“I may look odd,” she admitted, “but given my strenuous circumstances, I hardly think impersonating a man in order to find my son should disqualify me as a lady.”
The captain draped his shirt over his arm to free his hands so he could applaud. “Brava, madam.”
She wasn’t quite sure if he was praising her guts or her performance or both. It was difficult to listen to her intuition, thanks to the major distraction of his bare chest.
“My clothes should be dry enough by now.” She rose and went to the corner of the cabin where her shirt and trousers hung. “If you’ll give me a few minutes of privacy, I can return your shirt.”
“That won’t be necessary. I will borrow one from Keoni.”
She looked back and her gaze zeroed in on his flat stomach. Averting her eyes was a struggle, but somehow she managed. “Would you mind doing it now? Getting the shirt that is.”
“There is one slight problem, however . . .” One corner of his mouth lifted in a mischievously crooked smile. He held his arms out to the side as if she might not have noticed he was practically undressed. Fat chance! “If I leave my cabin in my present state, I might give the wrong impression to my crew regarding our private dinner engagement.”
For one brief, crazy moment, she considered letting him walk out of there. She didn’t care what his men thought of her. Let them spin yarns down in the fo’c’sle till dawn. Glancing at the disastrous mess of dishes and spilled wine on the table, she could easily guess the tales of torrid sex between the handsome captain and the widow woman. Her vivid imagination created an erotic picture in her mind, bringing a hot flush to her cheeks.
“Turn around,” she commanded, reaching for the top button at her throat. When his gaze fell to her shaking fingers, she repeated, “I said ‘turn around’ . . . sir. My things are still damp, but I’ll wrap myself in a blanket until you come back.”
He gave her a lazy nod. And a slow smile. She waited, but he made no move to do as she asked. There was an invitation in the depths of his deep-blue eyes. Oh, how she wanted to accept.
Here she was in a time that wasn’t her own, lusting after a man who lived—no, lives—nearly two hundred years before she was born. In a remote part of her mind, she wondered whether she could have suffered a bump on her head and dreamed up this raggedy yet dashing stranger.
But she wasn’t dreaming. She knew all of this was happening to her. Pretending it wasn’t real would not make it go away. She’d learned that difficult lesson in childhood when her oddity had made her the butt of jokes and taunting remarks. While she hadn’t been able to do anything to change the painful rejection, she’d eventually understood the controlling fear of the unknown. Living with her mystical gifts had taught her to accept unexplainable situations that would drive a normal person to insanity. Granted, this time-travel experience was the biggest leap she’d taken yet.
Despite her attraction to the captain, she could not risk her mission to find Andrew by falling for this man, no matter how much he made her heart pound and her knees go weak.
Don’t ask of me what I can’t give, Blake.
As if he’d heard her plea, he pivoted and strode to the table. Keeping his back to her, he began to clean up the mess. As he set the dishes to one side, she kept her eyes on him and unbuttoned the shirt, wondering if he would turn back around at any moment, wondering if he would prove to be a gentleman or a cad. A wild side of her that she hadn’t known existed opted for the cad.
When he removed the tablecloth, she felt naughty anticipation tingle in the depths of her body. She found herself wishing, hoping he would turn around to see her slide the shirt off her shoulders.
Watching him replace the plates, she felt the cool air in the room swirl around her bare breasts and imagined the feather touch of his fingertips on her heated flesh. The seconds ticked by as he reached for the candlesticks, the last thing to put back in its proper place.
A battle raged within her. She was crazy to want a man as much as she wanted Blake right now. It was insane to jeopardize her reputation, however much he questioned her virtue. Only a whore in this day and age would have sex with a stranger. And only a fool in her own time. No, she couldn’t give in to this earned lust. And that’s all it was. Not love. Not caring. Just physical craving. By God, it’d been way too long . . .
Cara quickly grabbed for the blanket, then realized to her embarrassment that it was still on the bed. She clutched the shirt to her chest to cover herself. “Don’t move. I forgot to get the blanket.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
“No!”
He ignored her command and retrieved one of the gray woolen blankets, then held it high so it blocked his view. She slowly walked up to him and presented her bare back. His arms encircled her as the blanket came around her shoulders with a gentleness that touched her soul. His warm breath caressed the side of her neck, making her long to rest her head against him, to let him hold her in this sheltered cocoon. The moment seemed to last forever, but it was over in a single beat of her heart.
When he turned her to face him, she clutched the blanket together with one hand. With her other, she gave him the shirt.
Wordlessly, he slipped into the garment, his eyes never leaving her face. “I wish I could trust you, but I don’t,” he confessed, his voice taking on a sadness. “There is no one—save Keoni, perhaps—who is beyond my suspicion.”
“Even me.”
“Yes, especially you.” His gaze traveled over her features as if trying to figure out a perplexing puzzle. “I have a feeling you are not the person you say you are.”
Tamping down her own fear of being revealed, Cara reached out and touched his forearm. She had meant to console him, to find words to lessen the pain of his lost memory.
But the dark vision arose like an evil curtain. Looming. Frightening. Making her dizzy and nauseous. She couldn’t show alarm. Not this time.
Keeping her tone as steady and normal as possible, she admitted, “I’d like to help you remember, if you’ll let me.”
“What can you possibly do?”
“Usually talking about it can trigger suppressed memories.” She laced together half-truths with her little knowledge of the subject. A white lie was still better than telling him she was going to read his past through her touch and telepathically send it back to him.
“Suppressed memories? You have a strange vocabulary.”
“I picked up odd sayings in the foreign countries where my parents were missionaries.”
Easing her hand into his, she gave him a slight smile of encouragement. “Close your eyes and try to think of a pleasant memory in the distant past. Concentrate on the picture and tell me what you see.”
He balked, looking at her as if she were mad. “I will not close my eyes. Nor will I indulge your curiosity.”
As he stared defiantly at her, Cara felt the heat of his palm against hers. A tingling sensation climbed up her arm like a vibration of electricity. It wasn’t what she had expected. There was a primal feeling about it. Predatory. His desire for her swirled through her mind. Her eyelids shut out the candlelit room as she experienced his struggle to suppress his heated longing to claim her.
His thoughts became her thoughts. His racing heartbeat matched its rhythm with hers. Their shaky breath synchronized together as one sound. Like a moth drawn into a dangerous flame, she could not stop her own response to the carnal enticement.
Without a seductive word or touch, she was drawn toward him, closer and closer, until she felt her body lean into his. He released her hand and slid his arms around her. His mouth found hers, tentatively brushing their lips. Uncertainty quickly vanished into a deep and demanding kiss.
In her mind’s eye, she saw the image of him making love to her. Wanting desperately for it to be real, she felt the escalating passion of their union of body and mind. On the brink of losing all control, she knew if he were to take her now, she would give him anything he asked and more.
His
firm hands gripped her bottom, pulling her into him, pressing his arousal against her. Cara dropped the blanket to the floor. Emotions spiraling out of control, she ripped at his shirt, pushing it upward until her bare breasts touched his flesh. His moan of pleasure hummed through her veins.
Slowly she moved backward, each step bringing them closer to the bed. He kissed her eyelids, her jaw, the curve of her neck, his ragged breath echoing in her ear.
Gone was all the earlier rationale against the very thing they were about to do. Nothing else mattered right now. At this moment she didn’t want to think of yesterday or tomorrow.
She didn’t want to admit that they were both caught in the gripping spell of erotic telepathy.
As the back of her knees bumped the edge of the bed, she reached for the buckle of his belt. The front of his shirt slid down, hampering her mission. She frantically undid the shirt buttons, then shoved the material aside.
Her eagerness fanned the fire between them. His mouth came down harder on her own. His fingers squeezed her buttocks with both pain and pleasure.
She reached once more for his belt, slipping it through the buckle with a slap of leather.
He reacted to the sound as if it were the sharp report of a pistol shot.
She felt him go rigid, saw his emotion in the dark swirl of his mind. Her eyes sprang open—too late to stop what had already been set in motion.
He shoved her backward onto the bed and dropped onto her with a force that knocked the wind from her lungs. Pinning her wrists over her head with one hand, he yanked at her belt with a force that nearly ripped the leather in half.
Startled and frightened, she looked up into his eyes. They weren’t seeing her. They were black as midnight. Angry. Vengeful.
“Blake, don’t—” Squirming beneath him, she pulled her hands free and pushed against his shoulders.
The images bombarded her, rolling in wave after sickening wave.
In her mind she suddenly saw a squalid, candlelit room. Looking down from above, she could see the dark-haired boy. Blake. No more than ten or twelve. Dressed only in short trousers, nothing more. His back flogged and bloodied. Crawling away. Glancing back with terror in his eyes.
Out of the shadows came a cloaked demon. The boy scrambled to escape, only to be dragged backward, his hands clawing at the floor.
No! Oh, dear God, No! Cara squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the vision of the boy being stripped of his clothing. But she couldn’t stop it. She saw it all. Sobs of pain erupted from her throat.
“BLAKE . . . !” cried Cara, reaching through the black fog of his hideously grotesque memory. Instead of fighting him, she wrapped her arms around him, held him tight against her.
“Don’t do it, Blake,” she whispered between choking tears. “Don’t hurt me the way you were hurt.”
Chapter 6
The brutal violence ended as abruptly as it began. Blake’s tense body collapsed onto her. He breathed in great gulps of air, his chest pressing down upon her breasts.
Cara held him until she felt his heartbeat slow to normal. He silently shoved himself off her and got up from the bed, turning away in shame and humiliation. “I can never apologize enough for what I have done.”
“I’m unhurt. And you stopped before—”
“There’s no excuse for my behavior. I don’t know what came over me.”
“You were reliving your past, taking out all the hurt and anger and revenge.”
Caught up in his own private hell—the hell she’d witnessed—he wasn’t hearing her. “How can you ever forgive me?”
“It wasn’t me you were trying to hurt, Blake. I saw it in your eyes. You didn’t know it was me.”
He gave her a bewildered look. “You’re talking nonsense.”
“You don’t remember it, do you?” she asked him as he buttoned his shirt, tucked it into his trousers, and fastened his belt. “You were abused as a child, Blake.”
“Those are ludicrous speculations.” He spoke barely loud enough for her to hear. “I told you I remember nothing.
“Even now?”
“Even now.”
Since they were no longer touching, she couldn’t be certain if he was telling the truth or lying to cover his shame.
“I will return with this shirt as soon as I borrow another from Keoni.” As he started toward the portal, he said over his shoulder, “Lock the door when I leave.”
Surprised by his lack of trust in his crew, she tried to make light of his warning. “And when you return, what will be your special signal so I know it’s you?”
“Two short knocks, a pause, then a third.”
“I was only joking.”
“And I am not.”
An icy finger of dread traced a wicked line down her spine. “In that case, hurry back.”
“I will.”
She started toward the portal to lock it as he had asked, picking up the blanket on her way. As she wrapped herself in it again, the door popped open, startling her. It was only Blake, much to her relief.
“Inside, Bud,” he ordered softly. Without so much as asking her if she wanted the protection of his huge black dog, he let Bud enter the cabin, glancing at her with an odd expression of apology, pain, and confusion.
And suspicion.
Then he closed the door a second time. His voice came back from the other side of the wooden planks. “Lock it anyway.”
Doing as he asked, she shoved the iron bolt with the base of her palm, then looked down at her bodyguard sitting at her feet.
“So you’re supposed to protect me, huh, boy?”
Bud’s tail slowly wagged back and forth, sweeping the polished floor. From the size and shape of his large head, he appeared to be a Labrador Retriever, but she wasn’t sure the breed had been introduced in America yet. The captain might easily have picked up a puppy in his travels, though. It was a beautiful dog with soulful dark-brown eyes. He had an intelligent face, too. She had a special affinity for four-legged creatures, most of whom possessed more unconditional love and compassion than many of the two-legged variety.
As the dog seemed to smile at her, she spoke to him with a playfulness she didn’t quite feel. “I suppose your master taught you how to look sweet and innocent. I bet you aren’t interested in me at all at this moment. You’re just hoping you’ll get some leftovers.”
His tail thump-thumped, sounding a little like the way her heart pounded when Blake . . . Captain Masters, that is. Aw, hell, who was she kidding? Considering the way things had nearly gotten out of hand a few minutes earlier, she may as well be on a first-name basis with the man.
“Okay, Bud, I’ll feed you.” With the blanket wrapped around her, she plopped down at her seat and offered him a small bit of beef from her plate. Despite the dog’s eagerness, he gingerly took the tidbit from her fingers. “Somebody taught you some manners.”
The dog gazed up at her expectantly. She scratched him behind his ear with one hand as she offered more food with the other. He had a calming effect on her.
Unlike his master.
The way things were going, she wondered if she would be able to hold off her own lust for the two days it would take to get to San Diego. As it was, she had hardly made it past dinner.
Her gaze flitted to Blake’s stained jacket lying at the head of the disheveled bed. What had happened there played out fresh in her mind. What had almost happened sent a shudder through her tired body. It wasn’t fear or horror she felt, but a deep sadness for the captain who had very nearly raped her when she had been so willing to give him the tenderness and compassion he really wanted, really needed.
Was this how he treated every woman he bedded? No, she couldn’t believe it. This Jekyll-and-Hyde behavior was not the real Blake Masters. From the shock and confusion on his face, she knew he had been as surprised as she. Her questions about the past, her insistence on conjuring up a memory had triggered the darkness in him.
Now that she had pushed him to open that door, wo
uld he begin to remember more? Would he have another lapse into violence, more overpowering than this time?
Exhausted tears stung the back of her eyes. She felt completely overwhelmed by her situation—caught in a world that wasn’t her own, uncertain if she would find Andrew, not knowing if she could get home. And now, of all times, her dormant hormones were sounding a bugle call.
The dog nudged her hand with his nose. Looking down at Bud, she sighed heavily. “If you’re here to protect me from the crew, who’s to protect me from the captain?”
Or the captain from me?
Several minutes passed before two knocks at the door of the captain’s cabin drew Cara’s attention away from the dog. Bud got up and trotted to the door, then looked back at her.
“He said three,” she reminded the Labrador as the third rap echoed through the small room. “See?”
Bud seemed to understand perfectly, turning back to stare intently at the door while she went over to unlock it. With the blanket wrapped around her, she needed to be extra careful to keep out of sight of any of the crew who might be able to see into the cabin. Staying behind the door, she opened it wide for Blake to enter.
“That was quick, Captain—Keoni?”
The cook chuckled. “Captain Keoni, hmmm? Sounds good. Maybe I give up da cookin’, eh? Put on da blue jacket and maybe I get a ship of my own.”
Her head popped around the edge of the door to look behind the cook. “Where’s Captain Masters?”
“Not here.”
“I realize that,” she said, slightly exasperated with his all-too-obvious remark. He held up the shirt. She eyed it dubiously from the relative safety of the backside of the door. “Why didn’t he return it himself?”
“Maybe not good idea. Think so?”
His Pidgin English irritated her, especially since she had heard him speak so eloquently earlier. She reached out and took the shirt from him. “Tell your haole-captain that this wahine thanks him for the hospitality.”
Her quip elicited a huge belly laugh from the Kanaka. “Haole? Wahine? Good, Mrs. Edwards. Very good.”
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