by Shana Galen
And when he caught sight of her, when those blue eyes rested on her even for a moment, she felt as though they were the only two people on the ship and nothing else mattered. It was pure fantasy, of course. She forced herself to remember the way he’d treated her. She found if she conjured up the scene in the library at the Rundale’s ball, her racing heart would race with anger instead of lust.
She fought to hold on to that anger.
Almost a fortnight into the voyage, the winds failed them. She’d been lying alone in the berth in the great cabin, attempting to sleep, when she noticed the stillness. She heard the distant clanging of bells and counted five. She thought that meant it half ten or half eleven. She couldn’t remember which. She just knew it was before midnight.
She rose, dressed in her shift with her feet bare, and walked to the windows facing the stern. There was nothing to see in the dark stillness. She considered lighting a lamp and finishing some of the more delicate stitching her gown sorely needed. She’d been attempting to repair the damage done to it the last few weeks, but in rough seas she could not hold her hand still enough to do the minute stitches around the more delicate lace. If she had been a more accomplished seamstress, she would not have faltered. Once again, her mother had been right to tell her to spend more time refining her talents as a lady.
Before she could retrieve the lamp, the door to the great cabin swung open. Ashley jumped but swallowed the small scream in her throat. Since the incident with Johnson, she’d been on edge. But she recognized the form in the door immediately. She’d studied it often enough. It was Nick.
“My apologies for startling you,” he said, his voice deep and reaching out to almost touch her in the darkness. He moved past her then and quickly pulled the heavy curtains over the windows.
“What are you doing?” she asked. Now that the ship was at a virtual standstill, the cabin felt rather warm and stuffy.
“No lights and no sound,” he said. His tone did not brook dissent.
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Not now,” he said and was halfway out the door before she called, “Nick!”
He paused, turned, and said, low, “Not a sound. I’ll be back shortly. No more bells tonight.”
Ashley’s heart beat hard in her chest, and she sat on the edge of the berth, hugging her knees. She could not decide if her body’s reaction was from trepidation or desire. She decided to blame it on trepidation. If she refused to acknowledge the desire, perhaps she could will it away. She was not cold. In fact, the cabin was increasingly warm, but the posture gave her some measure of security. The captain was obviously concerned. What was worrying him now? Why had they stopped moving? Had they arrived at Isla de las Riquezas?
Finally, after what seemed hours, she heard footfalls in the companionway again. She tensed as the door opened, and Nick once again stepped inside. As he closed the door, she heard the creak of the ship as it floated on the water. “The wind has died, and we’re at a standstill,” he said quietly.
“Then we haven’t arrived at Isla de las Riquezas?”
“No, but we’re within a day. That’s why this weather is unfortunate.” He ran a hand through his hair, and for the first time she realized he was tense. She had not seen him tense yet, not even when the royal navy had been bearing down on them. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from rising and going to him.
“What’s unfortunate about the weather?” Now that she was in front of him, she wished she had stayed where she’d been. It was impossible not to breathe in his scent when she was so close to him. He smelled of the salt air and also a bit like rum. He was a head taller than she, and she tilted her head back to look up at him. His face was shadowed, but she did not need to see it to know its features. She’d memorized them from all of those hours on deck, pretending to be watching the ocean when she was really watching him.
She imagined his mouth was in a thin, tight line, and his blue eyes set in grim determination. “We’re also only a few days from Gibraltar. Everyone seeking the Mediterranean goes through Gibraltar—merchants, pirates, and our old friends the British navy.”
“If we’re at a standstill, everyone else must be as well.”
The hand raked through his hair again. “Yes, but when this fog clears, we might not be pleased to see the ships that have drifted into our line of sight. Not to mention, I’d rather not be seen or followed heading to Isla de las Riquezas. I’d hoped to anchor there tomorrow.”
“The other ships—is that why you ordered dark and silence?”
“Yes, even in this fog, sound carries, and I don’t want another ship spotting one of our lights and deciding to investigate when the wind picks up.”
Ashley shook her head. “I will be glad to put my feet on solid land again.”
“You’re a sailor’s wife now. The sea is your home.”
“You cannot mean that. You didn’t want to marry me any more than I wanted to marry you.”
“What’s done is done.” The finality in his voice caused a lump to form in her throat.
“That doesn’t mean we have to accept it. There is always annulment or—”
“Do not say it. You’re my wife.”
Ashley did not have to make any effort to find her anger this time. “But I don’t want to be your wife, and I don’t want to be stuck on a ship for the rest of my life.”
He placed a finger on her lips. “Shh. Sound carries.”
She shivered at his touch and stepped back, away from his touch.
“Trapped on a ship with me for life, a fate worse than death,” he said drily.
“Do not pretend I have offended you. You don’t want me here any more than I want to be here.”
His head tilted, as though considering what she’d said. “I don’t know. You’ve made the voyage much more…interesting. My men are falling over themselves to catch your eye. My officers are distracted, and I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before a rumor that having a female on board is bad luck.”
“I’ve tried to stay out of the way,” she said.
“Even if you didn’t have the face of an angel, do you think the men would easily forget a woman is on board?”
“The face of an angel?” she murmured not hearing anything he said after that. “Is that what you said?”
He let out a breath in something of a snort. “Do not pretend you don’t know how beautiful you are.”
“I didn’t realize you thought I was beautiful.”
“Beautiful, strong, impulsive.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. Suddenly, she couldn’t quite force air into her lungs. “Resourceful, clever, brave, alluring.”
“Alluring?” she whispered. Nick moved closer, and she felt his hand caress her arm. Heat of a different sort from that in the room penetrated where he touched, swirling through her until she felt almost dizzy.
“Bewitching,” he whispered, and his lips were so close to hers she knew even the tiniest movement would bring them together. He was charming her. She remembered this rogue from London. She shouldn’t allow herself to be charmed, but she could not seem to resist because he was more than the rogue now. He was the captain and the man who had protected her, who had claimed her. She wanted him to claim her again, to remind her what pleasure was. She wanted to forget that she was stranded on a cramped ship in this never-ending ocean and suffocating in the oppressive heat.
She closed the distance and pressed her lips to his. She felt as though a fire raged within her, but his lips were cool and inviting. He didn’t take her into his arms, as she’d expected. Instead he allowed her to explore his mouth with her tentative lips. She’d kissed him before. She’d kissed many men, but she felt suddenly shy, suddenly inexperienced.
She brushed his lips with hers once then twice then traced his upper lip with her tongue. When she moved to his lower lip, she nipped it gently and he moaned softly. Searing heat rushed through her, emboldening her, and she dipped her tongue inside his mouth. His tongue met hers, stroking her
as his arms wrapped around her, and he finally pulled her against him.
She sighed, feeling his hard body against hers, and lifted her hands to fist in his hair, that lovely dark, dark hair she’d watched whipping in the breeze. He wore it in a short queue, and she released it, allowing the thong to drop to the floor as well. She was still leading the kiss, but she felt a subtle change in him. He was barely restraining himself. She was desperate to touch all of him before he took her, leaving her breathless and her mind too muddled with passion to think. She traced his cheek, his strong jaw, scraped her short nails down his neck until she reached the vee of his linen shirt.
“No cravat today?” she whispered.
“I think we both know I’m no gentleman.”
Oh, how she wanted him to prove it. She had been kissed one too many times by stiff, proper gentlemen. Her hand dipped into his shirt, and she felt the raw power of him. His heart slammed against her palm, and the muscles of his chest were tightly bunched.
“Do I make your heart beat like that?”
His mouth caressed her ear. “Always.” She felt his teeth and shivered as he nibbled her ear and then her neck. “You’ve chided me for our lack of conversation,” he whispered, “but this is not the time. My men have orders to be silent. Not to move, not to breathe until we launch the boats at first light.”
“Every sound carries when it’s this silent,” she murmured.
“Exactly. If I touch you, you must promise not cry out, not to scream your pleasure.”
She pulled back. “Ha! You certainly have a high opinion of your talents.” But she remembered the first time with him. She remembered the pleasure.
He drew her back against him and nuzzled her neck. “You’re no innocent, Ashley. I don’t have to be careful not to shock you, not to hurt you. In fact, I have plans for you.”
“Plans?” she breathed as his mouth moved lower, down the column of her neck to her collarbone. Her breasts felt heavy, and the pressure of his hands on her waist impossibly tempting.
“Before Johnson attacked you, I slept in a cot with the men just to keep myself from touching you, but it didn’t stop me from imagining all the wicked things I could do to you. All the ways to make you come.”
Oh, he was wicked indeed. No gentleman would use language like that. If she didn’t have a house full of brothers she might not even know what he meant. But she knew the word and the sensation. He’d shown her before.
Her hands tightened on his slim waist, where she clutched at him as his mouth dipped even lower, his tongue teasing the swells of her breasts where they rose over the low neckline of her shift. The garment was loose and easily removed and as his tongue teased her, his hands moved upward to cup her. One thumb slid over her hard, tender nipple, and she gasped.
“Tell me to stop, Ashley,” he said, as his teeth gently scraped her sensitive skin. His thumb rolled over that taut peak and she could not stop herself from pushing it into his hands. “I don’t want recriminations tomorrow. No implications that I tricked you.”
“I’m not tricked,” she whispered. “I want you.”
He groaned softly and then rose to his full height. She wanted to protest at the removal of his mouth, but before she could speak, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the berth. It was two steps, perhaps three at most, but she’d felt as though she were precious cargo in those few moments when he cradled her. No man had ever made her feel that way. She’d felt like a commodity hundreds of times, but never as though she was something delicate and cherished, something to be carried protectively and set down with so much gentleness.
Nick leaned over her on the berth, perched on one knee. His gaze, visible in the little light they had, was adoring. Oh, how she wanted him to look at her like that forever. How she wished she did not have the ugly scar marring her leg, that scar that had made him turn away from her all those months ago.
He was not turning away from her now, and she did not want to consider why too deeply at the moment. It was dark, too dark for him to see her scar. She would stop him from touching it, but she wanted—she needed—his hands on her elsewhere.
He reached down and fingered the small bow she’d tied in her shift to hold it closed against her breasts. Ashley inhaled slowly, her breath coming in small gasps, as he pulled the bow apart. He hooked a finger in the material and drew it down, exposing her breasts. It was dark, far too dark for him to see her clearly. And it was warm, much to warm for her to shiver. But she did shiver under his gaze. She shivered and drew in a silent gasp as his mouth lowered to tease her flesh.
EIGHT
Nick wished for the sunrise. He wished for a lamp. He wished for anything that would allow him to see Ashley as she lay beneath him. Twice now he’d had her almost naked beneath him, and both times he’d seen nothing of her body. And he’d made a study of her body—fully clothed, of course. He knew it was lush and ripe. He knew every curve he wanted to trace, every hollow he wanted to kiss. He wanted to see what he touched, but he could not risk lighting a lamp for such frivolous reasons. And when the sun rose, he would have to go.
So he saw her with his hands and his mouth. He drew the material of the shift apart and allowed it to fall to her abdomen. His hands roved over her, feeling the way she shivered at his touch, the way her skin warmed where his fingers grazed her. Her skin was impossibly soft. He’d grown used to the rough feel of rope and wood under his fingers, and she was as soft as the finest silk.
His hands cupped her flesh, feeling the pleasant weight of her as he lowered his mouth to kiss the slope of her breast. She smelled of strawberries or cherries and he could have buried himself in her then. She was so impossibly sweet—the way her hands came around his neck and she suppressed tiny cries of delight when he flicked a tongue over one of her straining nipples.
Everything in her seemed to strain toward him, as he did toward her. But in this moment, he had the luxury of time. Chante had the watch and most of the crew was sleeping. In the morning, he’d need to be everywhere at once. But right now he was not needed anywhere. He could take his time, and he fully intended to. He needed this and he needed her.
The future haunted him. Images of destruction and death stalked him in his sleep. There would be more destruction and death when he found Yussef and slit his throat for his treachery. He should have done it long before.
As soon as the winds picked up, they’d arrive at the island and God knew what he would find there. But right now he could push all of that away and touch his wife, kiss her soft skin, revel in her sharp intakes of breath as he stroked her. He hadn’t wanted a wife. He hadn’t wanted to drag Ashley into this life, but she was here now, and she just might save him.
Her hands moved at his waist, pulling his shirt free of his trousers. Her hands touched his skin, her fingers tracing the flesh of his abdomen and chest until the shirt was at his neck. He paused, allowed her to strip it off him, and lowered his body to hers. The feel of skin on skin almost undid him. He wanted to slide against her, slide into her, but he forced himself to go slowly. He’d waited this long for her. He could wait a few more moments. He lowered his mouth to her breast again. It fit perfectly in his hand, the weight pleasant and erotic. He licked her hot skin then teased her thick nipple with his tongue. She writhed beneath him, the roll of her hips forcing him to clench his jaw to maintain his restraint.
He moved his hand to her shift, grasping the fabric where it bunched at her legs and pulling it higher. His hand stroked the skin of her leg, and she stiffened and grabbed his hand. “No.”
He stilled immediately because her voice had carried and because he’d heard fear in the way she’d spoken.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered so quietly he had to concentrate to hear her. But the apology was for the sound of her voice, not the denial.
“You want me to stop?” he whispered. Please, God. Anything but stopping.
“No. I don’t want you to touch me…there.”
It might have been his passio
n-filled mind, but he was not at all certain he understood what she was saying. “Where?”
“Do not pretend you don’t know,” she hissed, her voice growing louder again. He put a finger over her lips and leaned close.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” he murmured in her ear. “Just tell me.” He nibbled her ear again, and she did not stop him. She drew him closer, pressing her hips against his straining erection. “May I touch you here?” He allowed his hands to roam over her shoulders, down her arms, over her breasts.
“Yes.”
He rolled one nipple between thumb and finger, and her breath came in short gasps. “Oh, yes.”
Reluctantly, he slid his hands down her body to cup her waist then her hips through the thin shift. “Here?”
“Yes.”
He reached for the hem of the shift again, and she stiffened. “Not here?”
“Not my leg.” Her voice was strained and sounded odd. It might have been because she was whispering. It might have been her arousal. Nick did not care at the moment. He only wanted to please her—to please himself. Perhaps her legs were ticklish. There were other ways to divest her of her clothing. He could be creative. He moved back and pulled her to a sitting position.
“Take it off,” he said quietly. He didn’t wait to see if his order was obeyed. He rose and pulled his boots off then divested himself of his trousers. He felt her shift brush his hand as it landed on the floor beside his discarded garments, and he bent on one knee beside her again. He reached for her, found her chin and lowered his mouth to kiss her. Slowly, he pushed her back on the berth, covering her body with his. She’d taken the shift off. She was all heat and silk beneath him. One of his knees nudged her legs apart, and he felt her molten core when he pressed against her. She gasped into his mouth, and her hands came around to clench his back.