by Kresley Cole
He checked a grin. "I need to change."
"There's nothing I haven't seen before."
Saucy little--Wait..."You watched me at the falls, didn't you?"
As she did whenever she didn't want to answer a question, she ignored him, flopping onto his bunk and facing the wall. "All right, I won't look."
He hesitated, then rushed through washing and dressing. When he stomped into his boots, she rose, grabbed his captain's log, and sank back into the bunk.
"I didn't give you permission to read that."
She continued flipping through. "Your entries are so precise, so meticulous in the beginning. But after the island, they're less"--she stared at the ceiling, obviously thinking of the word--"exacting! Yes, less exacting and less thorough." Her brows drawn together, she turned the log clockwise. "In fact, some of these entries don't even make sense."
He snatched it from her hands, then tossed it atop a set of high cabinets where she couldn't reach it.
When he turned back, she sat in front of his trunk, her hand diving down among the organized layers of his clothes. Investigating, always investigating. "Are you having difficulty concentrating?" she questioned without turning. "It's because of me, isn't it?"
Arrogant chit. "It's because I'm still bloody exhausted."
Finally, she faced him. "You could be exhausted. That's true. But I like the idea of you unable to stop thinking of me to attend anything else."
She has the right of it. She pulled out a folded shirt, then flipped it over her shoulder, preparing to take it. At least now he knew where they'd been going.
"Just go, Victoria. And leave the shirt."
Her eyes narrowed as she stood. "I'm going to make you like me. That's what I'm going to do. Like me so much you can't bear it." With that, she sashayed out the door, shirt over her shoulder--a picture of perfect assurance, readying for a battle she'd already won.
What is happening to me? Tori wondered, unnerved by her feelings. Just now, the urge to press her cheek to Sutherland's wet chest, to turn her lips to him, had been nearly overwhelming. How could he have become even more attractive to her? Tori hadn't thought there was room for escalation there. Though the captain was arrogant and infuriating, she'd ached to touch him. She wanted to know why he was so grave, so somber. She wanted to smooth the line between his brows.
She shook her head sharply, then found her accustomed seat on deck, sitting dazed for several moments. When he'd looked at her this morning, when his eyes met hers, she'd seen something more in him. Certainly she saw want. Even she could recognize that. But he'd also looked lost....
A sharp snap of fingers an inch from her forehead yanked her from her thoughts. Apparently, Ian was finally joining her.
He opened a deck of cards for a game of German whist for two. "I take it you and my cousin are getting on well?" he commented dryly.
She felt her skin flush. What was happening to her?
As he dealt their hands, she changed the subject. "Cammy told me a few days ago that your heart's taken. So why aren't you with her?"
He exhaled loudly as he fanned and sorted his hand. "I needed to get out of town in a hurry, and thought Grant was only going to America or something. Not the bloody South Pacific."
"You're not serious! You've been trapped on this ship?"
He nodded. "But maybe all this is for the best," he said, more to himself. "I'm only twenty-six--I didn't need to settle down so soon."
Tori folded her cards and clapped happily. "You were thinking of getting married?"
"Well, when you meet the one--"
"What does Grant think about this?" Tori wondered.
"He doesn't know. Not a lot of people do. He'd lecture me on how unfit I am to be a husband and take on the responsibility of a family."
"What's her name?"
"Erica," he murmured with a wistful smile.
Tori chuckled at his obvious infatuation. "Do you think she'll have sent word to you? Perhaps when we stop in port, you could see if she's written. I bet she was heartbroken that you had to leave so fast."
He shrugged.
"Is she waiting for you in London?"
He drew a card and strove to say nonchalantly, "I don't know that she'd wait this long."
"Oh, Ian, you underestimate yourself--"
"I'm not entirely sure she knows what happened to me," he admitted, his face tight. "If she hasn't gotten my letters, then she most likely will think I disappeared. Or worse."
"Or worse?"
Raw pain flashed in his eyes. "That I left her."
Tori sucked in a breath. "She might not know? She'll be sick with worry."
"Worry? Or would any woman who knew my reputation just assume I'd run off?"
He had a point, but he looked so stricken that she said, "When you get home, you'll have to make it up to her."
Ian nodded absently. "I just want to be with her. Do you understand what I mean?" He looked out at the ocean. "I just want to be near her."
As it did a thousand times a day, Tori's gaze rested on the captain.
Thirteen
Since the beginning of the voyage, Grant had extended invitations to dinner to his passengers, as was his duty as captain. Victoria and Miss Scott always declined. Ian never missed a dinner. Today, Victoria was the only one who accepted.
Grant waited for Victoria to visit Miss Scott, then approached Ian on the deck. "Any reason you're not attending?"
"I would like to--hate to miss it--but I'm exhausted."
"From what?" Grant asked incredulously.
"Entertaining," he said smoothly. When Grant stalked off, Ian called, "And by the way, I heard Victoria say she would dearly love a bath."
Without turning, Grant held up his hand, indicating that Ian should shut up. Yet when the seas calmed by midafternoon, Grant called Dooley to the bridge and, like a fool, said, "Will you set up a bath for Lady Victoria?"
"A hip bath?" Dooley asked.
Grant resisted the urge to run his hand over the back of his neck. "No. Full."
Dooley raised his brows. "With fresh water, sir?"
When he nodded, Dooley rushed to fill the order. Grant almost called him back. Why was he giving her an extravagance? Because she wants it, was his alarming answer.
Oddly nervous throughout the day, Grant was relieved when the hour finally arrived. He stood when she appeared at the table, and his breath whistled out. She was exquisite. A vision dressed in jade silk with her shiny hair braided atop her head. She smiled up at him when he seated her. Christ, he liked it when she smiled at him like that.
When they began dinner, he was surprised to see she knew exactly which utensil to use and when. But the way she used them...The tines clanged loudly against the china with each attempt. She would knife much too hard against butter as though she'd forgotten its consistency.
She could have learned everything, but without the tools to practice, the knowledge diminished. She adjusted to soften the sounds, but then the food would slide off the fork. He frowned, thinking of how much could be forgotten. It was like knowing archery, but being out of practice shooting an arrow. Targets were bound to be missed.
When she glanced up and found him watching her, she colored and pushed her plate away, though she was obviously very hungry. She was always hungry, especially for new foods, yet tonight she drank copious amounts of wine instead.
After a crewman cleared the dishes away, and pained silence stretched between them, Victoria said, "Your crew is wonderful."
He nodded, knowing he had a choice crew.
"Some of them I have to avoid, but only because they'll talk my ear off about their children."
When he nodded again, but added nothing, she tried several times to start a conversation to fill the quiet: "What's your favorite season in England?" "Do you have a dog?" "Do you like to play cards?" "What's your favorite number?"
Yet he'd never been good at idle conversation. He answered, "Never thought about it," "No," "Occasionally," and
"I have no favorite number."
"Oh," she said, disappointment lacing her tone. But then she rallied. "My favorite number's fifteen. I believe I'll share it with you."
"Why fifteen?" he found himself asking.
"That's how old I was when I finally got the hut to hold together in storms. I never had to rebuild since." She sighed and ran her fingertip along the rim of her glass. "Fifteen was a good age."
Here he was thinking about himself, concerned over his future in the face of such temptation as Victoria leaning back in her chair, smiling over at him with winered lips. Now he was reminded of all that she'd missed. At fifteen, she should have been celebrating grown-up dresses or her first peck on the cheek. Instead, she'd been content because their home wouldn't crash down around them.
"What were you like when you were fifteen?" Her voice sounded languorous.
Now he wanted to respond, but he'd been a prankster, bent on terrorizing everyone around him with his tricks. "I was staid and grim, just as I am now. I followed my hellion older brothers around and learned how not to behave."
When she chuckled, Grant's brow furrowed. How could she think he was amusing in any sense of the word? He was steady and serious. To avoid the risk of becoming anything else, he supposed he'd taken those attributes to the extreme and become, well, dull. Amusing he was not, yet at that moment, he wanted to be the kind of man Victoria would like.
She took another sip of wine. "What's your favorite color?"
"Green. Green's my favorite color."
"Oh, mine too," she cooed, and leaned forward, setting the glass down and perching her elbows on the table. Her bodice gaped and displayed the tops of her breasts. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. Was it just his imagination, or had they gotten larger? She appeared fuller, softer all over, and for a man already struggling every hour to keep from touching her, the change was not welcome.
She innocently licked a drop of wine from her plump bottom lip, and need fired in him. Take her on the table. That's what I should do. Of course.
He was on his feet as though burned by the chair. "I'll walk you back."
She blinked in surprise, then stood. "Do you dislike me?" When he gave her a confounded look, she added, "You don't care to be around me. Even now, it seems as though you can't wait to be off."
He raked his fingers through his hair. "It's complicated...."
"You don't think someone like me would understand?" She sounded dejected.
"No, that's not it," he hurriedly said. "I might like you in an...an inappropriate way."
The fingers she'd been twining fretfully paused. "Oh."
No, she wouldn't understand. How could she, when even he didn't? He took her arm and escorted her across the slick deck. The wind blew mist over them, but he welcomed it, hoping the brisk water would cool him. At her cabin door, she gazed up at him through wet, spiky lashes as though deciding something. Or awaiting something.
Get away from her. Get her out of reach--and out of temptation's way. "Good night, then."
"Yes, thank you for dinner."
He drew himself up. "Sleep well, Victoria." He closed the door behind her but didn't walk away, instead leaning against the wall as though stunned. She couldn't be more alluring to him, and he wanted her with a ferocity that alarmed him.
He didn't fantasize about laying her down and making love to her. He fantasized about devouring her, making her come beneath his lips before he pinned her hands over her head and rode her furiously. If he ever gave in to it, he worried that he'd hurt her in his desperation. He fought to ignore his erection, sensitive against the fabric of his clothing, and shook his head to clear thoughts of her naked and writhing beneath him.
Aside from his fear, he knew he couldn't have her unless he married her. He attempted to list all the ways they would disappoint each other if they were to wed. Lengthy lists, to be sure. When he had promised Belmont to find Victoria, he'd had no idea he'd be facilitating his own ruin. And hers as well.
Grant looked up at the stars. Their placement in the sky was all wrong.
Tori had been so sure he was about to kiss her. Even now, her heart drummed in her chest. Though disappointed that he hadn't, she couldn't be upset. For one thing, the wine was making her giddy. For another, she realized he did at least want to kiss her.
As though in a dream, she pulled her nightgown from the trunk and stepped out of her slippers. Everyday actions seemed trivial compared to the power of feeling she'd just experienced. Her fingers went to her dress to remove it--where were the buttons? Curse it! In the back. Maybe Cammy was still awake. She opened the door to find the captain leaning back against the wall, eyes closed.
"Captain?"
He opened them in a flash. "Where were you going?"
"I just realized I can't get out of this." She waved a hand to indicate her dress. "I was going to ask Cammy to help."
"She's abed by now."
"Then Ian."
In a heartbeat, he had her back in the cabin, kicking the door closed behind him. "You are not going to get my cousin to help you undress." His voice was brutal.
Was he jealous? Or was this another breach of propriety? "Then it must be you."
He spun her around and unbuttoned, quickly at first, then slower, as if he began enjoying it. The dress was soon loose, and she had to hold the bodice to her breasts, but he didn't move for several moments.
Just when she was about to say something, she heard him mutter a curse. Then she felt the backs of his fingers skim down her neck. Her eyes slid closed, and she nearly swayed from the small touch. Her head fell to the side to offer him more. When he pressed his warm lips on her skin, she trembled.
"So fair," he whispered as he brushed his lips down to her shoulders. "Your skin's like porcelain." She moaned softly from his words and leaned back into him. Her free hand trailed up to curl around his neck. As if invited, his hand slid into her loosened bodice to cup her. "Yes," she gasped in delight. Was he finally going to show her more?
He hefted the weight of her breast, molding the flesh. It felt swollen and heavy beneath the heat of his rough palm. When he drew her other arm up around his neck, the dress floated to the ground, leaving her in just a filmy shift. With another sweep of his lips, he ran both hands down her sides, squeezing her hips, then back over both her breasts, pausing at her nipples to pinch gently. Her eyes were heavy-lidded as she watched his fingers kneading her in the soft lantern light.
Her whole body shook when his fingers trailed over her belly and down to her inner thighs, and she feared her legs wouldn't hold her much longer. She wanted desperately to touch him. Even now, her fingers were twining wildly in his hair.
He put his lips to her ear, and she felt a shock of pleasure, making her boneless. She twisted around and glanced up at his eyes, at his lips.
"Victoria, I can't do this to you," he ground out, the words sounding as though they cost him much. Yet he reached out to grasp her around the waist and slowly draw her near. She didn't wait--she pushed herself forward, falling into him, lacing her arms around his neck to pull herself even closer.
He kissed her fiercely, taking her with his tongue, as if hoping to frighten her away. During their kisses on the island, she'd been overcome and passive. Now she boldly met his tongue with her own. He groaned against her lips.
"Please," she whispered, but didn't know for what she begged. "Grant..."
He froze, then stepped away, looking as though he came out of a daze.
Grant. It was the first time she'd used his name. How many times had he imagined her saying it? Imagined hearing it on her lips when he drove inside her? It was intimate, too intimate between this girl and himself. He had to remember that.
No. "No." He struggled to catch his breath, struggled not to see her obvious longing.
He had nearly...he had nearly made love to Victoria Dearbourne. To Lady Victoria, who faced him now with her eyes dilated and her lips swollen from his kiss.
He still wanted
to.
Grant tore away from her. Consequences. Honor. Trust. His mind repeated the words until he managed to get his breathing and his aching erection under control. When he turned to her, she stood in her shift, trembling.
"Grant, why?"
Grant knew she was asking "Why not?" In seconds, he would call her to him, and she would come walking to their doom, willingly. "Because I swore to protect you--not ruin you. You are under my protection and I need to start remembering that!" He still was fighting the urge to take her.
He needed to get her out of his sight--and his reach. He stormed out the door and down the deck, steps thundering. He'd vowed to protect her. As if his vows meant anything anymore. Damn it, he was a man noted for his integrity and honor. But when he was confronted with his desire for Victoria, both vanished as if never there.
What does that say about me?
"You look like you've grown used to being shipboard, milady," Dooley said as he lugged away the sail Tori had mended. He folded it, stowed it, then brushed his hands together to scan the ship, no doubt for more work. He settled on harvesting fresh water from the rain barrels filled by this morning's storm. Hell for Dooley would be uninterrupted leisure.
She smiled as she glanced over the busy scene. She had adjusted to life at sea, having come to trust the captain implicitly.
When Dooley marched off, Tori's gaze was drawn to Sutherland. He appeared so solemn as he stood on the bridge, staring out at the water. His men saw his outward shell of decorum, strength, and control. Tori had seen his inner self of want, power, and need. She could scarcely believe the upstanding captain was the same man who'd kissed and touched her in his cabin just a week ago.
Since that night, he'd been curt with her, but she'd become even more captivated by him. Never taking her eyes from him, she envisioned his barely harnessed aggression, the way his rugged muscles had tightened around her. When he'd broken away, she'd realized they were at a critical point. Tori sensed that should she move near him, touch him in the tiniest way, his resolve would crumble. Yet she was beginning to know he would feel wretched afterward. She was beginning to care enough that it mattered.
But she'd known that body intimately, had seen every inch of it, and would again. If it killed her. Tori had a plan, and if all went by it, she'd have him. She thought that perhaps the man should be doing the pursuing, that that was what traditionally happened. But she was used to seeing something she wanted and then working to get it. Cammy had called her a problem solver. And not having Grant was a problem.