The Dangerous Protector

by Janet Chapman

  “Can ya take the wheel while I set the anchor?” he asked, pulling the pin that locked the heavy anchor in place.

  Her smile suddenly turned crooked. “What would Ahab do if he found out you let me steer his precious ship?”

  Bolstered by that tiny spark of mischief, and feeling like a schoolboy who had just caught the eye of the class beauty, Duncan returned her smile. “He’d likely beat me to a pulp. That is, if someone were to tell him.”

  She canted her head. “Because you wouldn’t defend yourself, would you,” she said as a statement of fact.

  “Aye. Not against a man half again my age.”

  “Nobility is important to you, isn’t it, Duncan?”

  He shrugged, wondering where this conversation was going. “No more than it is to you, counselor.” He waved at the island. “Ya’re steaming mad that someone is fouling the waters around here, and ya won’t quit until whoever is responsible is behind bars.”

  “We’re too much alike, Duncan.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, nodding. “That’s why it’s going to work for us, Willow.”

  “It also might be the one thing that makes us not work.”

  He shook his head, pulling her into his arms and kissing the tip of her nose. “But just think of the children we could have,” he whispered. “They’d be remarkable people.”

  “They’d be hellions,” she said on a sudden laugh as she wrapped her arms around him and laid her face on his chest. “We wouldn’t know a moment’s peace.”

  “Aye,” he said with a sigh, hugging her to him, again bolstered by their easy banter. “But it would be fun.” He set her away, afraid to give her a chance to get serious again, and turned her toward the stern of the ship. “Take the wheel, woman. I’m not wanting to have to paddle home and explain to Ahab why his ship is sitting on the rocks.”

  Her journey back was much easier, now that they were in fairly calm water. Mickey looked up at Duncan, cocking his broad head much the way Willow had, and whined.

  “Don’t look at me,” Duncan said with a shrug. “You go try talking some sense into her.”

  Mickey rumbled deep in his chest, turned, and trotted down the deck to Willow.

  “Engage the engine and turn to port,” Duncan shouted to Willow as he stood next to the anchor release. He waited until he thought they were in a good position, then flipped the release. The anchor hit the surface with a muted splash and dropped into the depths. Duncan waited until the heavy line stopped. “Now put the engine in reverse and turn starboard,” he shouted, waving backward at Willow.

  Again he waited while the line played out another hundred or so feet before he brought the spool to a stop, steadying himself against the sudden jolt when the anchor fetched up on the bottom.

  He waved his hand again. “Try to drag it back,” he shouted. “Then turn the wheel to port and see if it’s set.”

  Satisfied they weren’t going to drift either out to sea or in to shore, Duncan walked the length of the schooner, unable to stifle a grin at the picture Willow made. She was standing at the wheel, which was nearly as tall as she was, completely focused on her task, her brows lowered in a frown as she disengaged the engine, spun the wheel to a neutral position, and tied it off.

  She looked up as he approached, her smile brilliant. “You can call me Captain Foster,” she said as she puffed out her lovely bosom and saluted him. “And you can be my first mate.”

  “I’d rather be your cabin boy,” he said, taking her in his arms again.

  She leaned into him and wrapped her hands around his neck. “I like the sound of that,” she whispered, toying with the back of his hair. “What do cabin boys do?”

  “They serve their captain’s every need,” he whispered back.

  “Every need?”

  “Aye.”

  “Even…personal needs?”

  “Especially personal needs,” he told her, leaning down to cover her mouth with his.

  She rose to meet him halfway, parting her lips with a soft sound of anticipation. Duncan took advantage of her sweet invitation and deepened the kiss, savoring the taste of salt air and hot cocoa that mingled with her own delightful freshness. Her response was immediate, her tongue sweeping against his and her hands tightening on his neck.

  Duncan’s own response was to groan as he pulled her hips forward, lifting her into his groin. She stretched herself up, wrapping her legs around his waist and breaking their kiss to bury her face in his neck.

  “Make love to me, Duncan,” she whispered. “I want to feel you inside me.”

  A shudder of desire ran through him. Lifting her up, Duncan strode to the ladderlike stairs that led below, but stopped when he realized he couldn’t carry her down the steep steps. He lowered Willow to her feet and cupped her face. “Go below,” he growled. “I’ll make sure all is set up here, and I’ll be right behind ya.”

  She stood on tiptoe and gave him a quick kiss. “Which bunk is ours?” she asked, her eyes filled with passion and her smile with promise.

  “The one up front on the port side,” he told her, opening the half door and helping her down to the first step.

  She stopped, turned, and looked up at him. “Can you give me five minutes?”

  “Two,” he said through clenched teeth. “Don’t bother to put on that cute bit of lace, lass. It’ll only get ruined.”

  Duncan watched in fascination as her eyes widened and her face flushed pink. She said nothing else, but climbed backward down the ladder and disappeared below.

  Duncan turned and looked at the island, tugging on the pant leg of his tight jeans. The little witch. She couldn’t help herself any more than he could.

  He strode to the bow, checked the anchor line, then scanned out to sea and then back along the island’s shoreline. They were alone—finally. He had warned Jason not to show up before noon. He walked back to the aft stairs, but stopped when Mickey tried to go down ahead of him. Duncan pulled on the wolf’s mane and stepped on the stairs to block his path.

  Mickey sat down and cocked his head in question.

  Duncan ruffled his fur. “You stay up here and keep watch for boat traffic,” he told the wolf. “I’m not needing your help below.”

  With that he closed the half door and climbed down, deciding that he’d have Willow all to himself for at least the next five hours. Enough time, he hoped, to start capturing her elusive heart.

  Chapter Twelve

  She was suddenly frightened. Not shy. Not exactly nervous. Just suddenly scared to take off her clothes, crawl under the covers, and spend the rest of the morning being the sole focus of Duncan’s attention.

  Something had changed between them. If she had to guess, Willow would say it had happened the night of her accident. When Duncan had walked into that hospital exam room and silently stood there staring at her, Willow had realized she no longer felt hunted—she’d felt…well, she had felt loved.

  Not that Duncan had kept his feelings for her a secret, but those feelings had always been tempered by the safety of lust. Lust was a much more definable emotion, and definitely more manageable. But for the last two days, Willow had been aware of an underlying tension between them. She’d sensed a new determination on Duncan’s part that she stop running long enough to take him seriously. He wanted her to love him completely, to take that frightening leap of faith into his arms.

  So why couldn’t she? What flaw was there in her that stopped her from taking that last step off the precipice into total commitment?

  Her sister had certainly jumped in with both feet. Rachel loved Kee with all her being, and she appeared to be not only surviving, but thriving. Rachel had a dream husband and family, and she didn’t seemed at all worried what the future might hold.

  But then, Rachel had always been the brave one. For as long as Willow could remember, Rachel had quietly gone after whatever she wanted without seeming to worry about the consequences.

  Unlike herself, Willow thought as she stared at the narrow bunk b
uilt into the port side of the ship’s bow. The more frightened she became, the more she blustered, hoping the world would never realize what a coward she really was.

  Duncan would realize, though. He would soon understand that he had fallen in love with a scared young girl who would rather dance in the fires of passion than lose herself to love. Dammit, didn’t he realize she was going to break his noble heart?

  “Ya needn’t glower so. There’s no bedbugs, I promise,” Duncan said softly from right behind her.

  Willow leaned back until she could feel the heat of his body, and continued to stare at the bed. “I don’t want to love you, Duncan.”

  “Then don’t,” he whispered, cupping her shoulders and slowly turning her around. He lifted her chin to look at him. “It’s never been my intention to upset ya, lass. I have enough love for the both of us.”

  “But it’s not fair to you.”

  “Ah, Willow, life’s not fair,” he said on a sigh, pulling her into his arms. “And that’s the challenge,” he finished as he leaned down and covered her mouth with his.

  Willow wrapped her own arms around his neck and kissed him back with the urgency of eighteen months of wanting him. To heck with her worrying; she was going to throw caution to the wind and make love to this wonderful, beautiful man.

  Without breaking the kiss, and pulling Duncan with her, Willow scuffed off her shoes and crawled up onto the high bunk until she was kneeling level with him. She unwrapped her hands from his neck and started unbuttoning his shirt, leaning away only enough to give him access to her own buttons.

  They undressed each other with more passion than grace, occasionally stopping just long enough to appreciate each new patch of revealed skin. Duncan kissed her bare shoulder while he unfastened her jeans; Willow slid off his shirt and ran her lips across his naked chest while she unbuckled his belt.

  The fever inside her grew to the point where time stopped and the world narrowed to only vivid sensation; he smelled wonderful, tasted divine, and felt powerfully warm and virile. Willow’s anticipation heightened as desire washed through her with the force of a surging tide.

  Duncan nudged her back until she was lying on the bunk, slipped off her pants—lace panties included—and tossed them away. He then stepped out of his own pants—boxers included—and crawled up beside her to pull her back in his arms.

  The contact sent ripples of fire coursing through her. “Yes,” she whispered, burying her face in his chest and running her hands over the quivering muscles of his back.

  “Aye,” he breathed, lifting her head up for his kiss. “Ya feel so wonderful, lass. So alive.”

  Willow pulled his mouth down to hers, parting her lips to get the full taste of him. Her legs moved restlessly against him as she explored every inch of him she could reach.

  He captured her hands, gently pinning them over her head as he leaned back and looked down at her so fiercely, Willow stopped breathing. His dark emerald gaze moved with slow deliberation over her face and down her neck to her bra-covered breasts, his free hand tracing the same path with a feather-light touch. He slid one finger under the clasp of her bra, snapped it open, and brushed the thin material aside.

  Willow felt a self-conscious blush tinge her face as he carefully ran his finger along the dark bruise from her seat belt that started at her left shoulder, crossed her chest between her breasts, and ended just above her waist.

  “I’m glad ya bought yar new truck,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss the bruise between her breasts. “It saved yar life.”

  His sweet attention was killing her. Willow shifted, moving one of her breasts under his lips, whimpering when his mouth finally closed over her budded nipple and he gently suckled. But he still didn’t release her hands, heightening her frustration as he moved on to the other breast, pulling another faint cry from her. She settled one leg over his thigh, using her heel to pull him against her, then growled in response to his deeply rumbled chuckle.

  “We have the whole morning,” he said, his mouth moving up from her chest to kiss her chin. His dancing eyes gleamed into hers. “I’d forgotten how impatient ya get.”

  Willow glared up at him. “It’s been eighteen months, Duncan. I want to feel you inside me. Now,” she finished with a growl, using her heel to pull him over her, then wrapping both legs around him so tightly that he reared up at the shoulders.

  His smile vanished. “Unless ya’re wanting to start a family, lass, ya need ta give me a minute,” he said, reaching under the pillow with his free hand.

  Willow immediately unlocked her legs, allowing him to roll off her so he could open the small foil packet. She noticed the packet was one of three, and her own smile quickly returned.

  He had to free her hands, and Willow quickly began exploring his beautiful body again, running her fingers over the taut muscles of his chest and across his broad shoulders. She could feel the tension in him, the hum of his own desire and impatience, and her smile widened.

  “You only brought three?” she asked.

  He finished slipping on the condom and just stared at her, completely nonplussed.

  “And I thought you were a practical man,” she continued, ignoring the warning in his eyes. “It’s a good thing my sister knows me well. She put two dozen in my suitcase.”

  Still saying nothing, his eyes gleaming again, Duncan slowly peeled her hands off his body, held them back over her head, and carefully lowered himself between her thighs. Willow snapped her mouth shut, her eyes widening as the tip of his shaft probed against her.

  He gently brushed the hair from her face and kissed her. Willow’s response was immediate. She wrapped her legs around him again and wiggled just enough to feel him start to enter her. “Now, Duncan,” she whispered into his mouth. “I need to feel you inside me now.”

  Either his patience was finally played out, or Willow revealing she had two dozen more condoms at their disposal gave him permission to hurry things along this time. Duncan at last released her hands, braced himself above her, and gently—with maddening care—entered her.

  Willow had to remember to breathe and make herself relax—which was hard, considering her heart was pounding with the force of storm-driven waves crashing on Thunder Island. She couldn’t tell which inflamed her more, the feel of Duncan moving so deeply inside her or the intensity of his dark green eyes locked on hers.

  For Willow, it was over before it even began. She quickly spiraled out of control, cresting around him with a cry of utter abandon that echoed off the walls of the tiny berth. Duncan continued to move, carrying each pulse of her fulfillment to new heights, washing her in a storm of never-ending pleasure.

  And still he didn’t stop, instead slowing to a gentle rhythm that allowed her to ebb the merest of seconds before the storm started to build again. His eyes mirrored her response, all but sparking with energy as he watched her peak with another mindless explosion of sensation.

  He joined her this time, throwing back his head as his shout of joy hummed through the air and melded with hers. He stilled, buried deep inside her, his eyes locked on hers, and Willow felt her insides throb with the rhythm of their pounding hearts.

  He closed his eyes on a sigh and lowered himself beside her, keeping his hips between her thighs to catch the last lingering pulses of their pleasure.

  Willow stared up at the ceiling and realized she was smiling. The drought was over, and the deluge of passion had certainly been worth the wait.

  “Aye,” Duncan muttered beside her ear. “Droughts are definitely hard on a body.”

  Willow realized she’d spoken her thoughts out loud. She looked over at Duncan and lifted an inquiring brow. “Are you implying you’ve been celibate for the last year and a half?”

  He frowned back. “Are you implying I live by a double standard?” he asked instead of answering her. “That I expect ya to stay out of men’s beds while I dance from one woman to another?”

  “You’re a—”

  He covered her mout
h with his hand. “No name calling.”

  She wiggled free. “I was going to say you’re a guy,” she told him ever so sweetly, patting his cheek. “And the only guys I know who are celibate are dead.”

  “Or so crazy in love we’ve gone insane,” he muttered, rolling completely off her and pulling the blanket over them. “You get a thirty-minute nap, counselor,” he said, wrapping her tightly against him so that her face was buried in his neck. He patted her bottom through the blanket. “Maybe only ten minutes. I intend to put a big dent in your thoughtful sister’s supply of packets before Jason and Jane get here.”

  They spent the rest of the morning making love with the laziness of a gentle rain rather than a raging storm, effectively putting an end to their mutual droughts. They dozed to the gentle rocking of the ship, woke to explore each other’s bodies, and simply cuddled in silence for long periods of time. Duncan found he couldn’t get enough of Willow—that he couldn’t hold her closely enough to erase the memory of nearly losing her two nights ago.

  And neither, it seemed, could she.

  She was snuggled so tightly against him right now, Duncan didn’t know where he ended and Willow began. She was softly snoring, her warm breath wafting over his chest, her bandaged hand tucked in his armpit, and her right leg thrown over his as if she were afraid he might escape.

  Duncan stared up at the ceiling and silently sighed. Escape hadn’t even been part of his vocabulary for nearly two years.

  Mickey gave a soft “Woof” overhead, and Duncan heard him padding toward the stern of the ship. It seemed the honeymoon was over. Jason and Jane were likely approaching in the launch, and it was time they turned their attention to Willow’s mystery. Until it was solved, Duncan knew he wouldn’t be able to stop worrying about her, much less be free to concentrate on winning her heart. He gently shook her awake. “It’s time to get dressed, counselor. Company’s coming.”

  “Make them go away,” she muttered into his chest, snuggling even closer. “You killed me, Dunky. I can’t move.”