Kimberly Nee - The McKenzie Brothers Page 7

  “Oh, but it does matter, Drew. Do you know what your glorified cabin boy said to me?”

  Cold fury welled up from the pit of his stomach as Heather repeated what Henry had said. Anger twisted into a tight fist in his gut. “That son of a bitch.”

  Her expression became quizzical as she stared up at him. “Drew?”

  “Excuse me for a moment,” he replied gruffly, turning away to head for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to give that boy what’s been long overdue.”

  She chased him down the narrow corridor toward the stairs. “What are you going to do?”

  “Make certain he thinks long and hard before he opens his mouth again.”

  Drew stormed topside, ignoring the crewmen who stopped what they were doing and stared. His eyes fixed on Henry, who was lounging against the bulkhead, smoking a cigar while everyone around him worked.

  The cigar went flying over the railing as Drew grabbed a fistful of Henry’s shirt. Drew lifted the man easily, Henry’s feet dangling a good six inches from the deck. Heather’s eyes widened, her gaze falling on Drew’s arm, watching with great interest as the muscles strained his sleeve. She held her breath, waiting for the fabric to split under the pressure.

  “I ought to break you in half, boy,” he snarled, oblivious to the terror filling Henry’s eyes. “You ever speak to Heather again. You so much as look at her, and I will crush you, do you understand? You have any little comments, you keep them to yourself or else I will crush you.” He glanced at his crew, all now staring at him with wide eyes and slack jaws. “I hear anything — anything at all — derogatory about Miss Morgan and there will be hell to pay! Am I clear?”

  Henry’s tanned skin went ashen. “Y-yes, sir.”

  With that, Drew sent him airborne with little effort. The bony man slammed into the deck in a heap, letting out a pathetic groan.

  Drew moved to stand over the bosun’s mate, struggling to control his raging fury. He wanted to kill Henry, wanted to pick him and break him in two. It’d been ages since Drew last lost his temper but he was close to doing just that. Dangerously close.

  He managed to tamp it down, turning to Bobby to say, “I want this sack of — ” He glanced at Heather. “ — that is — lock him in the hold. Tell Mr. Allen he is to make certain he does not get out. Put him in chains and keep him there until we reach New Jersey.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Bobby motioned to one of the other men to help as he bent over Henry and grabbed a skinny wrist.

  Drew crossed his arms as his temper threatened to erupt again. Tension corded his shoulders, spread an ache down along his back, and the only way to relieve it was to move.

  He crossed the deck toward Heather, who stared up at him as if she’d never seen him before. She hesitated, then came toward him. “I cannot believe you did that. In front of everyone, no less.”

  “I did it in front of everyone so they know damn well to watch their mouths,” he growled, his eyes still dangerously dark. “The next one just might feel the sting of the lash.”

  She opened her mouth, but then snapped it closed. Her gaze dropped. “Of course.”

  The last of his fury abated at her bowed head. He took a slow, deep breath, and linked his fingers with hers. “I promised you a last look at England, didn’t I?”

  Without waiting for her to answer, he pulled gently on her arm and led her to the stern of the ship. Heather braced against the railing, silent as she stood beside him, just staring out at the retreating land.

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. Drew glanced down to see tears sliding along her cheeks. The need to comfort her rose, so he released her hand to ease that arm about her shoulders.

  “I don’t know why I’m crying,” her voice was shaky as she swiped at her left cheek with one hand, “but I can’t help it.”

  “So cry,” he told her, drawing her into his arms. “I promise, I won’t tell anyone.”

  Her laugh emerged as a hiccup. “Who here would care?”

  He caught her under the chin, lifting her face to his. Her eyes were red, but now dry. He wanted to kiss her, to make her smile, but didn’t want to do it with an audience, and there were still plenty of men milling about. Leaning close, he murmured, “Shall we go below, Miss Morgan?”

  This time, her laugh was genuine. She tucked her head against him. “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

  Chapter Eleven

  After supper, Drew rose from his chair. “I need to go make sure the night watches are set. I’ll have Nick send down a bottle of brandy, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Heather nodded. “I’ll wait up.”

  “I certainly hope so.” He smiled boyishly and paused in the doorway. “By the by, take a look in the trunk at the foot of the bed.”

  He disappeared before she could question him. She laughed softly and shook her head. But, her curiosity was aroused, so she went to the trunk, kneeling to lift the lid.

  “He is going around the bend, that one is.” She laughed to herself. “Why should I — oh…oh my…”

  A neatly folded square of ice-blue fabric lay atop everything. She skimmed her fingers over the cool surface, then lifted. As liquid as water, the silk unfolded and she stared in wonder at the loveliest negligee she’d ever seen.

  She stood up, holding it up against her. The sides were open, silk ties halfway up on either side. The lacy neckline plunged almost to her navel and the long sleeves were gathered at the shoulder and wrists, but opened along the length.

  “Did he purchase this for me?” she whispered in disbelief.

  Glancing about, she saw a mirror affixed to the wall alongside the wardrobe. She hurried over to take a look at her reflection. Holding the negligee up once more, she smiled.

  She thought about his parting words. Apparently, he wished her to wear the negligee that evening. She smiled at her reflection once more.

  “Oh, why not?” she whispered, catching a glimpse of the neatly made bed in the mirror. “Why not?”

  The sudden knock made her jump, the negligee slipping from her grasp. “Damn it,” she muttered, crouching to snatch it up. “Who’s there?”

  “Nick, Miss Morgan. Cap’n McKenzie asked a bottle be brought down.”

  “Right.” She twisted toward the bed, where she shoved the negligee beneath one of the thick pillows, out of sight. Then, she straightened. “Do come in.”

  The door opened with a squeak and Nick entered, the bottle of brandy in one hand. “Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Morgan?”

  She shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”

  He set the bottle on the small table, then moved back to the door. “Evenin’, Miss Morgan.” He bobbed his head in her direction, and then was gone.

  The door clicked shut, and she waited to make certain he wasn’t going to return for any reason. However, his footfalls faded, so she pulled the negligee out. A sense of sinful daring darted through her when she brought the silk to her cheek. She smiled, then hurried to don it before Drew returned.

  Heather into the pile of soft pillows with a sigh. She’d never felt so deliciously wicked before as she did in that negligee. The silk was cool beneath her palm, more beautiful than any she’d ever touched. She never owned something so lovely, that made her feel so lovely as well. The negligee was designed to tease the senses by covering more than it displayed, all the while offering hints as to what lay below.

  A giggle rose to her lips as she shifted position, drawing one leg up so her foot was flat against the mattress. The negligee spilled over her flesh, exposing her leg from foot to thigh.

  She was still wriggling about, trying to find the perfect position, when the door suddenly opened and a low, “Dear God…” caressed her ears.

  Heather jumped. She hadn’t been expecting him to come into the room without warning and she felt incredibly foolish — being caught trying to find the perfect position. “Oh, you’re back.”

/>   Drew closed the door, then leaned back. His gaze crept over her, so heavy, it was like a caress in itself. Her first instinct was to cover herself, but she couldn’t quite make her hands see reason.

  However, the slightest movement, and the fabric poured from her, spilling over her skin like water. As she bent her leg, the silk slid apart, but when she moved to tug it back over her leg, Drew protested. “Don’t. Don’t cover up, Heather. You look beautiful. Absolutely stunning.”

  She froze, her hand hovering over the lace on the outside of her left thigh. He sounded so…primal, his voice husky and deep. She peeked at him through lowered eyelashes and her breath caught at the open desire shadowing his features. Drew moved closer, unwinding his cravat. He left it draped about his neck, then shrugged free of both his frock and waist coats.

  He tossed the cravat atop his waistcoat and smiled down at her, unbuttoning his shirt to ease it off. “Do you have any idea what you are doing to me at this very moment, Heather?”

  Judging by how much darker his eyes were growing and by the husky growl of his voice, she had a very good idea. Still, she remained silent, gazing up at him. He bent over her, his mouth slashing down over hers.

  She slid her arms about his neck to tug him closer. He didn’t resist, but eased his arms about her waist to twist the silk about her.

  A gentle tug on him, and he answered by stretching out beside her, turning her in his arms so they were face to face, hip to hip, chest to chest.

  His breath was hot against her already overheated skin. His hands roamed over the curve of her backside. From there, they slid back up beneath the silk to pull her into him. His fingers skittered over the back of one thigh, down to her knee. They closed about her and he lifted her leg to drape it over his thigh. She gasped as he pulled her into direct contact with him.

  Her back arched as his lips moved over her breastbone, raining soft kisses over the expanse of bared flesh, savoring her as if she were a rare delicacy.

  He crept lower, caressing the sensitive flesh of her right breast. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he moved further down, over her belly, and then he came back up. As he inched up, he brought the silk with him, bunching it about her waist.

  The cool caress on her skin sent a ribbon of unexpected, albeit wonderful fire scorching through her. When he made his way back, she was breathless, her head spinning wildly.

  He lifted his head to regard her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Vixen,” he murmured, smoothing her hair away from her cheek with one hand. “Beautiful vixen.”

  Her embarrassment fled, draining from her as her eyes met his. She felt so bold, very much like the vixen he professed her to be. She was glad she’d put on the negligee, ever so glad Drew had the consideration to even think of it.

  His fingers continued to stroke her thigh, bringing her skin to life with a series of tingling crackles. He brushed a sensitive spot just behind her knee and she shivered, a breathless laugh bubbling to her lips.

  She did a little exploring of her own, letting her hands skim up his back. His shoulders, his back, were as smooth as polished granite, and just as solid. There was very little give beneath her fingertips as she pressed into the firm flesh, against the tightly woven sinew of his body.

  He didn’t seem to mind her perusal, her roaming hands. Instead, he went still against her, nuzzling her and sighing softly as she, too, brushed sensitive areas. A patch between his shoulder blades, one below his buttocks, and still another along his neck – each caress of those areas caused him to shudder against her, sucking in his breath and laughing softly into her ear.

  Her lips roamed as much as her hands did. She was in no hurry as she nibbled at his ear, along the rough stubble of his neck, down one shoulder. Taking her cue from him, she did a little tasting of her own, her tongue caressing with the same curiosity as her lips, and a smile playing at her lips with each successive groan rising in his throat.

  Drew grasped the tie on her right side and tugged. As the silk parted, he eased his hand between the two panels, his long fingers inching their way toward her breast. His hand covered her breast, practically swallowing it, but his fingers were gentle as they grazed her nipple, which beaded almost instantly and she shivered once more.

  Tingles spilled through her, starting from the nipple he caressed, radiating outward. They grew stronger with each pass of his thumb as it slowly circled about that sensitive nub. She could feel a tightness starting deep in the pit of her belly, where it swelled into a dull, heavy ache within her core.

  He pushed the silk away from her, his dark head dipping down as his lips replaced his hand. The moist heat from his tongue sent a shockwave blasting through her. Her back arched at the sensations swirling through her like wildfire. A soft cry bubbled to her lips as she tugged at his hair, releasing it just as suddenly for fear she was hurting him.

  He lifted his head long enough to whisper huskily, “Don’t worry, love…it will take more than a little hair pulling to dampen my ardor.”

  Still, she released his hair to trail her fingernails down his back. His skin was so smooth, as smooth as the silk wrapped about her body.. She was lost in the whirling sensations he brought to life with his fingers, his lips, and his tongue. She loved what he was doing, never wanted him to stop his sensuous torture of her flesh.

  She ached to touch him as he touched her. It seemed so terribly brazen, but the need was there. A need she had no choice but to satisfy. Tentatively, she reached out, resting her hand against the solid rise of his chest. His skin felt so hot, she actually glanced down to see if her hand was burning.

  Feeling a bit braver, she slid her hand down over that solid muscle, through the crisp mat of dark hair, to the flat, hard plane of his belly. Her fingers brushed over his hipbone and she froze, ever mindful of that powerful part of him only a few inches from her hand. Did she dare?

  She wished she had the courage to continue her exploration. She wanted to let her fingers roam over him, the way his did over her. She wanted to make him feel even some of the sensations he sent whirling through her.

  But would that be too forward? Too improper? The image of him naked leaped into her mind, but she felt no fear of him now. All that remained was that blasted curiosity. Did she dare touch him?

  Absolutely.

  Hesitant at first, she quickly forgot her shyness at the feel of his warm skin beneath her fingers, solid and sleek.

  She jerked her hand away as he inhaled sharply.

  “Heather?” His voice was thick.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her face growing hot. “I didn’t mean to be so forward.”

  He chuckled softly, kissing her fully on the lips. “Don’t ever be sorry, love. Don’t ever worry about being forward or brazen. It’s quite all right. Touch me however you wish, Heather. Please, feel free. In fact, I insist upon it.”

  His husky whisper sent a shudder through her. Her courage rose and her fingers moved over his belly again, but halted at the fastenings of his trousers. She simply could not make herself loosen them. Her fingers refused to obey.

  He grinned and pulled away to strip off his trousers, letting them fall to the floor. He stretched out beside her once more, his fingers closing about her wrist as he guided her hand to him.

  She jumped at that first touch, at his sharp inhalation. But, he refused to release her hand. His eyes closed as her fingers brushed him and his sigh was nearly transparent in its breathiness, “Heather…”

  Silk teased her sensitive skin as he whisked the negligee from her body, sending it spilling off the side of the bed and onto the floor. He arched into her, shuddering as she tightened her hand about him.

  Her eyes snapped open as he eased a hand between her thighs and gently slid one finger inside her — a wicked fire sweeping through her from that most sensitive spot he expertly teased. The tension was an almost unbearable mix of pleasure and ache, a strong coil of need clenching tightly deep inside her. She wanted to cry out at the sheer bliss of it, but was afrai
d he would think he was hurting her.

  Hurting her? Hardly. It was the most wonderful thing — that slow, sensual stroking. Her toes curled as the flames swept up to the center of her being, engulfing her in a growing wave of pure, sweet pleasure.

  Her fingers twisted in his hair again, grabbing a handful of it, practically yanking it from his head. Her breathing was ragged and heavy as nerve after nerve fired in rapid succession throughout her entire body. That fire threatened to consume her if Drew did not do something about the raging inferno he’d ignited.

  Just as she thought she might burst into actual flames, his hand moved. She let out a small mewl of protest. He chuckled softly, whispering, “Patience, love. Patience. We have all night.”

  But as he spoke, he shifted against to settle between her thighs, gently nudging her legs apart to accommodate him. She shuddered involuntarily as he brushed up against her, up against that now all-too-sensitive part of her body.

  Drew smiled, holding himself above her, then leaned over to kiss her again. “Are you ready, then?”

  Am I ever, she thought feverishly. But she couldn’t vocalize the words, so she nodded instead.

  He began his entry slowly and she groaned softly, her fingernails sinking into his shoulders at his thickness filling her. She could not believe the ripples of pleasure shooting through her with the slightest movement. That fullness inside her snatched the breath from her lungs.

  He drew his hips back, then thrust.

  “Oh!” She broke the kiss, jerked back as her insides twisted and stretched. A hot sting swelled, spread through her. Then just as quickly, it ebbed, receding into memory.

  He went still against her, his breath short and ragged. Her eyes closed at the amazing wonder of him so full inside her. Still, it seemed there should be something…more to making love than sharp pain and that fullness. Shouldn’t there?

  “Drew?” she whispered.

  He lifted his head, gazing at her with smoked amber eyes. “Yes?”

  “Is that it?”

  He smiled. “Hardly, love.”