Chapter 25
25
A fter a delicious dinner of mutton, and a stroll around the deck with Gibb, Isabella retired to her cabin. He’d kissed her at the door—his magical lips claimed her mouth, and she did her best to match his fervor, not wanting the kiss to end, wishing to remain in his arms forever. This day had been one of the best she’d ever had, and it was ever so difficult to say goodnight at her door, but as always, she had acted the proper Englishwoman and done so.
Earlier today, it had taken nerves of steel to summon the courage to apologize for misjudging the captain. She’d spent hours contemplating what he might do or say or how he might judge her. After enduring years of being criticized by her father, combined with Papa’s frequent departures due to his tenure in the army, she was lacking in the skills a young lady needed to endear herself to a man. It had been so much easier to be charming when she was engaged to be married and traveling across the seas to meet her betrothed.
At least she didn’t seem as worried about how and when to say things back then. Even though they had kissed and formed a semblance of a romance, they both knew it couldn’t last. They both knew they couldn’t lose their hearts—regardless of whether she had lost hers all the same.
But today she’d summoned the courage to apologize, and he rewarded her with a kiss that trumped all other kisses they’d shared. As their lips fused, it was as if he’d opened a window into his soul. And in the very next moment, they realized the rock against which she had been standing was actually an ancient Roman pillar! To their astonishment, once the men arrived, they dug down far enough for her to be relatively certain that the marble stone Gibb had clonked with his shovel was the head of the statue of Mars that Marcus referred to in one of his tablets.
It might be late, but the very last thing Isabella was capable of was sleep. They had found Mars. Furthermore, she’d done it with Captain Gibb MacGalloway, the only man who had ever captured her heart. And together they’d found the statue as they were kissing.
If Isabella were a hopeless romantic, she would have swooned on the spot only to have been revived with smelling salts.
And she’d be lying to herself if she said her weak-kneed reaction wasn’t caused by the captain. The fact that he was there in Spain—that he’d rescued her and Maribel on the beach, and he’d agreed to stay…that he admitted standing on the beach in Spain somehow made him feel closer to her.
Raindrops pattered on the small windowpane.
He wanted to be closer to me. That has to account for something—mayhap not love, but certainly a deep fondness.
Shoving the bedclothes aside, Isabella rose and peered out the window. Rivulets of water streaked downward, and beyond, the sea was as dark as ink. When they were sailing, she’d oft seen the white foam from the ship’s wake at night, but the Prosperity was moored. The sounds were more vivid when the ship was at anchor. When she was sailing, the flap of the sails, the intermittent groan of the hull, even the ship cutting through the water were sounds that made it nearly impossible to hear little raindrops tap the glass.
Something scraped the floor in the chamber next door—as if the captain had pushed his chair away from his writing desk. Was he writing in the ship’s log? Two footsteps sounded.
Isabella glanced toward the door and grazed her teeth over her bottom lip.
He oft told me that he doesn’t sleep well.
She donned her dressing gown, tiptoed across the floor, and rested her hand on the latch. Dare she go to him? Lord knew she wanted to. Lord knew she’d dreamed of him enough. She had even dreamed of Gibb MacGalloway when she should have been mourning Arent’s death. Of course she mourned for the man, but not as a bereft wife would have done. How could she grieve at length for someone she hardly knew?
Drawing a deep breath, she placed her hand on the latch of her cabin door, her fingers slipping from perspiration. She wanted him, but didn’t quite know what to do.
What if he rejects me? What if he sees me as a woman of easy virtue?
She gulped, knowing full well she would be devastated if he did. She’d never be able to look him in the face.
I ought to go back to bed.
Instead, Isabella pulled down on the latch, the resounding click loud enough to wake the dead. She stood with the door open for a moment, staring into the dark corridor, scarcely able to breathe.
Have I gone completely daft?
Her inner warnings served no purpose as she turned left and took the three steps to the captain’s door. She raised her fist to knock, but trepidation finally took hold, and she gently placed her palm on the timbers.
I am being incredibly audacious and irresponsible. I will turn around this instant.
Except the door opened.
And Isabella hadn’t budged.
Gibb stood as still as the statue of Mars, towering over her like a Highland king while the amber light from a lantern glowed around him. His eyes were nearly as black as hers, his hair mussed, his doublet off and his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. “Bella,” he whispered, still not moving.
“I—”
As her mind whirred with a dozen excuses as to why she might knock on a captain’s door wearing her nightclothes, his lips sealed over hers. Soft, masculine lips hungrily plied her mouth, and in a maelstrom of emotion, he ushered her inside without pulling his lips away. The door shut while he gathered her tightly against him, sliding his hands up her back and down again. Isabella clung to him, her trembling fingers roving frantically and nowhere near as expertly as Gibb’s seemed to be.
He left her mouth, searching across her jawbone until his delectable nibbles stopped at her ear. “I canna help myself. I want ye.”
“Then take me,” she breathlessly replied, arching her back against him, shivering with every kiss.
“I’ve wanted to hear you speak those words ever since the day you stepped aboard the Prosperity .” But rather than ravish her against the door, he gripped her shoulders and took one step away. “Is this truly what you want, lass? To share a bed with a sea captain?”
She tried to lean forward and hide her face in his shoulder, but he held her firmly in place. She knew what he meant, and she didn’t care. She wanted him, and damn the consequences. She’d been cosseted all her life, never once allowed to make her own decisions or follow her heart. “I, too, have dreamed of being in your bed since I came aboard. I want to lie with you as man and woman.”
Taking Isabella’s hand, Gibb pulled her deeper into the cabin. Those deep blue eyes focused on her. The corner of his mouth twitched up as he unfastened the brooch at his shoulder and tossed it on the table behind. He watched her while he let loose his belt buckle, hesitating for an instant before he let it fall away, sending his kilt billowing to the floorboards. She tapped her tongue to the corner of her mouth as her gaze traveled down the length of his shirt and to his well-muscled thighs—peppered with curls of blond hair.
No words were needed when he gave her a nod. Instinctively, she unfastened her sash and let her robe fall away. “Now you,” she said boldly, her thighs quivering with the need to see all of him.
With a wry grin, Gibb whipped the shirt over his head, cast it aside, and stood with his hands relaxed at his sides as if inviting her inspection. Unable to turn away, Isabella looked over his naked body, lingering at his loins, her eyes growing wider, while the intense yearning deep inside her core demanded to be touched, to be bedded.
Again he nodded, this time to her shift.
She grasped the linen skirt. “Off?”
“Aye.”
Isabella watched him as she slowly inched the hem to her ankles and then to her knees. When she reached her thighs, she could have sworn his member twitched. And she could take no more. In one motion, she pulled the shift over her head and flung it to the floorboards.
And then she was in his arms, his mouth exploring hers, their bodies melding together. He carried her to the bed and climbed in beside her. “Ye are so fine to me, Issy, Bella, my Belle. What pet name shall I call you?”
“I’ve always been fond of Bella,” she whispered into his ear as she pulled him closer. “I—ah—hope you won’t mind navigating these uncharted waters.”
G ibb could have come with those words. He didn’t have to ask to know she was still a virgin. Hell, it might make things a tad easier if she weren’t. But if he understood nothing else about his attraction to this woman, he knew he must have her, but not in the usual way, not a fast hump and done. He wanted this night to last forever. He wanted Isabella to lock this night away in her heart and dream about it for years to come.
“You are the bonniest woman I’ve ever had the honor of setting eyes upon,” he said, meaning every word. How he could have ever thought this woman plain, he would never fathom. Perhaps it was her frumpy bonnet when they first met; perhaps his eyes were dimmed by a sailor’s rigidity. Isabella was an iconic beauty, a woman to be worshipped and adored.
“You steal my breath from my verra lungs,” he added, cupping a shapely breast and teasing its tender peak with his thumb. Even her breasts were perfectly formed—not too small and not too large. Transfixed, he inched downward until he caught her nipple with a slow, succulent kiss.
Isabella gasped, arching into him, sliding her fingers into his hair.
“That’s it, lass, close your eyes and allow yourself to feel.”
With both hands, he framed her breasts, feasting on the luxurious curves, kissing, tasting, and nibbling as he adored her.
Gooseflesh pebbled along her skin, following his lips as he kneaded and kissed his way down to the nest of curls between her thighs. He traced the dewy slit with his finger while watching her lips part, her breathing become labored. And as Isabella’s midnight eyes grew even darker, he knew she was ready for him.
“Easy, lass,” he purred. “This is not a race with sails at full tilt, but a marathon across the oceans of the globe.”
He met her trusting gaze and winked, right before he parted her sex and stroked down to her entrance, sliding his finger inside, only the tip at first, gradually increasing its depth as she moved and sighed in tandem with his touch.
With a moan, she gripped his shoulders, as if trying to drive him deeper, her walls opening for him as he found a pool of moisture. Isabella sighed and cooed, the sounds she made ushering him to the edge of madness. He held his hand still while he bent to kiss her belly, skimming his lips downward until he reached her black triangle.
She arched up as if to stop him, but he placed a reassuring hand on her abdomen. “Allow me to taste you, mo leannan. ”
Her thighs quivered. “With your mouth?”
He grinned. “Your taste, your scent, is pure nectar from the gods. Lie back and feel.”
After she dropped to the pillows, he settled himself between her legs, opening them with his shoulders and parted her with his tongue. She quivered beneath him, her flesh hot and searing. He flicked his tongue over her, then blew cool air, flicked, blew, flicked, blew.
At her sigh, he licked her fully, exploring the salty, feminine flesh with long licks and soft tongue taps, centering on the tiny button that could send her to the stars.
Isabella’s fingers found his hair. “I think it is time now. I must have you!”
“You will, my sweeting, but not yet. I’m in command of this ship, and I say you’re not quite ready, lass.” Gibb entered her with two fingers and, finding resistance, further shouldered between her thighs and drove his tongue into the heat of her core.
Her hips swirled, her body jerked, and she nearly pulled his hair from its roots. “Pleaaaaase!”
But Gibb refused to let up. He moved to the little bud and suckled her until she was shaking and gasping and pleading for more. He slid a finger inside, and as she writhed, he managed a second and nearly a third.
With her sharp gasp, the edge of the world seemed to stop on a precipice of oblivion. She arched off the mattress, drew in a breath, and shattered around his finger.
At the sight of the ecstasy written on her face, Gibb was filled with an indescribably primal satisfaction. He drew out her climax, extending his own fulfillment by continuing to lick and love her until the last of her quivers subsided.
She toyed with his hair. “I have no words.”
“The English language is deficient when it comes to making love.” He lapped her again. “But I’ll reckon you’re ready to sail into stormier seas, lass.”
I sabella might be far outmatched by the captain, but she was a fast learner. So much of the night was a blur of passion, but some things would remain with her for the rest of her days—Gibb’s spicy scent mixed with rain—the salty and mellow taste of his skin. She’d driven her fingers into his hair, surprised at the silkiness of it.
But most of all, she would cherish in her heart the very moment when they joined. Though he was a large man, her body had adjusted with his patience. Never once did he push or rush. He touched her with a gentle reverence, his voice low as he murmured about how good she felt and how long he had wanted her. And she’d quivered and spread her legs wider while he sank deeper and deeper inside her.
Once he’d completely filled her, she was again writhing beneath him. Still, Gibb didn’t rush, drawing out the ecstasy, kissing her, praising her, loving her. It was the most magical night of her life.