by Raven, Sandy
And this Englishman made her entire body quiver with excitement. Just now, when he whispered the word lover, she felt the junction between her legs grow moist and sensitive. She needed what he could give her, and she now knew he was willing. The more she thought on it, the more it looked as though this was not just the only way, but also the perfect way, to have the baby she wanted so very much.
But she still could not afford to lose control of her emotions, and she did not want him see this longing, no desperate, side of her. Mary-Michael swallowed the tears. "You know nothing about me. Nothing. My marriage is none of your concern."
He just leaned back in his chair and stared at her. The square set of his chin jutted forward in what she read as a superior smirk. "You might be married, but you're not a wife in the true sense of the word. I can tell."
It only took a moment for her entire body to fill with red hot anger at his insult. "Why, you... forward... and... arrogant man!" They had to finish working on these order sheets and she needed her wits about her. "Just stop it," she hissed. Carefully, she set the pen in its holder and placed her hands flat on the desk, maintaining tight control of her every action. Her words were stern, each word enunciated so there was no misunderstanding them. "Stay out of my marriage. No matter what happens between us, do not speculate about my marriage at all. Do you understand? I am so tempted to tell you to go to... to... Hades." She slapped her palm across her mouth. Oh, dear Lord, had she said that out loud? If she lost the contract, she'd have to explain all of this to Mr. Watkins.
He laughed. A warm, deep laugh with a smile that crinkled the corners of his dreamy brown eyes. And she groaned from her mortification.
"Ugh." First he insults her, now her customer was laughing at her. She swiped at a tear with a fist. "Look what you've made me do. Now I have to go to confession again." Mary-Michael scanned the ante-chamber to see if Andrew or Robert heard what had just transpired between them, not seeing either man, she stared up at the copper-tiled ceiling over her head willing the tears away and ignoring the captain's soft chuckle. "Yes," she whispered. "I wished you to Hades, and I will likely spend an eternity in purgatory if I don't confess it. But I suppose I should wait until next weekend, because before this transaction is through, you will likely push me to say or do more things that I normally would never say or do."
He looked so amused, so sure of himself it was unsettling. "I think it's quite likely," he whispered as he, too, checked the other room for eavesdroppers. "Especially if I have my way. Because, as wrong as it is, I can't deny that I want you, Mary."
Avoiding his eyes, she pushed back her chair, took a deep breath, and stood. "I... Please... Excuse me," she said as she all but ran from the room.
This madness had to stop. She really, really needed to focus on work right now, and get this tedious part of the job done. So why did she want to cry? She felt as though she were succumbing to a deep frustration and sadness. Was it over her situation? Or could it be that she was finally close to having that which her heart most desired—a babe of her own.
Mary-Michael owed her livelihood to Spenser Watkins. The reward of her marriage was the opportunity to learn from the man everything she needed to know to design and build ships. It was what she'd dreamed of doing as a child, and she had for the past seven years, six of them as his wife. Yes, the captain was attractive, and yes, she felt something... intense and elemental, toward him. But the only thing she wanted from him was the one thing her husband could never give her.
She dried her eyes, and looked into the mirror to make sure she wasn't blotchy from crying. Damn the man for flustering her. While his presence alone set her on edge, knowing he had the same carnal desires as she, was too overwhelming to contemplate. But more important than that, the realization she might actually stand a chance at achieving this dream, was making her giddy and nervous at the same time. Combined, it was almost more than she could take right then.
She splashed cold water on her face. Heaven knows she wasn't one of those girls who cried prettily. Mary-Michael had to get over this fear and nervousness if she held any hope for luring Captain Gualtiero to her bed. When he left on Monday morning, she wouldn't see him again for a year. It wasn't much time, but according to Becky, it only took once for her, and when she realized she was pregnant she and Mr. Parks had a hasty wedding.
While there were no hasty weddings in her future, she prayed before the captain left he would have given her a gift. Then she, too, will get to experience her body growing and changing as she carried a babe, and the joy of holding her own son or daughter as it nursed from breast. Why, the thought alone was enough to make her want to start on her project right then.
But she couldn't. She had to finish the specifications lists and draw the final copy the shipbuilders and other trades would use. Come Saturday morning, Mr. Watkins would leave town for a few weeks, and she would make herself available to the Captain for a few days.
With her resolve set to get her work done first, she opened the door and stepped through, slamming face first into a solid wall of masculine chest. Muscular, masculine chest. Make that a finely attired, exotic-smelling, face-high, muscular, masculine chest. The captain grabbed her shoulders as she pushed away. He fell back onto the wall in the narrow hallway and as he went over, he took her with him.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. His thick, beefy arms wrapped around her protecting her for a moment, until she realized there were others in the building. Mary-Michael righted herself, and the captain's hands still rested on the exposed skin of her forearms, sending a flood of molten heat coursing through her body. She couldn't get away. Couldn't escape the heat. It was as though the blacksmith's forge was inside her, consuming her from within.
"I'm sorry," she began, "I..."
"My fault entirely," he murmured. Somehow his arm had wrapped itself around her waist, and it continued to hold her firmly in place against him. He lowered his voice so she alone could hear. "I came to see how you were. I was getting worried."
"My men!" she whispered, her eyes wide with fear. Oh, God, what if someone saw them? When the captain dropped his arm, she pushed herself off that powerful, too-attractive chest, straightening her blouse as she turned and walked away.
She heard the door to the privy closet click shut as she passed Andrew, Robert and William Bailey, standing at the large drafting table. Because of the position of Andrew's desk on the other side of the wall, she was sure they saw nothing, but they could have heard any conversation, had there been one.
Mary-Michael gave them an embarrassed half-smile acknowledging the awkward situation in the hallway, then strode into the office to stare out the window at the work going on down in the dockyard. Some sixty yards away, Simon had a team of horses harnessed and lined up to connect the traces to the chains that would lift the rudder onto Carolina. She watched, still fascinated even though she'd seen it nearly a hundred times. She clutched the window frame as she stared, unfocused really, out into the yard. Her emotions were getting the better of her, and she had to rein them in. This man made her thinking scattered and when he looked at her it caused her to lose her focus. She had to remember she was a professional. This was her business.
The employees would begin talking and she stood to lose their hard-earned respect. She couldn't allow that to happen. She'd worked too hard to get this far, only to see it fall apart because one man flustered her.
She had to give Captain Gualtiero an ultimatum. This verbal sparring and innuendo on both their parts had to cease immediately. He either did as she demanded and behaved himself while in the presence of her employees, or she would have her husband complete the contracting and selection processes.
But it wasn't just the captain who had to take care. She was growing frightened of her attraction to him, and now that she knew the attraction was reciprocated, making love with him was the only thing on her mind.
Chapter Four
Lucky re-entered the office and his eyes discovered Mrs. Watki
ns' enticing backside as she leaned against an open window looking out at the scenery in the yard before her. He knew from standing in that same spot earlier that a nice breeze entered the room from that direction, making the heat a slight bit more bearable. He went to stand at the next window over, staring out at the same scene, but really seeing nothing. "I didn't know where you'd gone. I wanted to make sure you were—" How could he tell her he wanted to make sure she hadn't just fled the building because of him? "I owe you an apology. I am sorry." His voice quavered over his apology as her eyes begged him to stay quiet.
Her gaze darted a frightened glance at the doorway as she placed a finger to her lips to silence him, afraid of the men in the other office overhearing them. "I owe you one as well," she said, her voice softer than a whisper.
He shook his head, if he hadn't antagonized her, she wouldn't be in this condition. "Me first," he stated, keeping his naturally booming voice as quiet as possible. He paused, unsure of how to proceed. "I don't know why I react the way I do when you speak of your marriage, or your husband. I shouldn't care because you're married, but—" How did he explain this emotional conundrum in which he found himself just since meeting her? "Perhaps it is because I have a different perception of what a marriage should be. I want a marriage where I cannot keep my hands off my wife. I want to make love to her every moment of every day and when we cannot, I want to be thinking of it." Her expression wasn't one of shock or upset, but she did blush nearly the same shade of dark red as her hair. Lucky had gone too far to turn back now. "And it appears to me that you cut yourself off from the fullness of marriage to have this... unusual career."
Mrs. Watkins turned away and stared out onto the acres and acres of laborers toiling away in the shipyard owned by her husband. "What goes on under my roof, between me and my husband, is none of your concern. You have no idea how difficult—" She stopped, catching herself before she went any further. Her voice changed, became less strong, and if he wasn't mistaking it held a hint of sorrow. "Do not presume to guess what transpires in my marriage bed."
"You may have had one at one time, but it's obvious that you don't have one now," he asserted. How could he tell her about the comfortable ease between a husband and wife that comes with a satisfying marriage? She treated her own husband as though he were an employer, a mentor, perhaps even a guardian-figure. He wasn't her lover, he was sure of it. Watkins didn't give her the glances he caught Ren or Michael giving Lia or Elise. And Ian was just like a love-struck school boy, so in awe with his wife was he. Mrs. Watkins didn't get pink with color when her husband looked at her because he wasn't satisfying her in bed. Lucky would put money on it.
He cocked his head to the side and studied her troubled expression and knew he was right. "I have been around couples in love my entire life, beginning with my own parents. Without ever having been married, I know what a happy marriage is."
Though she faced the yard, he heard her clearly when she whispered. "I love my husband, Captain."
"I believe you love him, Mrs. Watkins," he said. "I do. But you're not lovers now and likely never were." He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one happened to be near the door. "Look at me, Mary," he said. "Before I leave here, we will become lovers. It's not as though we can stop it from happening, because the attraction is far stronger than you and I."
Eyes wide, mouth agape, she snapped her head around and stared at him. But, she didn't argue. She couldn't in his opinion, because if she was satisfied in bed she wouldn't be looking at him as though she needed him as much as he needed her. She huffed and turned back to the view out the window.
They were silent a while. Lucky thought he heard a hitch in her breath, as though she wanted to cry but refused to. Her silence was her way of refusing him, and he'd never been refused before. For some reason it smarted, rather painfully. It hadn't been his intention to make her cry when he told her his plan, but to merely point out that he sensed something was amiss, and that he desired her.
Lucky changed the subject. "Let's finish these items on this list, and call it a day. We're both hot and tired, and feeling short-fused."
She nodded, ducked her head to the side to dab at her eyes, then stepped over to her desk and began to shuffle the papers around nervously.
"It has been a long day. Tomorrow morning we can work on the interior finish of the cabins. Though frankly," he added, "I'm sure that anything you chose would suffice. Thus far, your tastes seem on par with my own."
"I don't feel comfortable making those types of decisions without your input." He noticed she refused to meet his gaze as she took a knife out from the drawer and with shaking hand began to sharpen her pencil over the wastebasket. He almost thought he should take the knife from her before she hurt herself with it, when she dropped her hands to her side, closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "If we were talking hull design or structure, rigging or sail plans I would, but... these are personal appointments. Surely you would want to have input on them."
He shrugged. It would mean another day in close confines with her and he didn't think he could do it without kissing her. Just the thought of his lips on hers stirred his cock. Spending more time in her company would be his penance for wanting a married woman.
Mrs. Watkins sat in the chair and changed into business professional again, with a veneer just this side of impenetrable. "We can get an earlier start tomorrow, and be done with it before the heat becomes unbearable for you." They then settled in to complete the rest of the items on her exterior appointments list. After color selections for paints were made, the last item was naming the boats. It was something he and his partner had discussed before he'd left England.
"Ian is naming his the Lady S, for his wife Sarah," Lucky said, tapping his lips with a forefinger.
"And yours?"
He hesitated a moment. Initially he'd intended to name her Maura, but right then, a voice in his heart told him to change it. Only to do so might prompt another unwelcome reaction on her part. "Lady M."
Mrs. Watkins lifted her gaze to his and quirked a brow, then checked the open door to make sure they were not being overheard. "Please do not do this," she pleaded. "I have to live and work here, long after you are gone. I cannot have my employees believing we've become—" She looked at the doorway and lowered her voice even further. "—intimate." She pointed to the workroom beyond her office door. "As it is, there are three men who already wonder what happened in the hallway. I do not need for rumors to begin. My husband would be devastated."
Lucky could tell this was very difficult for her. "It's named for Maura, Ian and Sarah's daughter, and my goddaughter."
There was only a tiny measure of relief in her eyes as she reluctantly added his name selection to the page. After she'd done that, she looked back at him and handed him the list for final review. "If all is well on these three pages, sign the bottom, and we're done for the day. Andrew will begin copying everything within the next week or two."
He made the motions of going over each item. His brain may have registered each one, but his heart saw only the definite feminine script on the page. The bold capital letters, the curves connecting the smaller ones were all indicative of a formal education. He knew so little about her, but he wanted to know it all. Taking the quill from her, he signed the bottom and passed it all back. Mrs. Watkins poured fine sand on the wet ink and blew off the excess.
She heaved a relieved sigh, rested her elbows on the desktop, and placed her chin in the cup of her hands. "We are almost done. Tomorrow's list is much smaller. The selections should take only a couple of hours. You should be free before nine or ten if we start early enough. Well, aside from dinner, that is."
"We actually have accomplished a great deal," He leaned back into the leather chair. "I was unaware of the detail work involved in having someone build you a ship." Lucky's gaze fixed on her face, on the youthful round cheeks with that smattering of freckles over the whole thing. Her perfect, straight nose tilted up just a fraction at the end, ma
king him want to kiss it because it was so adorable. And her lips... Her full lips were the color of a juicy summer raspberry. He'd be willing to bet that if he kissed them they would be equally as sweet and even perhaps contain a hint of tartness, much like her all-business-only personality. God, how he wanted to crack that hardened exterior of hers. He'd given it his best attempt, but she was having no part of him.
"I have a question for you, if you don't mind me asking." Her voice pulled him from his reverie. The richness of her amber-brown eyes made him want to dive into them and never resurface. A man would willingly drown in them for her good favor. At least this man would. And all she wanted to do was work.
"This is important to me. I really would like to know what led you to believe—" She swiped a stray wisp of hair that had loosed itself from her hair net behind an ear and lowered her voice. "Did I do something or say something that gave you the impression I would be agreeable to a flirtation?" She looked beyond the office door and lowered her voice so only he heard her say, "Or more with you?"
Lucky wanted to laugh. The woman had no idea what power she could have over him. From the moment he met her he'd been attracted to her as he'd never been to any other woman in his entire life. But he held back from reacting at all, for to do so might embarrass her. Yet it was obvious this was a problem that troubled her, so he felt the need to give her a reply. He shook his head in the negative, closed his eyes as he thought about her question a moment. "Do you remember when we met the other day?"
She frowned at him, but nodded.
He gave her a slight grin. "I told you I was knocked a little off kilter––first by your age, then your intelligence, your straightforwardness, your comfort in this business setting, and I'll admit, even by your appearance." He studied her reaction, which was not perturbed, seeing as he'd just admitted to an attraction to her. "And the way you dress is so—" He paused, looking for the right word. "—Unconventional, that I found it charming and appealing."