"What do you think it did before? Tickle?"
Well, her nasty mouth was back to normal. What, he wondered, would it take to keep her speaking soft and sweet, murmuring gentle words of love and yearning. Would he have to keep her beneath him forever? Not a bad thought, Tristan reasoned. He could think of worse ways of spending the rest of his life.
Meg had just realized what he said about control. She spun around, leaning her weight on her elbow, careless of the fact that her breasts were exposed and almost even with his lips. "Control myself?" Her eyes blazed with fury. He grabbed her hand. He didn't trust her in this mood, and he wasn't willing to become a target. "Control myself from what?" Her dark look dared him to say it.
Tristan grinned. "What? What did I say?"
"You said that I should try to control myself. Exactly what did that mean?"
"It meant don't hit me."
She eyed him suspiciously. "I don't think so. I think you were implying that I wanted more of this debauchery."
"Certainly not!" Tristan did an amazingly good job of looking offended. "I'd never suggest such a thing." And then he spoiled everything by laughing. "Do you?"
Meg gasped at his daring. Her mouth opened. Tristan knew he was about to feel the sharpness of her tongue. But there were better things to do with tongues. Things he'd be more than happy to show her. He moved faster than lightning. Meg blinked with surprise at finding herself suddenly on her back, trapped beneath him again. "If you do, just say so and I'll be happy to accommodate. I might be tired, but 111 never be too tired to make love to you." He grinned at her fierce expression. "Especially when you ask nicely."
Meg chortled. "Ask? You won't live that long."
"Suppose I showed you right now that I could make you beg for me to love you."
"Suppose you die."
Tristan grinned at her fury. She was courageous, indeed. Even held helplessly beneath him, she showed not an inkling of fear. "I think we're going to have a long and happy life together."
Meg stared at him for a silent moment before she thought she understood his meaning. "I'll never marry you."
"I didn't ask."
It was absolutely ridiculous to feel this surge of disappointment. Good Lord, what was the matter with her? Did she actually want him to propose? Of course she did. She wanted him to propose so she could throw his proposal in his face. "Good," she said with an odd catch to her voice. "And I won't live as your mistress either. Besides, it would be difficult, to say the least, for us to have a long or happy life together. After this trip is over, you won't be having a life at all"
Tristan grinned. "I love it when you threaten me."
Meg imagined she just might explode with the rage. What else did she have but threats. She had no weapons against this man. She wasn't strong enough to best him. All she could do was vent her anger with
harsh words. It was disappointing, and more, that the man seemed to enjoy them. Still there was no way on earth she could hold them back. "I think nothing would make me happier than to see you swing from the end of a rope."
"And nothing could make me happier than to see you quiet down some. I'm tired. It's time to go to sleep."
Meg finally managed to break his hold. "I need a bath. A change of clothes, my brush and comb." Meg, so lost in her anger, never realized she was standing beside the bed naked. She didn't notice it until she saw his dark eyes moving over her in obvious appreciation. She eyed him with venom and yanked the sheet from the bed. In seconds she had it wrapped securely around her body as she glared in resentment.
Tristan lay before her, wearing only his cursed grin. His hands slid under his head. His muscles, even relaxed, looked powerful and sleek. Her gaze moved over the length of him, following the trail of thick hair at his chest, watching as it narrowed into a dark ribbon that bisected his stomach and then thickened again to cup his sex. He crossed his legs, and Meg was helpless but to allow her gaze to move down their long length. He was gorgeous, every glorious, rugged male inch of him. And Meg would have gladly died before she'd have admitted it. What she didn't know was she'd never have to. Tristan had seen the admiration flicker in her eyes. "Come back to bed. You can bathe tomorrow, and I'll find you a change of clothes." He sighed as he watched her eyes. They were angrier than ever. "There's a brush in my trunk. You can have it. Now get back here."
"I'd rather sleep on the floor."
"Too bad, 'cause you'll be sleeping right here." Tristan pointed to the empty side of his bed.
"I've never slept with anyone before."
"I know," he said so cockily she wanted to throw something. Most particularly a fist to that arrogant mouth. Meg felt some amazement at her thoughts. She'd never before known this need to do bodily harm. In her entire life, she'd never wished another dead or hurt. Not until she'd met this man. This one arrogant beast brought a tendency for violence she'd never known she'd possessed.
"What I meant was " she glared at his happy smile, "I won't be comfortable sleeping with you."
"Ill make you comfortable. You can have all the covers and most of the space."
Meg ignored him and walked across the room. She sat in his chair, folded her arms on the desk, and rested her head upon them. A second later she gave a soft cry of alarm as her body was suddenly in his arms. He almost flung her upon the bed. "When I tell you to get into bed, you'd be wise to listen. I wouldn't want to get rough." He doused the lantern before he joined her again.
"Heaven forbid" she remarked sarcastically, and Tristan chuckled as he unwound the sheet and cuddled her close to his side.
He held her for a long moment before he spoke again. "Are you comfortable?"
"No."
"Are you sleepy?"
"Not in the least."
"I'm not either." Lord, but that was an understatement if there ever was one. How could any man be expected to grow sleepy with a woman like this in his arms? "What do you expect we should do?"
Meg bit her tongue, forcing back the words, then figured if she held in her rage, she'd be a sobbing lunatic by the time they reached home. "You could take a long walk off your deck and leave me in peace."
Tristan smiled, his arms tightening around her. "You know, when you sass me, it does something that-"
"I can't stop, so don't tell me I must. I'll go crazy if I have to keep this anger in."
"I don't want you to stop."
Meg glanced up. From the dim light entering the windows above them she could see the sparkle in his eyes. Her brow creased in a puzzled frown. "What does that mean?"
"It means that I think you're adorable. And the more you sass, the more desirable you become."
"That's ridiculous."
Tristan shrugged. "It's odd, I'll grant you that, but it's true."
"Why?"
"I don't know." Tristan wondered at the oddity himself. Her sharp words should have angered him, and yet he felt a smile soften his lips. The truth of it was she filled his soul with an curious sensation, a sensation that came close to happiness every time she snapped back a smart remark. Was it that she was so small and yet spouted such brave promises? He didn't know for sure, but this woman had spirit and courage." Even in anger, most especially in anger, she excited him like no other.
"And if I was pleasant and calm?"
"I'm afraid it wouldn't make a difference. I'd want you just as much."
Meg sighed as she snuggled her head comfortably into the warmth of his neck. She didn't have any answers. As far as she was concerned, the man was certifiably mad. Considering his mental state, she supposed she should be thankful, for he treated her as gently as he would a lover. Meg yawned. She was tired. She didn't want to think about him any more.
"More," came the thick, sleepy sigh as his mouth brushed against hers. From somewhere far off she heard low, whispered laughter.
"Greedy wench," he murmured against her mouth. "You like that?"
Meg moaned in answer as she raised her mouth to his lips.
This was the
second time he'd awakened her, after promising himself he wouldn't touch her again till morning at the very least. Tristan had never known need like this before. He'd believed himself satisfied after every encounter with her, and then, with her body soft and warm against his, he felt the heat begin. More than half asleep he reached for her, knowing it was beyond his ability to stop himself from taking her again.
Tristan never imagined happiness like this to exist. She was beautifully responsive in his arms, eager for his touch, greedy for his kisses. Her moans of pleasure set him on fire even as she burned for his touch.
He wished this night would never end.
"It's nine o'clock. Time to get up."
Meg groaned at the cheery sound and only buried her head deeper into the pillow.
"Come on, aren't you hungry?"
"Normal people do not get up this early. And they most especially do not awaken with a smile on their lips."
"How do you know I'm smiling?"
"I can hear it."
Tristan grinned as he knelt on the bed. His lips nuzzled her beneath one ear. "What does a smile sound like?"
"Go away."
"I have a bath waiting for you. If you don't hurry, the water will grow cold."
"Mr. Hall, we're going to have to come to some arrangement here. I don't like to get up early. Is that clear?"
"Very."
"So go away."
Tristan chuckled at her bossiness. "What should I do with the water?"
"Take a bath."
"I already did."
Meg opened one eye and nearly snarled, "And now you expect me to use it?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"It's disgusting, that's what."
"In case you've forgotten, we're on a ship. Water isn't always easy to come by."
Meg moaned as she rolled to her side and then her back. She was stiff and sore. Everything hurt. She groaned. "I don't feel good."
"What's the matter?"
Meg shrugged. "I'm sore."
Tristan cursed as he reached beneath her and took her in his arms. It was his fault. If he'd kept his hands to himself last night, she'd be all right now. Damn it! When had he turned so greedy?
Tristan placed her in the tub of water and listened to her sighs of pleasure. "Sit in there for a bit. It will make you feel better."
"The only time I'm going to feel better is when I get rid of you."
Chapter Ten
Meg was pacing the small room as she anxiously awaited Tristan's appearance. She'd sent the cabin boy to find his captain the moment the lad had come to the door bearing a tray of hot coffee and meat pies for her midday meal. She felt utterly ridiculous clothed as she was in yards of loose material. His white shirt hung to her knees, and the huge dark trousers were secured at her waist with a rope and rolled six times before they cleared her slippered feet.
Tristan grinned at the appealing sight she made when he entered the room. He closed the door before he approached her. "Why are you in here? I thought you wanted to come on deck."
Meg's dark eyes flashed with resentment. "Do you honestly expect me to show my face dressed like this?"
Tristan grinned as his gaze moved slowly over her. He liked the idea of her wearing his clothes. He couldn't have said why if asked and didn't bother to try to understand the emotion. He only knew seeing her dressed thus made him feel good. It didn't matter that his shirt draped shapelessly from her shoulders and caused her to look much like an orphaned child. Had he thought on it, Tristan would have admitted his usual taste ran to older, more worldly, and definitely more agreeable women. In truth, she was everything he did not want. She was a thief, a liar, probably uneducated, a nag, far from gentle, and worst of all, she had a quick, sharp tongue. She never gave him a minute's peace but complained about everything. Still, there was something about her. Something he couldn't define. And it wasn't just sex. She intrigued him, she enticed him, she clouded his mind with a need he'd never known for another, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why.
The clothes might swallow her tiny form, but he alone knew what hid behind that material. And for some unknown, unexplained reason, she appeared sweeter and more desirable than ever. "You wanted a change of clothes." He shrugged. "I haven't anything else."
"Wonderful!" she exclaimed sarcastically. "I'm to either wear the same clothes for three weeks or this ridiculous costume."
"Except for the fact that they're a little large, I hardly see—"
"A little large!" Meg remarked in disbelief.
"If it bothers you so much, you might consider another alternative."
"What?" Meg glared at the man towering over her as she eyed him suspiciously.
"You could stay in bed. Then you wouldn't have to wear anything." Meg's mouth dropped open in shock at the thought of lying in bed for the better part of three weeks, calmly awaiting this man's casual use of her body. Before she could tell him what she thought of his suggestion, he went on: "Then, when we arrive in Baltimore, your dress will show no signs of wear."
"How kind of you to concern yourself with my appearance upon arriving in Baltimore," she sneered.
Tristan smiled even as he nodded. "You're welcome."
"You have a point about my dress."
Tristan's eyes widened with surprise. He wouldn't have believed she'd so easily accede to his request. He should have known better.
"It will be little more than rags if I wear it every day for the next three weeks." Her eyes brightened as she found a solution to her problem. "I'll wear the cabin boy's clothes."
Tristan shook his head, his lips instantly tightening with displeasure. "No."
"What do you mean, no?"
There was no way Tristan was going to allow this woman to parade around in form-fitting trousers before his men. There was no telling what might happen if they saw her rounded rear tightly encased in Tommy's pants. "His clothes are too small."
"They are not."
"You're not wearing them."
"Why?"
"Gypsy, I've got forty men on this ship. Do you want them standing in line waiting their turn once they throw me overboard?"
Meg's brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about? Why would they stand in line?"
"For their chance at you"
It took her a moment, but Meg finally realized his meaning. She scoffed at his fears. "The men on this ship, present company excluded, of course, are gentlemen. While you, Captain, are the most evil-minded of barbarians. I look forward with relish to the end of our short acquaintance. When that day comes, I will consider myself the most blessed of all women."
Tristan did little more than smile at her insults.
"And another thing. I have always and will continue to wear what I please when I please. No one has ever told me how to dress, and 111 never listen to your demands."
In the end, and despite her brave words, they compromised. She wore Tristan's long shirt over an extra pair of the cabin boy's trousers.
Meg stood upon the prow as she had every day for the past eleven and grinned into the delicious warmth of the wind. It caressed her body and grabbed at her unbound hair, whipping it behind her like a long flowing cape. A smile curved her lips, and she laughed aloud as a light, cool spray dampened her clothes and hair.
"I don't want you to stand here."
Meg gritted her teeth at the unwanted intrusion. Would the man never leave her be? "What's the matter this time?"
"First of all, standing like that allows everyone to see what they may. The wind presses your shirt against you, showing every curve of your body."
"First of all," Meg countered nastily, "I'm facing forward. As you can see, there is nothing out there but water. And unless you worry about the fish, I'm tempting no one."
"And," Tristan went on ignoring her quick response, "the mist is making you wet. I can see through this shirt when it's wet."
Meg instinctively folded her arms over her chest. "You beast! I can't stand by the
wheel—too much of a distraction. I can't sit in the sun—the men are either looking at my hair or my legs. Now I can't stand at the prow." Her teeth bared as she growled, "Maybe you could drag me behind on a rope. I shouldn't trouble you at all that way."
Tristan grinned. God, but she was adorable. If half his crew weren't working within sight of them, he would have already taken her in his arms and kissed her senseless.
Meg made a face. Damn the man! Did he always have to smile like that when she said something terrible? She then reasoned he had nothing to fight about. The man had every thing he wanted.
"I've had Cook set up a table for tea, I mean coffee. Would you like some?"
She'd let Tristan know, from the first, her aversion to tea. It appeared their mutual love of coffee was the only thing they had in common.
Meg sighed and then nodded. What was the use? She couldn't fight him. Well, she could, but she never won. And winning was, after all, what counted.
"You know, you're the first Englishwoman I've ever known who doesn't like tea."
"Believe me, Mr. Hall, you don't know me."
"But I fully intend to, Gypsy." His arm came around her waist, and he guided her over the deck toward the table set under the shade of a sail. "Before this voyage is over, I expect I'll know you very well indeed."
Meg ignored the sexual reference. She knew she couldn't stop him from doing as he would. But he'd never know her, not if it were up to her, and it most certainly was. Meg smiled as she glanced into his warm gaze, wondering how he'd take the news once he discovered her true identity.
As usual while Tristan took a break from his duties, Mr. Crain watched over the crew. Soon after coffee was poured, and sweet cakes enjoyed, Dr. Morgan, the ship's physician, joined them at the small table. The doctor was somewhere around thirty, although his eyes appeared much older. His face was heavily lined, his eyes tired and puffy. Though no mention was made of it, it appeared as if he'd recently suffered some great illness.
The truth, however, was that Doctor Morgan more often than not spent his nights lost in a bottle. He knew the day was fast approaching when he could no longer keep it a secret. But like most who suffered this ailment, he figured he'd handle that problem when it came.
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