“I’m Charlotte,” she said, gritting her teeth. Her knuckles bit into her jaw.
“What, that dull, boring woman?”
“Don’t be so vexing. I can’t talk if my hand is to stay still.” She stared out through the gray rain at the gray sky and the gray sea.
“Very well. You’ll have to trust me on the next fantasy.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the fleet movement of Bay’s hand as he propped the sketchbook on his knees.
“You are-you are a woman waiting for your man to return home from the sea. He’s been gone a very long time. So long you’re not certain he’ll ever come back. There are some mornings when you awaken that you’re too lonely to get out of bed.”
Charlotte knew all too well what that felt like. The week before Bay turned up in church had been difficult.
“You’ve kept all his letters and read them when you’re blue-deviled.” She turned sharply to look at him, but Bay was absorbed in his work and didn’t notice.
“Is he a sea captain?”
“A pirate, actually. Quite an infamous one.”
“With a woman in every port, I imagine,” Charlotte said dryly.
“Oh, no. he’s quite devoted to you-a puritanical pirate, if you will. That ruby necklace-it was part of some buried treasure on a tropical island. He couldn’t wait to sail home and give it to you.”
“Where is he now? Drinking rum in the shade?”
“He’s lost in a storm. The mast is broken and the sails torn asunder. He may never get back home.”
“Oh, you are horrid! That’s a terrible story!” She sat up and covered herself with the curtain. Bay joined her on the couch.
“Exactly. Perhaps you’ll approve of this version of you.”
This Charlotte no longer looked sated, but unbearably sad, searching out a window for her missing pirate’s ship. There was much less of her on display, yet she was still embarrassingly lush.
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s a sin you ever gave up your art. You are disgustingly talented.”
“Why, thank you, I think. I’m not sure about the disgusting part.” He ran smudged fingers through his hair. “Damn, but I need my hair trimmed. I wonder if I can get Frazier away from-is it Kitty or Mary?”
“Kitty. I could cut your hair.” Although shearing off those incipient curls would be a shame.
“Aha! A Delilah in my house! Not a chance. I take my manhood seriously. I don’t want to tempt you with sharp scissors.”
“I would never hurt you-now,” Charlotte said. She had learned her lesson the hard way. She would remember her poor mama’s advice and count to ten before she lost her temper again.
“That’s delightful to hear. Perhaps you should dress before luncheon. Here, let me help you.”
He unwound the curtain from her body as if he were unwrapping a present, then looked toward the pile of clothes that Charlotte had neatly folded. “No,” he said quietly. “Perhaps not quite yet.”
He tipped her backward on the couch again, this time arranging her not for posterity but for pleasure. As was his wont, his mouth and fingers brought her to completion before he entered her with a patience she could only wonder at. She’d lost all control some time ago in the arms of her sultan-pirate. She now combined the desperate longing of the wistful wife with the sexual artistry of the houri, pressing herself against his hot, hard body, her legs locked around him, stretching and constricting her muscles until his seed spilled deep within her. There was nothing in the world but the two of them, their breaths ragged, their skin damp and fragrant. Charlotte blessed the cursed weather for keeping them indoors. She would never enjoy a rainstorm like this so well again.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Bay whispered.
“Silly.” She ruffled his hair. “You cannot have the first idea.”
“You are very happy you came back to Dorset.”
“True, I am, but that was not foremost in my thoughts.”
He pulled her even closer. “Tell me then.”
Charlotte felt an irrepressible urge to laugh. “Don’t be insulted, Bay, but I was thinking about the weather. I am a dull, boring Englishwoman, after all.”
Chapter 21
It rained for over a week, days and days of damp, leaden skies and roiling ocean. Bay’s hand became surer wielding his charcoal. He expanded to India ink and watercolors, sending to London for a fresh set of paints. He’d never be a master with oil paint, but he was determined to improve while he had such a radiant subject. Charlie had learned to relax, and their fantasies had expanded far beyond pirates and sultans. Each session ended with a satisfying foray in the art of love. Almost half of his time with Charlie was up, and he was missing her already.
But one morning a brilliant ray of sunshine pierced the cocoon of his bed hangings, and he pushed them aside. His bedroom was bathed in light so bright, Bay thought he’d be struck blind. In her sleep, Charlie turned from the glare with a little groan, exposing the length of her white back to him. He pulled the covers from her buttocks and was inspired to sketch her from this angle. She was as compelling as any odalisque he’s seen in a museum, her jet hair ribboned across the pillows. He slipped from the bed to get his pad, then returned to draw her sweet curves.
She was beautifully fleshy. He pictured her buoyant in the sea like a mermaid, playful, teasing. Perhaps today they would have their picnic on the beach. There didn’t seem to be a cloud in the sky.
If he counted correctly, there would be a full moon tonight. Even better to make love to her under its pearly glow, listening to the lap of each wave as they rode to their bliss together. He stiffened automatically and knew he couldn’t wait for this afternoon or this evening to take her.
He cast the pad aside and returned to the bed. What position suited him this morning? He and Charlie had been creative exploring the house and each other. He decided to spoon against her, his cock bobbing against her lovely arse. He reached over her soft belly and buried his fingers in her nether curls, stroking her awake. She gasped and thrust back snugly as though she had been dreaming of just such a thing. He guided himself in with his other hand, interlocking the pieces of their sensual puzzle until her wet and heat surrounded him. Inflamed him. Completed him.
“Good morning,” he whispered, and then made it so.
He kissed her shoulder, a poor substitute for her mouth, but he knew this position gave him easy access to her breasts and her clitoris. He cupped one full breast and circled the nipple, peaking it to perfection. She always came so alive in his hands. It was not so much his skill but her life force, long buried beneath gray dresses and linen caps. Charlie was meant for lust, even more so than her famous sister. Meant for love.
Now, where did that thought come from? His cock surged in possession. She was his absolutely. At least for now. Every smooth white surface, every curly dark hair. He smiled against her back. Even the silver ones. Her innocent blue eyes, her knowing mouth. Her small, work-worn hand, now pressing his as he rolled her clit between his fingers.
“Oh! I cannot bear much more. Please, Bay!”
“Please what?” He couldn’t bear much more either, but couldn’t bear the thought of stopping. Of withdrawing from her tight perfection. Never had any woman made him feel this way. Transcendent. Capable of nearly anything.
She uttered something, but it was more a growl than a word. Then her core shook him to his own, marking him. Making him lose control. His seed spilled inside her, as it so often did. He’d long since stopped worrying about consequences. He’d take care of her. Always, if he could.
When they were at last finished with each other for the time being, Charlotte squinted into the shafts of sunlight. “Can it possibly be? Is the sun really shining, or have you brought me to heaven?”
“Both,” Bay chuckled. “As you have brought me.” He kissed her mouth, tasting sleep and satisfaction. “And we should make the most of it before the clouds roll back in. Breakfast in bed first, though, I should think.”
