Even though the man had spent many years beneath the sun's relentless glare, he had not tanned but had grown increasingly crimson so that his skin's tone almost perfectly matched his hair. Only the occasional sparkle of white teeth and blue eyes broke the image of almost pure carrot red. He was a kindly man, Meg judged, a man quick to laugh and easy to like.
"Would you care for a game of chess?" Dr. Morgan inquired.
"Of course " Meg returned with a smile. The two of them had played five times now. And Meg had easily won every game, but she allowed the good doctor to believe he had a chance. Smiling, she remembered many a winter's night when she and her father had sat with a chessboard between them.
"Don't trust her, Jimmy." Tristan grinned at the supposed innocence in her eyes. "I know that look."
Meg laughed in surprise. "Do you? And what look might that be?"
"The kind that warns a man to be very careful indeed."
"Meaning I cheat?"
"Meaning you don't have to cheat." He eyed her suspiciously. "Who taught you how to play?"
"My father."
Tristan didn't believe her for a minute and wondered at the casual lie. Did she think him a fool? What would a Gypsy know about chess? With the exception, of course, of its value if He were about to steal the set, nothing. Tristan might have imagined a lover had taught her, but he knew now that she'd had no lovers before him. Nor would she after, he silently added. He sighed. There was no use nagging at her for the truth. The woman made up the most ridiculous stories. He wasn't about to get anything but lies from her.
"Perhaps we'll play later," Tristan said as he shrugged away his thoughts and came to his feet. "I have work I must see to now."
Who asked you anyway? Meg silently responded, while shooting his retreating back a disgusted look. She didn't want to play chess or anything else with the dreaded beast. Meg turned her attentions toward the kindly doctor and completely forgot the captain.
"Are you angry with our captain?"
"Angry?" That was putting it mildly. She hated the man. Lived for the day she'd see him swing from the end of a rope, and yet, curse her soul, she thrilled to his every touch. Meg was mortified, and because of her guilt she only hated him more. "What makes you think that?"
Morgan shrugged. "The way you looked at him just now."
"Doctor," she began.
"Please, call me Jimmy."
Meg smiled as she watched the man's face grow redder than ever.
"Jimmy, you must know that the captain and I share the same quarters."
James Morgan almost turned purple at the thought.
Meg sighed. "The point is, he holds me against my will. He kidnapped me from my family."
The doctor gasped in outrage. He'd known, of course, that the two shared the captain's quarters, but he hadn't imagined it was against her will. "Shall I—"
"No. I don't want you to endanger yourself."
"But-"
"He is the captain of this ship. You'll only find yourself in trouble if you interfere." She sighed. "He's not abusive. Once we reach port, the law will take care of him."
Dr. Morgan looked at her with obvious sympathy.
"I wish I could help you."
Meg smiled sadly. "So do I."
It was an hour before Dr. Morgan excused himself, claiming he had work to do. Meg sat alone in the shade of a huge sheet of canvas and quietly assessed her life. What had happened last night and every night since she'd come aboard this ship did not bring her a sense of ease. Over and over she'd vowed it would not happen again, and yet it always did. Meg wasn't sure which of them she hated most, the captain for his abuse or herself for allowing it.
And Tristan Hall, although he was gentle in his takings, had abused and ruined her, if the truth be told. He'd taken her choice from her, and for that she cursed beast to hell. And while she was at it, she cursed every man aboard this ship, for there wasn't one among the forty she could go to for help.
Meg held no false hope. She knew well the world of shipping. A captain's word was law, a law no one dared to defy. No man would chance his neck being stretched, no matter how outrageous his captain's actions.
She sighed in weary defeat, knowing the damage was done and that little could be done about it now. But night was fast approaching. After the things they had done this morning, the beast no doubt imagined she'd be a willing participant in his lechery. Well, he had a surprise in store. More than one, in fact. Meg prayed for a fast voyage. She couldn't wait for the day when she calmly had this villain arrested for his crimes.
Meg eyed the lowering sun and realized it must be close to the dinner hour, the hour when she'd take her meal alone with him. Meg shivered at the thought. She couldn't bear it if he again caused her to lose herself in his arms. Lord, it was so degrading. She couldn't look at him afterwards, not when she'd cried out with the pleasure, not when she showed him clearly how she ached for more.
It was disgraceful. Meg had never imagined till now that she possessed so lusty a nature. Her cheeks grew scarlet at the memory of what she'd done, of what she'd allowed him to do.
And last night, Meg shuddered, oh God, last night had been even worse. She hated the man. She despised him and yet all he had to do was touch her, show her a moment's concern, and she melted like some worthless, spineless creature in his arms.
She'd been fighting the temptation to remember all day, but her mind, of its own accord, slid back to the ecstasy of knowing his touch.
There had been a tub of water awaiting her use. She'd entered the cabin and smiled as she imagined how good the water was going to feel. And then he was there, denying her privacy. And then she was glad that he had. He placed her in the tub and knelt at its side. Gently he'd washed her as if he'd been a servant. No, his ministrations had been far too intimate for a servant. A lover, perhaps. No. A man in love. Meg frowned at the thought. He wasn't in love with her. Why would she think such a thing?
Because he touched her like she'd once imagined a man would touch her. A man who loved her madly. But it wasn't so in this case.
Meg's face clouded with frustration. She wished she had more experience along these lines. Perhaps men touched their mistresses like that. She sighed as she'd never know for sure, because once she got rid of this monster, she was never going near another man.
"I can take care of it, thank you," Meg said. Settled in the tub, she reached for the cloth.
But Tristan wouldn't let it go. Slowly he ran a bar of soap over its surface, all the while his warm brown eyes growing to midnight as he took in the sight of her.
"I prefer bathing in privacy," she said, uncomfortable under his stare, but she might as well have been talking to the wall.
When Tristan had soaped the cloth to his satisfaction, he began rubbing it over her neck and shoulders. Meg pushed his hands away, but they simply returned again, moving gently over her skin. She pushed again to no avail. Finally she decided she wouldn't fight him. The effort was wasted in any case. Let him see what it was to touch a woman who refused to acknowledge that touch. She'd lay like a rag doll, not moving a muscle. She'd ignore his presence, his very existence.
Only that was worse. Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment as she remembered what had happened next.
The cloth dipped lower, and Meg bit her lip, fighting the need to cry out, to beg him to stop. He wouldn't. She knew he wouldn't. Her begging would have been in vain. She closed her eyes and willed her mind to ignore his ministrations. She tried. Lord, how she'd tried, but it was useless.
The cloth soon disappeared, and Meg gasped at the touch of his slippery hands moving over her neck and shoulders. She swallowed the cry that came to her lips, and her head fell back against the rim of the tub. She couldn't bear it. She couldn't!
She tried to breathe evenly, but with her heart pounding the way it was, her breath kept getting stuck in her throat. Stop! she wanted to cry, but the sound she uttered instead was a low, aching moan. Meg stiffened and opened her eyes to his
satisfied gaze. "I was beginning to think I was having no effect on you."
"You aren't. I was merely clearing my throat."
The corners of Tristan's mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile, but he only nodded and his cursed hands refused to still. Oh God, why didn't he stop? Why did he touch her until she was mad for more, for everything he could give, show, and do?
Meg tried to pull herself into a sitting position. From there she could easily exit the tub without his help, but she couldn't garner the strength. Her arms lay useless and trembling at her sides.
And then her left arm was out of the water, and he was rubbing the soapy rag over its length. She shivered at the sensation as he ran his hand under her arm to her fingertips. She'd never known anything so sensual. She was captivated, a willing victim as she fell under his spell. She had no power to stop it. He was an opiate she could not resist.
Damn this man! How had he'd made her want this? How had he brought about this craving for more?
Her arms soapy, he eased each back into the water. The cloth soaped again, he reached beneath the surface to her chest, coming closer to her breasts with stroke. He was driving her insane!
Meg lay perfectly still, barely breathing. Her body stiff and trembling in anticipation as she silently cried, Touch me! My God, please touch me. And he did. Her breasts were slowly cradled in warm soapy hands. It was heaven. Nothing on earth could compare.
She sighed disappointedly as he left the enticing softness of her and continued down the length of her body. He knew her body better than she. He knew when to touch, how to touch and where, but worst of all, he knew what made her greedy for more. He washed her feet, the backs of her knees, her legs, but when his hands came to her thighs, Meg couldn't hold back the groan.
She didn't want him to touch her there. She didn't want it, but she knew she'd surely die if he didn't. And then he did, and Meg could only groan again, helpless as his fingers went in search of soft, hot flesh.
His breathing grew steadily tortured as he touched her. He hadn't started out with this in mind, but there was no way he could stop now.
"Please." She whimpered the word so softly he hardly heard, but it was enough for him to know this teasing was at an end. Tristan instantly released his erection from his straining trousers. It took hardly any effort at all to bring her from the tub to join him on the floor. He lay on his back fully clothed. She straddled his hips totally naked. And neither had ever felt so excited.
"Ride me, Gypsy" he said as he eased her down on his throbbing sex.
Meg gasped at the feel of him hot and thick, pulsating with blood, with life deep, deeper inside her. Her head flung back as she submitted to the luxury of pure delicious sensation. His hands reached for her breasts, his fingers twisting the damp tips. Somehow everything was connected, for the more he touched her, the deeper she wanted him inside, and her body sank upon his.
Meg groaned in near delirium. It couldn't be this good. Nothing was this good.
Tristan shoved his hips up, and Meg groaned again. "Ride me. Ride me," he said, his words a desperate plea.
Looking into his eyes, she saw the pain and knew it matched her own. She rode him, just like a stallion, her hair wild about her face and shoulders, her body dried and then growing slick again with sweat as she moved above him.
She'd been a wild thing, demanding that he give her all of himself, fill her to overflowing. She grabbed his shirt in tight fists and gritted her teeth. "More," she said. "Give me more." And then like a woman gone mad, she rode him until neither believed they'd survive such pleasure . . .
"Are you hungry?"
Meg gasped at the sound of his voice and turned quickly away. He couldn't see the flush of her cheeks. He'd know then. He'd know what she'd been thinking. Idly she wondered if her thoughts hadn't conjured up the beast. "No."
"We should go below."
"Why?"
"Because our meal is already in our room and will be cold if we delay much longer."
Our room? When had his quarters become theirs?
"I told you, I'm not hungry."
"Well, I am." He took her arm, ignoring the fact that she did not come willingly to her feet and guided her toward the hatch. "You can watch me eat."
"Now there's something I've always longed to do."
Tristan grinned. Would he ever get enough of hearing her sass him? He couldn't remember when a nasty little vixen had so appealed to him. "What else have you always longed to do?"
Meg shrugged, knowing the impossibility of winning out against his strength, and allowed him to take her below. "Visit exotic places, I suppose."
"Like . . ." he prompted.
She shrugged, "I don't know. India, Morocco, or . . ."
Tristan shook his head. "You're likely to be kidnapped in Morocco. Some damn sultan would see you and take you off to his harem."
"Oh no!" she said, aghast, pretending to be shocked at the thought. Her gaze turned suddenly hard, and one brow raised as she glared into smiling eyes. "And how is that different from what you've done?"
Tristan looked at her with some amazement, only then realizing, to her way of thinking, it wasn't different at all. But it was. He didn't want her for a sexual playmate. Well, perhaps he did, he silently corrected, but he wanted more than that. How much more? Tristan wasn't ready to answer that. He simply didn't know. "Not too different, I suppose. But at least you won't have to share me with others. When I take a woman, it's one at a time."
"How fortunate for your women." Meg scowled at the laughter he didn't bother to hide. "Am I supposed to feel honored?"
He shrugged. "Others have."
Meg nodded, her eyes wide with feigned excitement. "Oh, in that case, give me a minute and I'll try to work up some enthusiasm."
Tristan laughed at her sarcasm. She was nervous, he knew. She hadn't wanted to join him in his cabin. Their evenings spent together were lusciously erotic. And Meg had every reason to suppose tonight would be no exception.
"Gypsy, you can relax. I won't hurt you."
Meg looked up at his tender expression. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to understand his meaning.
"I haven't hurt you yet, have I?"
She gave a quick shake of her head as if to dismiss the subject. "Let's not talk about it."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to think about it."
"Because it gets you excited?"
"No " she said between clenched teeth, "Not because it gets me excited. Because it makes me furious."
"I don't believe you. I think you want me just as much as I want you."
"You're disgusting. Night after night you force yourself on me and then have the nerve to tell me I want it."
Tristan laughed. "Have something to eat."
"No," she returned sulkily. "As a matter of fact, I'm not eating anything more until I get off this ship."
Tristan shrugged. As he cut into a thick piece of rare beef covered with gravy, he warned, "You're going to get mighty hungry."
"I hope I die," she said, sounding like a petulant child.
"No, you don't."
"Then I hope you do"
Tristan laughed. "Come over here."
"No."
He didn't bother arguing with her, knowing she wouldn't come on her own, no matter what he said. He simply got up and took her by her arm. A moment later she was seated stiffly in his lap. "Have some wine " Tristan held a tankard to her lips and said, "If you don't drink it, you'll be wearing a stained shirt."
Meg swallowed the wine and then glowered at his happy expression. "Satisfied?"
"I will be later"
Meg only growled. There was nothing she could tell him that he didn't already know. She hated him. She didn't want this. She wished he were dead. It was useless to constantly repeat her threats.
"Come on, sweetheart, have a bite. Just one bite."
"Lord, but you have to be the thickest, most obnoxious man I've ever had the misfortune to meet."
Tristan slipped a piece of meat into her mouth as she spoke. Meg chewed without thinking and then stared angrily at him when she realized what he'd done. She swallowed and then heaved a great sigh. "Oh God, I give up."
"Do you?"
From the looks of him, the man had rarely enjoyed himself more. Meg wished it was within her power to wipe that grin off his handsome face. One day, she promised herself. One day my turn will come.
She came to a decision then. There wasn't a thing she could say or do that would change her present circumstances. Why torture herself with silent recriminations? She couldn't help her responses. It was this man's fault, not hers. To fight him was a useless effort. If her temporary lot in life was to suffer this man's debauchery, she would accept it and live through it, knowing that in the near future justice would be served.
In the meantime, it made no sense to deny herself life-sustaining nourishment.
"I'll eat. Let me up."
Tristan smiled and tightened his hand at her waist. "You feel good on my lap. Suppose I feed you."
"Suppose you shove . . ." Meg breathed deeply. Well, she hadn't promised herself not to sass, only to stop fighting against an unenviable situation. She smiled prettily and forced aside her anger. "I can feed myself, Captain. I've been doing as much for some time now."
Tristan grinned. "I know, but I like the idea of feeding you." He slipped another piece of roast beef into her mouth.
Meg knew from the glitter in his eyes that this man had more in mind than feeding her. She wasn't mistaken.
Tristan put aside his knife and fork and fed her with his fingers, an action which should have disgusted her, seeing as the meat she ate was covered with thick brown gravy, but Meg only felt a shiver of excitement race down her back. Her eyes told clearly her confusion as she wondered how one could find such pleasure in the simple act of eating. A moment later she stopped thinking when he rubbed his fingers, slippery from the gravy, over her lips.
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