Deep,DarkandDangerousSMASH Read online

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  Sinful temptation wrapped in black lace. Those were the only words Morgan could muster to describe the woman standing before him. He swallowed a curse as she pulled her skirt back down, hiding the black lace panties a strong easterly gust had so kindly brought into view.

  She had an angelic face with soft, feminine features, blue eyes the shade of the deepest seas, and lips so full and ripe he was forced to bite his own against the urge to taste them. Her satiny skin was ivory from forehead to pink-painted toes, except where it was stained a rosy shade over her cheeks as she blushed.

  Long, golden hair tumbled over her shoulders in heavy waves. The sun shot glimmering flames in it. The brisk sea wind carried it into the air. His fingers itched to tangle themselves in its silken length and tug. Instead, he forced himself to resist, and enjoyed visually feasting on the rest of her.

  He followed the ivory column of her long neck to the deep vee exposed by a lightweight top that clung lusciously to her full breasts. His keen eye did not miss the point of each nipple as it pressed subtly against the thin material. He imagined how they might taste and how her pleasure-induced sigh might sound in his ears.

  A heavy feeling settled deep in his groin and a painful erection pressed against his shorts at the thought.

  Her visibly shaken state, something he was accustomed to seeing in women, sparked his protective instincts and he reached forward to capture two soft-skinned upper arms in his grasp.

  She made no effort to pull away, made no utterance as he back stepped, leading her down to the salon.

  "Let me help you," he offered, thinking perhaps he wouldn't have to wait until reaching port before his yearning would be satisfied. "It takes awhile. As your captain it is my duty to see you are safe."

  Silent and acquiescent, she followed his direction, settling daintily on the sofa. When she crossed her legs, her skirt slid up, exposing the better part of her smooth-skinned thigh. It was torture standing so close but not touching that ivory expanse of skin, or nibbling the juncture between her neck and shoulder.

  "Thanks," she uttered. Her pink tongue jutted out to wet her lips and he swallowed a groan.

  A shy, demure woman drove him wild with desire. A shy, demure, beautiful woman–a siren–would drive him to madness.

  With the next breath, he vowed to have her if it took their entire journey. "We have to wait for Steven and the rest of the crew before we can depart. In the meantime, can I offer you a drink?"

  She shoved her camera back in her shoulder bag. "Some water would be good. I took some medicine that's making me thirsty."

  "I'd be happy to get that for you. The cook hasn't arrived yet. I shall return in a moment. You stay here."

  He thanked the stars for bringing the delightful vision to him. Anxiously figuring out exactly how he would seduce her without risking his job, or her life, he hurried to the galley.

  He couldn't be real, Kath decided. Like the beautiful purebred collie she'd once adopted from a local animal shelter, this man appeared too good to be true. Like the collie, he had to be flawed by the temperament of a vicious pit bull. Kind, gentle, loving men did not look like Morgan the Dangerous.

  Unable to successfully rehabilitate the dog, she'd returned it to the shelter. She didn't know how to handle a headstrong, dangerous animal–or man, for that matter.

  Like it or not, aching parts and dizzy, swooning head or not, perfect, suntanned shoulders or not, she should stay away from Morgan. No good would come of a shipboard affair with the likes of him. No doubt he had a woman at every port, like the old saying went. She was not about to be his next conquest.

  She took the time he was away to fortify her defenses. It was obvious by the way he looked at her, the way he carried himself, the way his low baritone voice glided over her like silk, that he was a master at seduction. All the more reason to be on guard.

  But the moment he returned, a smile birthing a whole new case of quivers, she found her precious defenses crumbling.

  What if she was wrong and he wasn't the womanizer she'd assumed. Would it be fair to hold something against any man without proof? After all, the United States judicial system was founded on the innocent-until-proven-guilty principle.

  "Here you are. Ice cold." His fingertips brushed hers as he handed her the glass he held in his left hand.

  Somehow, even with a flurry of shivers and heart-stutters, she thought to check his ring finger.

  There was no sign of a ring or a telltale tan line.

  Feeling a smile pulling at her cheeks, she said, "Thanks." She took several long gulps before setting the glass on the polished built-in table next to her. "Do you have time to sit with me for a few minutes or do you need to get to work? I apologize, I know nothing about boats."

  "I can sit with you for a few minutes."

  "Great." She wasn't sure if she should be glad or worried. The expression on his face was intense, hot, a little intimidating. She felt herself leaning away from him as he sat down next to her. She used reaching for her glass as an excuse for the movement.

  He didn't seem to notice her discomfort; either that or he chose to ignore it. To compensate for her sliding slightly to the right, he scooted over. His thigh brushed against hers. The coarse, dark hair tickled and she slid a hand down and wedged it between his leg and hers.

  Unladylike but at the moment, not particularly worried about good manners, she guzzled the rest of the water then set the glass back on the table. "I...have never been on a boat like this. It's very nice. Almost like a house. I bet it's bigger than my apartment."

  He leaned closer. "Where do you live?"

  "Um..." she stammered, instantly forgetting the answer to his question. In fact, as she continued to stare into dark eyes that reminded her of storm clouds, she forgot his question, too. "I...forget."

  "Where you live?"

  Her face flamed and she reached for the glass without looking, hoping the empty but cool glass, if pressed against her skin, might ease the sting slightly. "Oh. How silly. Of course I know where I live. My home's just outside of Akron. Ohio."

  He nodded and licked his lips and her gaze watched as his tongue darted out and moistened his mouth. She felt hers going dry again and she had no more water.

  "I've heard of Ohio." He lifted his arm and curled it around her shoulders.

  "Ever been there?" she asked, pretending not to notice his arm and trying like heck to keep a cool head. Her lengthy sexual dry spell was doing nothing to help her. If anything, her libido was hotter than ever.

  "No. I don't usually travel that far inland. Though seeing what I'm missing..." he said, reaching across himself to cup her chin in his palm, "I'm thinking I need to travel inland more often." His thumb traced the seam of her lips. Then he dropped his hand but he didn't back away.

  "Uh..." She shifted nervously, the back of her left hand becoming wedged tighter between her leg and his, thanks to his position. "I suppose there isn't much to interest you in Akron. Not a whole lot of open water, unless you count Lake Erie and that's a little further north...ish."

  "Water isn't the only thing that interests me." He gave her a suggestive nod.

  "I'm sure...um...What do you do when you're not captaining my brother's yacht? Do you have another job?"

  "I captain other men's yachts. I prefer ocean voyages. I've been on the sea since I was a child. No one captains a boat like I do," he boasted. He pushed his chest out and lifted his chin but for some reason his arrogance didn't bother her like it normally would. She had a feeling it was his way of hiding something, hurt, regret maybe.

  "How odd. How did you go to school? That doesn't sound like the best life for a child, on a boat, away from friends and school."

  "It was what it was," he said, sounding neither ashamed nor self-important. "I got all the schooling I needed from my father. He was an excellent teacher."

  "What about your mother?"

  He finally leaned back and she found herself breathing freely for the fir
st time in a long while.

  "I have very few memories of her."

  "I'm very sorry. Did she...pass away?" she asked, taking care to observe him for a reaction. Some people didn't like speaking of their deceased loved ones.

  "I don't know. I left to travel with my father when I was six. It's a man's job to raise his sons. Boys reared without their fathers are soft, weak. Women can't help making them that way."

  "Huh?" She couldn't believe that sexist statement had come out of this man's mouth. Granted, she wasn't exactly what one would call a women's libber, but she still didn't appreciate glaring sexist insults. "That's a rather...antiquated–if not absurd–opinion. I know plenty of men who were raised by women and are far from soft and weak."

  "As a woman, I don't expect you to agree. Especially a woman of this world–"

  "What world? Earth?" she asked, confused. "I'm curious, what world are you from, if not this one?" Had she said something wrong? Why was this sexy, intelligent man suddenly talking like a Neanderthal? Or an alien?

  "A very different one, I assure you. A wonderful place, where a man is a man and a woman knows her rightful station."

  Hello? "’Rightful station?’ What the heck are you talking about? Oh, I get it. You're from one of those countries where women have to walk behind the men in a show of respect and hide themselves under all those smocks and scarves. You don't speak with much of an accent, a little bit of one, maybe."

  "Not exactly, although those are sound ideas. What enlightened culture do they come from?" he asked, looking far too eager for her comfort. "I might like to pay a visit to such a place."

  "Really. Though I'm sure there are millions of happy women living in those countries, they're not the kind of places I'd care to visit or live in."

  He tipped his head, indicating her legs, which now felt almost painfully exposed. "Clearly."

  She uncrossed her legs and made an effort to pull as much of the thin fabric as she could over them. "Well, I can't believe this. Are you trying to insult me?"

  "No, never. Your legs are sexy. In fact, I wouldn't complain if you showed more of them." Clearly aiming to catch her skirt in his fingertips, he reached down but she smacked his hand away before it reached its target.

  "Hold up. I'm not sure I like the direction this conversation is heading. As a man, you could probably sleep with any woman, whether you respect her opinions or not, but as a woman I can't sleep with a man I don't have some kind of connection with here." She pointed at her head and then her chest. "And here."

  He didn't look put off or surprised. "As you should."

  "Then we have an understanding? I mean, I'm not trying to judge you, well, maybe I am. But your opinions are kind of...out there."

  "They are mine alone, I admit."

  "Where'd you learn to be so...sexist?"

  "My life formed my opinions. It would take something drastic to change them. I don't readily accept new ideas. Your culture is flawed. The men are weak of body and spirit. They don't know what work is. As a result, the women have no respect or trust for them. I don't blame you for feeling the way you do."

  "Work? Now you're talking," she said, nodding. "I've dated my share of losers who couldn't hold down a job or still lived at home with mommy."

  He stood and, bending at the waist, leaned over her, his finger tracing the line of her jaw. His gaze locked to hers. "You women have learned to take care of yourselves, to trust no one, to provide for yourselves and your children. It's a sorry sight, honestly. A woman should be loved thoroughly, pampered. She should be respected for her role in birthing children and nurturing them until they are old enough to join their fathers."

  "That birthing babies bit has me a little disturbed." She leaned back as far as she could.

  "You don't wish to have children?" He straightened himself to his full six-foot whatever, walked to the bottom of the staircase leading up to the deck, and shook his head. "It would be a shame. Your daughters would be beautiful and intelligent. No woman is more sexy and alluring as a woman heavy with child. And you–"

  Yikes! "Um...Maybe you'd better go take a walk, cool off, swab some decks or whatever." Standing, she flicked her hands to shoo him away, even as she walked toward him. "We've just met and you're imagining me pregnant already."

  "You would enjoy the process. I promise." He winked and reached for her.

  "Why am I not surprised you said that?" She chuckled as she tossed a dismissive hand his way and took one giant step backward, just beyond his reach. She hoped. Kind of.

  "Perhaps you'll change your mind later." Closing the distance between them, he captured her hands in his. "Would you like me to show you to your stateroom? Just in case?" His wicked grin sent waves of giddy anticipation through her body, despite her ire over his unexpected sexist comments.

  "That's not what I had in mind, although I should probably put my things away. I think they're still up there." She pointed in the general direction of the deck. "It looked like it might rain."

  "I'll get them. You stay." He climbed the short staircase in two long strides and descended them in one. "Your stateroom is this way." He led her toward a narrow set of stairs in the far corner of the room then motioned for her to go first.

  It was very unsettling being in such close quarters with such a man. She couldn't exactly label her feelings for him. He was an odd mixture of egotistical braggart, rogue, and old-fashioned gentleman. She couldn't say whether she liked him or despised him. One thing was sure, he stirred some serious lust. She could just imagine what her dreams would be about tonight.

  The stateroom, if it could even qualify as a room, was a tiny, cramped space that barely housed a bed. It felt even smaller with the mammoth man standing next to her. Making matters worse, as he reached around her to set her luggage on the bed, his breath warmed her neck. Frozen, like a doe caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, she stood motionless. She waited to see what would happen next and prepared to defend herself if he dared try something inappropriate.

  His lips brushed ever so lightly against her neck and she shivered. A wave of heat pulsed down her body and exploded between her legs, instantly igniting the kind of wanting she hadn't experienced since she'd lost her virginity to her high school boyfriend a zillion years ago. Her breath caught in her throat but she didn't move, didn't speak, didn't stop him.

  Next she felt the soft but erotic scrape of teeth against her neck. The warmth of his tongue followed before her brain fully registered its reaction to the first sensation.

  Apparently encouraged by her reaction, or lack thereof, Morgan placed one hand on each side of her waist. He pulled her against him until there wasn't a part of the front of her that wasn't in contact with him.

  She was doing the insane but she didn't care. Morgan the Dangerous was a stranger, a dark, sexy captain who knew nothing about her. But she didn't care. All she was concerned about was how the contact between his body and hers ignited mini-blazes from scalp to toe. How she couldn't seem to catch her breath. How her head was swimming in a fog. How much she wanted him to kiss her.

  Seeming to have read her mind, he tipped his head and lowered it, his mouth on target to meet hers in three...two...one...

  Oh my!

  Her knees buckled the instant his lips pressed to hers. She found herself not only locked into the most sensual, thorough kiss of her life but also swept off her feet, literally. In his arms, she met the lazy exploration of his tongue with the more demanding–what she could best label desperate stabbing–thrusts of her own. Inside her head, she heard moaning and only realized after the sounds echoed a few times that they'd come from her throat.

  Still kissing her to oblivion, he lowered her gently onto the bed, using his outstretched arms to keep the better part of his weight off her. Her lower body, including the parts that burned the most with the need to be touched, was pinned snugly under him. Afraid to break the kiss and lose her lifeline to paradise, she reached up, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled,
hoping to move higher, free her legs, and wrap them around his waist.

  Unfortunately her maneuver didn't work and, frustrated, she was forced to finally break the kiss and squirm more forcibly.

  He chuckled as he hovered over her, seeming to enjoy the sight of her not so delicate wriggling. "I might ask what vexes you so, my lady, but I suspect I already know the answer."

  "’Your lady?’ You wish." His teasing tone helped douse the fire burning her blood and she shot him a warning glare which she was sure wouldn't intimidate him in the least. "All righty. Time to get up now."

  "Is it? Or would you rather I did this?" he asked. One hand still bracing his bulk, the other lifted to her chest where he traced a line from the base of her neck down, following the cleft between her breasts with his index finger. "And this?" He let that finger slide to one side until it lightly grazed her nipple. A wave of wanting shot from where he'd touched her down to between her legs and she gasped. Of its own will, her back arched, pressing her breast higher, into his hand. With a smile of satisfaction, he cupped it, kneading its fullness until she thought she'd die.

  No man had made her burn this bad, ever.

  "What say you, lady? You seem to have been struck mute." His grin was lopsided and wicked and charming, much like the rest of him, and she couldn't help returning it.

  "I...don't know what to say. Besides, maybe, get off me please." Even to herself that sounded like the lamest demand she'd ever heard uttered. "I mean. Get off, Romeo, or suffer the consequences," she corrected, trying hard to remember why she should resist this burly hunk's charms. She was single. She hadn't had sex in eons. He was obviously an incredible lover.

  A voice in the distance, her baby brother's, helped her reclaim her self-control.

  "Kathie? I'm sorry I'm late."

  She gave Morgan's chest a shove and sat up, quickly straightening her clothing. No sooner did she have her skirt pulled down over her legs than Steven rapped on the frame of the open door and poked his head inside. "Hey, baby brother," she greeted him with a friendly, but flush-faced smile that probably spoke of her guilt. "I was...just getting a hand with my luggage from your captain here." She turned her attention to Morgan whose gaze had evidently never left her and was still raging with pent up passion. In response, her insides tied themselves into knots. "Thank you Morgan. Or should I call you Captain?"