Pirate's Treasure by Mariah Stone

Author:Mariah Stone [Stone, Mariah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stone Publishing

Chapter 10

Samantha

* * *

He’s not just kissing me, he’s devouring me. His lips are a tornado and I’m the house on the prairie, torn apart in the most delicious way.

Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me tighter to him, heat sizzles through my veins and my body melts against him like wax in the Caribbean sunlight. He runs his lips and his tongue down my throat, making every cell of my skin burn.

Arching into the sweet prison of his arms, I run my fingers through his silky hair and sink into his scent—clean linen, sandalwood, and sun.

From the direction of the dunes, a twig snaps and James breaks the kiss and tugs me after him. Tucked behind the bushes with the hidden boat, under the palm trees where shadows reign, we crouch and listen. But the beach remains silent, only waves whisper and the breeze rustles through the leaves. Risk electrifies my whole body. With his arms around me, James turns me to look at him.

“If anyone comes, I will protect you, Samantha,” he says, then looks at my lips. “You are safe with me. But maybe not from me.”

He’s looking at my mouth as if he’s in agony and it’s the painkiller. He leans to my lips, and I whisper, “What about the whole ruining me thing?”

“I was wrong,” he says, and the breeze kisses my cheeks with the scent of the sea and mango. “It is me who will be ruined if I do not have you.”

He kisses me again, letting me sink deeper into the warm sea of desire. His hands unlace my dress and tug the bodice down to my waist. When the warm night air touches my skin, it breathes again. James releases the lace of the corset, and when he throws it aside, I take a lungful of air sending my head spinning. When he caresses my skin under the shift, I fly high. He strokes me, massages my back, my breasts, my waist. Prickling, sizzling, expanding after hours of being trapped in the corset, my skin and muscles sing under his touch.

I run my hands over his broad shoulders, his muscles hard under the shirt. Off comes his jacket, then his waistcoat, and my fingers crawl over the linen of his shirt covering his firm stomach.

My breath rushes out of me as I pull away to look at him. “I need to see you.”

His smile is both wicked and tight, and he spreads his arms in an invitation. “Please do, madame.”

I take the edges of his shirt and pull them up, tugging it over his head. What I see under it fills my mouth with saliva. All muscle, his body is lean and perfect. His pecs make my palms ache to brush them, his six-pack looks carved of stone. A long, thin silver scar runs across the left side of his chest down to his solar plexus. There’s also a round pale-pink one on his side that must be newer. Though his

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