his mouth, the sound making his erection jerk below them in a sudden flood of heat. Her belly teased him, pressed against the steel of his arousal.
Then Grant had his hands on the back of her head, his tongue sweeping in, urgently, wanting to punish her for making him want her so badly. Without thought, he palmed one nipple through the cloth, and she moaned softly. He brushed the straps from her shoulders, baring her, and when he took both her breasts in his hands, she lapped her tongue against his. She moaned again, and her fingers lighted on his chest, scratching their way down his torso. "Teach me," she whispered against his lips as she dipped down into his trousers to find his swollen flesh, and grasped him.
Now. Now he remembered...deep down, he'd never truly wanted to fight it.
Something--locked away in him--snapped. With a defeated, brutal groan, he pulled her eager hand away and laid her down, pulling her legs to him, spreading them.
"Grant?"
"You want me to teach you? I'll show you something I think you'll like."
He inched her shift up her legs, kneading her thighs and bending down to her.
"I don't know--"
He growled against her inner thigh, "I know." But he sensed her continued hesitation. "Do you trust me?"
"But I thought you would--" She cut herself off. "Yes," she whispered. "I do."
His voice was raw. "Then let me kiss you."
Her hands went from holding his face at bay, to threading her fingers through his hair. He groaned again, and then, as he'd fantasized for weeks, he kissed her blond curls, slowly tasting her, merely outlining her sex. She cried out in pleasure, then panted.
Her taste drove him to a thoughtless state of desire, but he fought the need to set upon her like some starved beast. Using his thumbs to part her to his greedy mouth, he ran his tongue against her, stiffening it in her.
He dimly noticed her pulling him closer to her as he licked and savored, growling against her in frustration because she still wasn't open enough to him. He shoved her shift to her waist and held her legs wider. She gasped. "Grant!"
"Trust me," he grated as he clutched her thigh, placing it on his shoulder. There'd be no barriers between him and the taste of her on his tongue. With more force, he seized the flare of her backside to lift her. He'd dreamed about her curves, taut yet lush, and now they melded perfectly into his splayed, gripping fingers.
She grasped his shoulders, his hair, cupped his face and grew wetter beneath his lips. Her body began quivering, her legs clenching around him as she neared her climax.
"Oh, God," she bit out as she panted. "Grant, don't stop. Please--" As she cried that word, the pleasure took her, with a swift, pulsing power that awed him. Her back arched and her hips undulated, pushing her sex to his lips. Greedier still, he wrung her until she went boneless, lying dazed on the blanket beneath them.
He dared to move, and nearly spilled his seed when his cock pushed against his trousers. He must have groaned in pain because she was on her knees before him, naked and still quivering, bringing her breasts back against his chest and her hands on him. He was so close.
She undid his trousers with quick fingers. Then without hesitation she took him in her palm, her fingers tightening around him. He bucked against her grasp and almost came instantly. There he was in their makeshift bed, on his knees, barely freed from his trousers.
"Don't touch me. This was only supposed to be for you."
"Do you think I could actually stop myself," she whispered, "from feeling you as you are now?"
He groaned. "You don't understand--"
"So hard, so heavy." She stared at him as though spellbound. "All I want in the world is to touch you."
She stroked his length. The need for release became a maddening pressure. There was no stopping this. No control...
"Don't look, Victoria," he bit out. As though it would be less wicked if she didn't see him. Would the sight of his seed spilling out of him frighten her? "Don't watch me...."
No, she was bold. The question no longer mattered.
Vulnerable. She was about to see him at his weakest. She mastered him with just her fingers working over his throbbing skin.
She pulled him and put her lips against his neck. Her tongue flicked out, and she breathed against his skin. His hands shot to her breasts, grasping them, cupping her, and it was she who moaned as he felt the beginning tremors.
When his release rushed through him, he shouted out from the force of it. Violent. Pumping out into the space between them as he ground his hips into her hand. He wasn't weak. She made him feel like a god.
In seconds, they lay together, her head cradled on his chest. Though the moon had risen, impossibly bright, and bands of white flooded in through cracks, he was asleep in an instant.
Sixteen
After waking, Grant lay with closed eyes, feeling more contented than he could remember. His body was pleasantly warmed, every muscle relaxed more than in years. His eyes slid open. He wasn't dressed? No, he lay naked under the morning sun trickling in, with Victoria resting her head on his chest.
He tensed as memories flooded his mind, exciting slivers of what they'd done. He'd never experienced more pleasure with another woman. Never imagined it could be like last night. And he hadn't even made love to her.
His brows drew together. No, he hadn't made love to her, not like she deserved, with pretty words and lingering kisses. He threw an arm over his face. Instead, he'd let her masturbate him until he spent. Disgust crept over him. Disgust for himself. For his actions. For hurting Victoria even if she didn't realize it.
His behavior with her was deplorable, and all he could think of was the next time he could taste her. He'd been right about himself. Once he crossed the line, it would be over for him. He was not the same man anymore, and he wondered if he could ever reclaim all that he'd worked so hard to garner.
He thought of his brothers, how they'd lost control. After one night with Victoria, he knew two things. He'd lost his restraint. And he didn't think he regretted it enough.
She obviously didn't either, because when she woke, she sighed happily against him. When he didn't move, she sat up and the towel bunched around her hips. Her hair was a wild tangle and her cheeks were pinkened. In fact, she was lovelier than he'd ever seen her. Being thoroughly touched suited her. She stretched her arms above her head like a cat in the sun, lifting her small, perfect breasts with the movement.
Wait..."You're bruised."
She looked down to see the faint smudges marring her breasts. She shrugged and then looked over his body, all of his body, with a satisfied grin on her face. Only then she didn't look satisfied at all.
"Victoria, I've hurt you." As clinically as he could, he touched her breast. "I can see where my fingers were. This doesn't hurt?"
She scrunched up her lips and shook her head. "Not in the least. And I kind of like it...a map of where your fingers have been." It was as if she purred the last.
Could this get worse? He was already ashamed of his treatment of her. He'd let her fondle him to release on the ground. He'd pleasured her with his mouth. He'd done things with her that he'd never even done with a courtesan.
She tugged at the corner of the blanket covering his lap, and God help him, he grew harder. When she leaned forward, he turned to meet her halfway, knowing the futility of fighting something he still craved so badly. No matter how much shame he struggled with. He was about to start the madness again....
They both froze at the sound of children splashing in the water nearby. Victoria's eyes went wide, and she clambered to her feet to dress in her wet, sandy clothes. He followed, then straightened the little shelter, wadding up his seed-stained blanket. Though it was summer, they exited the hut without notice. No one saw Grant toss away the blanket into a rubbish bin.
They found the tide was low, and easily walked to the neighboring cove. Immediately, Victoria cried, "Oh, look, Grant!" She pointed out their horse and clapped happily.
The moment Grant spotted the local man leading the horse, looking for the owner, he had a flash impression in his mind. Himself, with the reins, leading the horse to a driftwood log. Victoria, excited about the beach, bending over in front of him to remove her shoes, then turning to beckon him down to the water with a saucy smile and her arms wide. Him, dropping the reins, following like a stallion after a mare....
He cursed his stupidity the entire way back to the hotel, ignoring Victoria's happy chatter and fighting not to react to the scent of her hair as the wind blew it forward over his shoulder. At least on the horse, he didn't have to look at how wanton she appeared. But when they dismounted in front of the hotel, he saw her face was flushed and her lips lush.
Men loitering on the steps outside stared at her with a palpable hunger. Victoria was blithely unaware. One of the men whistled, and she turned with a confused smile. His whistle roughened into a hiss of breath between his teeth.
Grant shot him a look that said he'd kill if the man came closer.
He responded, "Hell, guv. No need to want our blood fer lookin'."
Another added, "I'd say the man don't k
now how to share. Should we teach him how?"
Grant's voice was low with scarcely controlled fury. "I don't share what's mine." The men backed off as though he'd just bared his teeth at them.
The thought of another man's hands on her, the rage that boiled in him at the thought...Where was his notorious detachment? He felt everything so sharply now. She'd brought him more pleasure than he could possibly have dreamed, and he'd lost control. Completely. If he lost his restraint, here, now, what then? Everything would slip, everything he worked so hard to manage would come crumbling down.
He was exactly what he'd abhorred all these years: a man who couldn't control his vices. And she was a vice he'd grown addicted to. He realized that now. Grown men didn't miss a woman after mere hours. A man like him shouldn't get a sick, twisted feeling in his gut from the thought of her with another.
The situation didn't help. He'd compromised her--not fully, but, Christ, it was enough--and he would have to marry her. She was a lady--the granddaughter of an earl. He should have had more restraint. He was sure he would have if he'd never placed his hands on her.
Retrogressing, following the call of his blood. The call that had nearly destroyed one brother. And had killed the other.
Grant looked miserable, but Tori couldn't despair. She felt too heavenly, replaying visions of him kneading her body and kissing her skin. Surely nights like the last didn't happen between just anyone. And now he'd escorted her directly up to her room. She teased herself that it wasn't the men outside they'd just passed but his unwillingness to leave her that prompted it.
She put the key into the lock. Without opening it, she turned back to him. "Don't you want to kiss me good-bye?"
The anguished look was back. This wouldn't do. She wanted him to look at her as he did when he was levered above her. As though he'd lost reason in his need to kiss her, in his desperation to put his lips on her skin.
"You need to change, and get dry." He reached past her and opened the door.
Inside, Cammy was up. Tori flushed. Was what she'd just enjoyed written all over her face?