by Lynn Patrick
Damn! Despite the threats he’d directed toward her to get her to talk or stop her from running away, Bryce hated to see Caitlin suffer. He kept her nestled firmly in his arms as he guided the skiff back to the larger vessel. Once there, he helped her up to the deck and gently lifted her into his arms to carry her to his cabin.
“I can walk.”
“Sure, and you could have swum back to the ship by yourself too.”
“I would have tried.”
Striding to his cabin, Bryce carefully deposited Caitlin on the bunk, then rummaged through the cupboards for alcohol, talcum powder, and cotton balls. Livid red welts crisscrossed her right leg, arms, and upper chest. Glancing over his shoulder as he searched, Bryce frowned when she started to get up from her seat.
“Where do you think you’re going? Sit down. I’ll find the right stuff in a minute,” he told her, unable to keep the concern from his voice. He knew the pain couldn’t have abated—the stings Caitlin had suffered were similar to those inflicted by at least a dozen bees.
“I’m getting your bed all wet,” she said morosely.
“Then take the swimsuit off…and put this on.” Grabbing a dark blue cotton shirt from the back of a chair, he tossed it in her direction. She started to rise again, obviously heading toward the bathroom to change. “Don’t try to move around. Change your clothes here. I won’t look,” he assured her, turning his back obligingly.
He thought he heard her moan but allowed her a few more minutes before he turned. Still sitting on the edge of the bed, she was shakily fastening the shirt’s buttons. Bryce took the items he’d located and stepped closer to apply the alcohol to her injuries.
“I can do it myself,” Caitlin insisted, trying to take the stuff from his hands.
“Sure, you can do everything yourself,” he said softly, resisting the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her. But that wouldn’t make either of them feel better. “If you’d tried to swim to the ship, if I hadn’t taken the skiff out to get you, you probably would have fainted and drowned,” he grumbled. “Jellyfish stings are painful. You don’t have to prove your courage every moment, Caitlin. I know you’re the toughest female deckhand around.”
“I’m tough?”
“For someone your size you’re definitely tough.” Lifting her legs, he gently eased her farther back on the bed and helped her lie down. “I should have warned you about the possibility of jellyfish around here. I just didn’t think of it at the time.” Using a cotton ball, he carefully applied the alcohol, lightly patting the largest welt on her thigh. He saw her biting her lip and knew that the medication stung.
“I’m not going to die, am I?” Caitlin asked, sounding as if she were trying to be sarcastic. He couldn’t help but smile.
“No, jellyfish stings are uncomfortable, but they rarely kill anyone.” Glancing up from what he was doing, Bryce met her suspicious, defenseless gaze. And noticed a few other things.
With her long, fine hair spread out and drying around her face, her pale, sun-kissed skin emphasized by the deep blue of the shirt, Caitlin looked…very attractive, he admitted. Had he noticed the curve of her cheekbones before? The soft fullness of her lips? The startlingly pure and guileless beauty of her large, clear eyes?
“Ouch!” she exclaimed when, unthinking, he brusquely rubbed the welt on her thigh.
“Sorry,” Bryce muttered with a frown, shifting his scrutiny downward to pay closer attention to what he was doing. It wouldn’t do to let himself get carried away by Caitlin’s seeming innocence. As he administered alcohol to the reddened places on her knee and calf, he struggled to get his thoughts back on jellyfish.
“Luckily the little devils you encountered weren’t men-of-war,” he told Caitlin. “Those big purple monsters are bad news. As it is, you should be feeling better by tomorrow. I won’t rub your skin again—pressing hard against the welts could release stingers that haven’t been activated yet.”
“There are a bunch of stingers still under my skin?” She frowned.
“Actually what you’ve got under these welts are poisonous threads. Jellyfish release them when touched. But don’t worry, the alcohol will get rid of the poison,” Bryce said reassuringly as he continued to treat her leg. “Ordinarily the creatures use their poison to stun and capture small fish that happen by. Being simple, brainless organisms that are tossed and turned by the tides, jellyfish will sting anything they brush against, including human beings.”
“So the attack wasn’t intentional, huh?”
Bryce shook his head. “A jellyfish isn’t half as complicated as a shark. In spite of lurid stories you may have heard, most of the injuries suffered by swimmers are from small organisms—jellyfish, sea urchins, stinging coral.”
“Is there a way to avoid those things, in case I go swimming again?” Caitlin asked as he grasped a delicate ankle and turned her slightly toward him. His eyes ran down the length of her slender legs. Had they always looked so shapely?
Bryce cleared his throat before saying, “Just watch where you’re swimming, so you don’t brush against the coral. And if you’re in the shallows or climbing over rocks, watch out for spiny black sea urchins. If you step on one of those, the spines can penetrate your foot.”
“You know a lot about, sea creatures. Is that because you’ve lived in. the Caribbean a long time? Or is it because you’ve read all of those?” She pointed to the shelves beyond the bed, which held various novels as well as nonfiction works on fish, plants, and ocean conservation. “Some of your guidebooks seem a little elementary for a Caribbean native, and none of these books are the sort of reading material I’d expect a pirate to keep around.”
Bryce tried not to grin as he worked on the welt behind her knee. “But those are only a front. I keep my books on torture and robbing in the chart house. If you want to see them—”
“Are you from the Caribbean?” Caitlin asked suddenly, interrupting him with the question. “Were you born and raised here?”
“Yes.” Bryce continued to swab her leg, refusing to offer any further details. But obviously Caitlin was determined to be persistent.
“Are you from this particular area, the West Indies?”
“I may be well-known around here.”
“No, I meant do you live on one of these islands?”
“I pretty much live on this ship.”
“The ship? Why? Are you unable to set foot on land because you’re a wanted man?”
“Some people may want me.”
Caitlin frowned, probably frustrated at not being able to pump any meaningful information out of him. Before she could ask another question, Bryce said patiently, “Turn back over. I’ll treat your arms.”
Moving toward the upper part of her body, he carefully splashed a little alcohol on the reddened places on Caitlin’s arms. When she winced, he took talcum powder and sprinkled it on to dry the sensitive areas. Then, using a cotton ball, he applied alcohol to the long welt across her breastbone.
Unable to miss the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, he also became aware of the fragile outline of her small breasts, the hardened peaks of her nipples brushing against the thin shirt fabric. He knew she wore nothing beneath the single garment…
“How long have you been pirating?” Caitlin asked suddenly, her face slightly pink. Was she blushing as she looked up at him with those big, round blue eyes?
“Hmm?” He forced himself to meet her ensnaring gaze. If he didn’t watch out, he’d be the one who’d be turning shades of red. Still, he couldn’t help feeling drawn to her. “Pirating? I only recently took up the profession.”
“Oh? Does your family approve?”
“They know I had to take action of some sort.”
“Criminal action? Don’t they realize that your activities could bring disgrace on them someday?”
“My family isn’t concerned. They have great faith in my abilities,” he said gently, leaning closer.” They know I’ll get what I’m going after…or else.” P
lacing his hands on either side of Caitlin’s shoulders, Bryce stared down at her intently. Her eyelashes lowered seductively.
“Or else what?” she asked in a faint voice. Her soft lips opened enticingly as she took a deep breath. Bryce leaned even nearer, wondering if he should close the narrow gap between them with a kiss. Caitlin’s pretty mouth was so very tempting.
“Um…well,” she said slowly, her voice quavering slightly. “I really think you ought to consider the ‘or else’ part of all this.”
“Because you’re concerned for me?”
Caitlin licked her lips. Did the blasted man have to stand so close? Heat seemed to radiate from his muscular body, while the intense expression in his darkening green eyes made her want to squirm…or pull him on down to her. Would his kisses be as intoxicating as they’d been that long-ago moonlit night on Hibiscus? Would they lead to further intimacies?
Warmth coursing through her body, she tried to keep her head by concentrating on making conversation. “It’s not important whether or not I’m concerned. You’re the one who should be worried.” But he didn’t look worried at all. If anything, his eyes had gotten even darker. Her heart beat faster as his firm fingers seemed to caress her lower arm and moved upward.
“W-what…if you’re caught?” she stammered. “Do you want to get yourself killed?”
“I can think of a lot of things I’d enjoy more.”
Caitlin was sure she knew just what kinds of things he had on his mind. Certain that he was going to kiss her now, she waited breathlessly, also fully aware that she wouldn’t be able to push him away. Then he accidentally touched the painful welt on her upper arm.
“Ouch!” she exclaimed, effectively ruining the mood.
Moving his hand away quickly, Bryce straightened and stepped back a pace. “Damn! I keep touching those stings,” he said gruffly. Picking up the talcum powder can, he scowled furiously at the label. “Sorry about that. I’ll put some talcum on those welts on your leg and then leave you to rest.”
“Fine,” muttered Caitlin, knowing that both her face and body were flushed. Should she be embarrassed or relieved? Had Bryce been so easily dissuaded? she wondered disgruntledly. Or had she only imagined that he was about to kiss her?
Sprinkling powder on her lower leg with businesslike motions, he followed the reddened streak that ran up her thigh to disappear beneath the shirt’s hem. Intent on calming her breathing, Caitlin silently watched his tanned fingers skim along the surface of her skin. The powder certainly felt soothing to her heated flesh. But when his hand brushed the edge of her garment, it stopped, remaining poised there. Caitlin watched Bryce’s sea-green eyes darken again.
She realized as soon as she raised her head a few inches that she must be partially exposed by the shirt’s slightly lifted hem. Feeling more heat burn her face, she jumped to a sitting position and yanked down the garment.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she exclaimed, too upset to feel more than a dull throb from her wounds. “I can’t believe you’d take advantage of this situation! Are you the type that enjoys ogling women’s bodies when they’re not looking?”
Bryce’s green eyes shifted away, and Caitlin was sure that his face was a little ruddier beneath the tan. Was the scoundrel embarrassed? Uncomfortable? Was he capable of feeling shame? Then his brows knit in a fierce scowl.
“I was only trying to help you,” he insisted.
“Help me?” How dare he try to shrug it off. “Oh, sure. And while you were putting the alcohol and the talcum powder on my leg and arms, you decided to sneak a peek at some more personal parts of my anatomy. I didn’t get any stings in the area you were examining so closely!”
“Well…you could have.” Bryce glared at her, looking angry himself. “And how would I find out, unless I looked?”
“You can’t expect me to believe that. I was in pain and was innocently trusting you…you pervert!”
“Pervert?” His nostrils flared above a grim mouth. “That’s enough from you, Caitlin! I’ve been trying to treat your physical injuries, but in the process my actions seem to have wounded your delicate sense of modesty. I assure you I have no need to sneak a peek at your skinny little body. I know plenty of voluptuous beauties who are more than willing to take their clothes off for me.”
Speechless at the sudden anger between them, Caitlin stared as he turned on his heel and headed for the door. He turned back to order, “Lie down and keep warm. You can stay in this cabin tonight—I’ll sleep elsewhere and send Lars up with some food. If you should have trouble catching your breath or any other unusual symptoms, let me know. Some people have allergic reactions to jellyfish stings.”
After Bryce left, it took a few minutes for Caitlin’s heartbeat to return to normal. Gazing at the closed door, she finally began to realize how sick and feverish she felt. The welts on her arms and leg still throbbed, though they weren’t as painful as they had been before they were treated with alcohol. Carefully she eased herself down on the bed and covered herself with a sheet.
Perhaps Bryce had been telling the truth about only checking her over for stings. Up to that final incident Caitlin had to admit that he’d seemed concerned and protective—taking a skiff out to bring her back to the ship, holding her tenderly as a buffer against the boat’s movement, carrying her to his cabin and gently treating her wounds.
It had been the anticipated, possibly aborted kiss that had started everything. Already aroused and feeling a mixture of disappointment and confused vulnerability, Caitlin had overreacted when she’d thought Bryce had avoided a tender moment and then had the gall to ogle her.
That’s why it hadn’t made her feel any better when he’d angrily claimed his innocence—and that he found her unattractively skinny. Couldn’t he have been lying? Caitlin frowned at her slight form stretched out beneath the sheet. She could swear she’d recognized desire on Bryce’s face more than once when he’d looked at her today.
Turning onto her side carefully, she nestled dispiritedly against the pillow and told herself she didn’t care what Bryce thought or wanted, anyway.
If only that were the truth.
Hadn’t Caitlin actually longed to kiss the handsome scoundrel? Wouldn’t she have been tempted to offer him more than her lips if the kiss had gone any further? Hadn’t she wanted him to desire her as passionately in return? But Bryce was her captor, for heaven’s sake. How could she find a criminal exciting? Feeling guilty now, as well as depressed, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
“Sailing, sailing over the Spanish Main…” Lars sang as he placed a row of meticulously even stitches in a torn sail. “Pain, brain, the curse of Cain…”
Sitting beside the old man in the bright sun the next morning, Caitlin leaned forward on the bench they shared to poke at a bump in the voluminous piece of coarse fabric spilling over the deck. The bump poked back and growled, making her laugh.
“What a ferocious beast,” she said, continuing to play with the cat. Like others of his species, he seemed to like nothing better than a rousing game of sneak attack.
“Calico Jack is one tough mate,” agreed Lars. “Watch out for his claws. He’s wearing his little gloves, you know.”
“He’s bad, but I think I can handle him.” Caitlin gently patted the lump under the sail.
Although she didn’t want to ruin the cook’s imaginative illusions, she’d found the cat to be a big softie. He might remain aloof from the rest of the crew and hiss at the parrot, but the large tomcat slept beside her every night and often shadowed her during the day.
Smiling, Caitlin remembered how the animal had managed to squeeze through one of the cabin’s half open windows the preceding evening while she was recovering from her jellyfish stings in Bryce’s bed.
Once inside, Jack had licked her face, purred, and curled up beside her. At least she could count on one true friend aboard the Sea Devil.
Not that others hadn’t been considerate. The ship’s engineer and several of the de
ckhands had inquired about her health today. And though she’d told them she felt much better, showing them the fading red marks on her arms, everyone had insisted that she rest and had offered to do any work required of her. Acquiescing to the men’s suggestions, she refused to worry about what the captain would demand. She hadn’t even seen him yet.
Thinking of that, Caitlin asked Lars, “Where’s Bryce? I mean, Captain Winslow?”
“Ho, ho…don’t know. He’s probably sleeping so he’ll be rested when he sails the Sea Devil after dark.”
“Where are we going?”
“Don’t know for sure. Probably in circles. Maybe north and east,” answered Lars. “But rest your mind, missy. The captain’s always right about directions. We’ll get wherever we’re going surely and safely.”
Realizing that she wasn’t going to be able to get any clear information out of the old man, Caitlin watched his gnarled hands make several more stitches. Perfectly spaced, the sewing couldn’t have been executed any better by an expert seamstress with the best machine. After she’d first seen the professional quality of Lars’s sail making, Caitlin had realized that cooking was only a side duty for the elderly Scandinavian.
“How did you learn to make sails?” she asked curiously.
“Sails? Why, I learned the craft by being an apprentice for a while. That was back in Norway…more than sixty years ago. That’s a long time, isn’t it?” Lars looked up from his task and rubbed his bearded chin. “Mostly I forget just how long. I guess people lose some memories once they reach eighty.”
“You still do a great job.”
“Yes, I have to admit I do,” admitted Lars proudly. “And there’s hardly any real sail makers left nowadays. Most sails are made by machine.” He frowned. “Machine, green, shiny and mean… Handmade sails last longer, but nobody cares. Some say the art is dead. But I say it’s still alive, and so am I!” Lars raised his hand and shook his needle emphatically. “Curses on those ignorant mates! And a blessing on Captain Winslow! It’s sure I’d be dead right now if the captain hadn’t been willing to keep a forgetful old man on his ship.”