Sweet Seduction hmtl

by Patricia Pellicane

  Without moving his head, Tristan's gaze settled on windows. It was dark. Idly he wondered what it was and how long he'd been lying on the floor. Overhead a lamp hung from wooden rafters, its light bringing a grimace of pain, for even this gentle illumination managed to slice through his head like a knife.

  An instant later, he remembered. He cursed as his hand moved to his trouser pocket and then he grunted with deep satisfaction. The keys were still there, and even if he couldn't see her, so apparently was his little Gypsy.

  Using his desk for support, Tristan managed to bring himself into a sitting position. For a long moment, he simply sat there leaning his back against the wooden object, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

  "I think you've given me a concussion."

  No answer.

  "I couldn't even had I the mind to do so. You've knocked me senseless."Even if his pocket had not held the key, he would have known that she was still there. He could almost hear the rapid beating of her heart. He definitely could hear the stilted, uneven sounds of her breathing. She was afraid. Good. He hoped she was terrified.

  "Since you're still here, I take it you didn't find the key."

  Still no response.

  "Gypsy, you'd be wise to answer me. Now come over here."

  "No"

  Tristan grinned. Obviously she was behind the desk. Lucky for him she hadn't come across his revolvers. No doubt he'd be dead by now if she had.

  But Tristan was wrong. She had found his guns. At his order to come to his side, she snatched one gleaming revolver from the box and was now nervously holding it between trembling hands.

  "Come here, I need your help."

  Nothing.

  "If you help me, I swear 111 give you the key." He had every intention of honoring his promise. But Tristan didn't bother to mention the fact that he wouldn't be honoring it until his ship sailed.

  "I don't believe you," came her wary reply.

  "If you knew me better, you'd know I never lie."

  "Where is it?"

  "In my pocket."

  Meg gave a soft involuntary moan. Why hadn't she thought to check his pockets? Because he'd taken one key from them already. Who would have thought that the man carried two on his person?

  "What do you want?"

  "I want you to come here."

  "Why?"

  "I need help getting up. The room is spinning around my head."

  "Throw me the key and I'll help you." Meg felt no flicker of conscience at the lie. She had no intentions of helping him. All she wanted was that confounded key.

  "I can't." Tristan hadn't exaggerated the fact that he was an honest man. It was a fact that he never lied.

  That he did so now, and quite easily, brought him a measure of surprise. "I heed your help."

  "Stay there until the dizziness passes."

  "Gypsy! You want the key or not?"

  Meg sighed as she came to her feet. She walked around the desk, giving the piece of furniture and the man who leaned upon it a wide berth. Her hands drooped and trembled ever so slightly with the weight of the gun. "Don't try anything."

  She wouldn't apologize. The man deserved that and more. "What can I do? I'm not strong enough to lift you."

  "Between you and this desk, I should be able to get up."

  "You'll only fall down again."

  Tristan gave her an angry look. "I want to get to my bed."

  "And the key?"

  "Is in my pocket. I told you I'd give it to you. Just help me up."

  Meg offered the man her hand while with some effort she held the gun in the other, aiming it at his heart. His hand lay weakly in hers. She pulled; he stirred not an inch.

  "Let me put my arm around your shoulders," he said.

  Meg eyed him for a long moment. She almost refused his request. Actually her mouth opened ready to do so, but at his next groan, a sound so pitiful and heart-rending, she almost felt sorry for him.

  Meg forgot her mistrust and moved within reach of him.

  With his left hand on the desk and his right arm securely around her shoulders, Tristan managed to come to his feet. In truth, he was dizzy, but not so unsteady that he couldn't have done this chore on his own. He smiled at the feel of her against him and then realized she'd soon grow suspicious if he didn't lean some of his weight upon her.

  Her knees buckled as he allowed her to take a small portion of his weight. But even that was too much for a woman of her stature. They staggered. It was Tristan who prevented them from crashing to the floor. Meg dropped the useless gun on the desk. She could hardly hold it, never mind shoot the thing with this witless fool knocking her about. She slid both her arms around his middle. Despite the pain in his head, Tristan was helpless to prevent his body's reaction to her close contact. He cursed the fact that his plans would have to be postponed, for the blow his head had taken had left him far from his usual self. They staggered again. An instant later they lunged toward the bed and landed with a great bounce upon its softness.

  Meg laid there for a long stunned moment before she realized what had happened. The oaf had apparently forgotten to release her when he fell across the bed. She lay on her back while this simpleton was effectively cutting off any means of her escape, for most of his body lay heavily upon hers.

  Meg tried to throw him off, but the cursed man was heavier than the earth. Drat! Why had she ever given into his plea for help? She couldn't have cared less if the man stayed on the floor for the rest of his life. Why hadn't she simply used the gun to get him to hand over the key?

  Meg raised her hips, trying to shake off his impossibly heavy legs,, but the movement only brought a low moan from his throat, clearly one of enjoyment as her bucking hips rubbed against his semi aroused body. "Get off me, you oaf."

  Tristan grinned at her breathless order. "Can't," he murmured, his face pressed into the pillow beside her head, effectively trapping a long curl that had escaped its pin. "Can't move."

  "You have to move. My God, I can't stay like this all night." She shoved at him. She might not have bothered as he only moaned again but didn't budge.

  Tristan heard the panic in her voice. Right now there was little he could do about easing her fears. He was just too damn tired.

  A low snore vibrated near her ear. Wonderful! Just wonderful. Meg groaned in frustration. The obnoxious beast had fallen asleep. Now what was she going to do? She had to get out of here. She had to get that key.

  Meg ran her hand over the only pocket she could reach, trapped in this position, and then instantly snatched her hand back, for from his throat came a sound that indicated he enjoyed her touch a bit too much. Though he was injured, she didn't trust him a whit, and she wasn't about to start something that could only end in disaster. Oh Lord, what was she going to do?

  Tristan felt her hand move over his hip and thigh as he feigned sleep and silently promised the moment he had the strength, he was going to rid both of them of their clothes. He fell asleep imagining what it would feel like lying naked beside her equally naked body while she ran her hand over his hip and thigh again.

  Meg was exhausted. Amazingly enough, the deeper his sleep, the heavier his body seemed to grow. It was bad enough that her cursed corset prevented her from taking a deep breath. This man's weight only compounded her problem. God help the woman this one chose to take to his bed. She'd be lucky indeed to find her breath, never mind a minute's comfortable sleep. Meg ignored the fact that that woman, at least for the moment, was her. She meant in the Biblical sense, anyway. She wouldn't be sharing this man's bed after he finally awakened. She was getting out of here at the first opportunity. The very first opportunity.

  Meg groaned. A shaft of light slashed across her eyes, and she buried her face in the soft pillow. The gentle sway of the ship rocked her gently back to sleep.

  Meg felt so comfortable; it was as if she floated. She never wanted to move. A hand shook her shoulder and she groaned. "Lena, just a few more minutes, please," she muttered thickly
, more asleep than awake. The hand continued to push at her. "Lord! Must you always get up at the crack of dawn?"

  Td hardly call eleven o'clock the crack of dawn, Gypsy. Besides, the longer you stay in bed, the more tempted I am to join you," came a deep voice, filled with laughter, near her ear.

  Meg was suddenly, startlingly, wide awake. Her bead popped off the pillow as if connected to a spring. The rest of her body instantly followed, and die was sitting, albeit a bit dizzily but sitting nevertheless, in the middle of a strange bed.

  Her eyes blinked wide as she realized she was not at home. And then she groaned with obvious disgust as she spotted her tormentor, grinning down at her like the fool he was. ''You seem quite recovered," was her grumpy comment as she smoothed her curls from her eyes. Her hair was a disaster. Half of it remained up in its pins while the rest had fallen free and curled wildly around her face. Meg knew she looked a mess but didn't care.

  "Mmmm," he murmured as his hand reached for the bump on his head. "Good morning to you too." He laughed at her scowling look. "I am better, thank you," he said as if she'd truly shown a moment's concern. Suddenly he flashed her a most unsettling grin. Meg swallowed as she felt its effects shiver throughout her entire body. She didn't ask herself why his smile should affect her so. She didn't want to know. The next time I try to kiss you, I'll make sure there's nothing around you can use as a weapon."

  Meg bit her lip. At least the man took defeat gracefully and didn't seem to hold a grudge. There was nothing but humor in those warm brown eyes. Meg's own eyes narrowed in mistrust. The man was entirely too forgiving. What was he up to? "I'm afraid there won't be a next time."

  Tristan gave her a blank look while barely controlling his smile. "Won't there? Why?"

  "Because you will give me the key to this room right now."

  "Oh aye, I did promise you the key last night, didn't I?"

  "Just before you pinned me to this bed. How much do you weigh?"

  Tristan grinned at her aggravated look. "Was I too heavy?"

  "Not if I compare you to a boulder," she said as she twisted her shoulders, trying to relieve them of their stiffness. All the while she watched as he reached deep into his pocket, stretching the trouser material indecently across the front of his body. Meg swallowed again and wondered why her heart was pounding so hard. It must be the shock of awakening in this man's bed, she reasoned. She soon forgot the unlikely answer to her silently asked question as the key was pulled out and dropped to the bed. "Here you go-"

  Meg snatched the key from the covers. In an instant she was out of the bed and flying across the room. The key slid into the lock, turning easily, and she was on her way down the empty companionway before she realized she was barefoot.

  Meg muttered a low, decidedly unladylike word, one she'd be embarrassed to repeat in mixed company as she was forced to return to that dreadful man's room. She glanced down at a dress that was only stained but ridiculously wrinkled. Between condition of her hair and dress, she was a mess, it seen in the light of the fact she was penniless and couldn't walk a block without her shoes, never mind the approximate three miles that separated her lodgings from the docks, that was hardly important. She moved on silent feet back into the room. Just as she expected, he was standing there grinning like a dolt,. " I knew you couldn't stay away"

  Meg shot him a foul look but didn't bother to respond to so absurd a comment. "Where are my shoes?"

  Tristan laughed at her scowl and pointed to the floor beside the bed. Meg knew she hadn't taken them off. No doubt he had done it. It didn't matter; she was getting out of there. Meg was slipping her feet into the soft, silk dancing slippers when the ship suddenly dipped and she had to hold onto the post of bed for support.

  "Are we expecting a storm?" she asked, her eyes puzzled that a ship should rock so vigorously while in port.

  Tristan glanced out the window, shook his head, and replied in all innocence. "Not that I know of."

  "Then why are we moving like this? It feels . . ." Meg's eyes widened with horror as her gaze beyond him to the line of windows over the bed.

  No," came a tiny strangled sound of pure panic. No wonder she'd slept so soundly, so comfortably. On the voyage to England, she'd slept like the dead every night. Last night's conversation repeated itself in her head. Hours too late, she remembered he'd told his officer to ready the ship for sailing the next morning! How long, she wondered, had they been at sea?

  Meg glared at Tristan's look of feigned innocence. Curse this odious beast! No wonder this barbarian had parted so easily with the key. They were at sea. It hardly mattered any longer if she were locked in this room. There was nowhere for her to go.

  "You know, of course," she began so calmly that even she was surprised at the steadiness of her voice, "that you'll suffer for this!' Her dark eyes flashed a fiery promise of retaliation, and Tristan knew a tugging somewhere in his chest at her bravery. Any other woman would have dissolved into tears or thrown a hysterical fit at finding herself in this situation, but not her. No, his Gypsy calmly remarked that she was going to make his life miserable. Little did she know that nothing could have made him more miserable than to leave her behind.

  "I haven't a doubt, Gypsy. But I think I can withstand the suffering as long as I have you in my bed."

  "Except I won't be in your bed."

  Tristan only smiled at her plucky resistance. God, this woman was everything a man could want. She was beautiful, desirable, and fearless, perhaps to the point of foolishness, but he'd be taking care of that. He would be watching her closely from now on: there would be no repeats of last night.

  He took a deep breath. A mistake. She was standing close, and the warm scent of her skin and hair suddenly filled his being. It drove whatever he was going to say from his mind, stirring the need that had tortured his body for weeks. Jesus, there was no way to keep his hands to himself if he could smell her. Tristan took a step forward and grinned as she took two back. Her eyes flashed panic.

  He was going to kiss her. He couldn't resist. 'Just a kiss, Gypsy. Nothing more." He sought to ease her panic.

  "No."

  "Why?" he asked with a teasing grin. "Do you want more?"

  "I want nothing but for you to turn this ship back." Meg cursed at the trembling in her voice and knew, even as she made the demand, the impossibility of it all. He wouldn't accede to her wishes. On that she could have wagered a year's allowance.

  Tristan smiled, his gaze settling on tightly pinched lips. "I'm going to kiss you. I deserve at least that for what I missed last night."

  "You deserve a bullet between your eyes."

  Tristan chuckled. "Bloodthirsty witch," he said as he reached for her, dragging her against him. His mouth took hers gently, purposefully, and when she tried to twist free, he merely secured her in place with the palm of his hand at the back of her head. As he felt her soften against him, he heard her low moan. Who was she fighting? Him or herself?

  Tristan sighed. He wouldn't push her now. Later, he promised himself. Later, after dinner, perhaps after a glass or two of wine had eased away a bit of her reserve.

  Tristan put her gently from him. The temptation was great to carry her to the bed, but he had things to do on deck. Their time together could wait till later.

  Meg reached for the bedpost and held on. Her legs trembled and threatened to collapse beneath her weight. Curse the man! How did he manage to do this to her? How did the touch of that particular mouth make her trembly and weak? Her mouth thinned in anger as he calmly went about the chore of dressing. No one would imagine they'd just shared a kiss that had rocked her to the depths of her soul. How did he remain so unaffected?

  She called all the curses from both heaven and hell upon this man's head. She cursed him, his parents, his future children, and anyone who ever knew him. Herself excluded, of course.

  He was pushing his feet into his boots when he noticed she was pulling the pins from her hair and combing the long, almost waist-length mass with her
fingers. "What are you doing?"

  Meg, who had just sworn to forever ignore the man's very existence, glanced his way and frowned. "What do you mean? I'm fixing my hair, of course." She looked around the cabin. "It's too much to hope, I suppose, but have you a brush?"

  "You won't need a brush."

  "Of course I need it." She sighed her disgust. "A comb then."

  "You won't be needing a comb either."

  "I suppose you'll eventually tell me what you have in mind." Her voice was hard and filled with aggravation.

  Tristan grinned at her fierce look. She was standing just out of his reach with her hands on her hips, ready to do battle. "You won't be leaving this cabin."

  "Forever?" she asked in amazement.

  "Until we reach port."

  "Which will be . . . ?" She waited for him to go on.

  "In about three weeks. I'm sorry."

  Meg laughed. "You're sorry? I doubt that."

  Meg continued to smooth her hair. With her pins in her mouth, she rolled it into a tight knot and slid the pins back in place.

  Laughter lighting his eyes, Tristan looked her way. "Are you going to listen to what I've just said?"

  "If you will refrain from babbling like a fool and manage something of interest, I will certainly listen."

  "Gypsy, you cannot go on deck."

  "What do you mean, I cannot?"

  "You'll have to wait till night. I don't want you bothering my men."

  "I won't bother anyone. I only want some fresh air and a chance to stretch my legs."

  "I could stretch your legs for you, if you've a mind." Tristan realized by her puzzled expression that the comment had gone over her head. He shrugged. "Open a window."

  Meg glared her resentment. "Isn't it enough that you've taken me from my family? Will I now find myself held a prisoner in this room for weeks without end. I won't be able to stand it." Just the thought brought on a feeling of suffocation. Meg knew she'd never make it.