by Lisa Olech
“Aye, aye.” Ducky frowned. “Are you sure you got some sleep? You still look like shit, old man.”
“Maybe I could use a little more time in the sack. Stitch thought counting sheep might work for me.”
“A bit of physical activity might help, as well. Couldn’t hurt. The strain is written all over your face.” He swept a hand. “Everything is running smooth throughout. Go. Take a few hours. Do a few pushups, and you’ll sleep like a baby.”
Entering his quarters, James found Samantha as he’d left her—asleep and bare beneath the sheets. He stripped down to nothing but his breeches, considered another moment, before removing them as well before climbing in alongside her.
At his touch, she started, shrunk back and cried out in pain and fright. A look of utter panic crossed her face before instinct had her cowering and covering her face.
“Samantha, it’s me. Oh, God, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”
“Oh…James…I-I thought.” She held a shaking hand over her heart. The other reached out to touch him, as if to assure herself he was real or keep him at arm’s length, he wasn’t sure which. She pulled the blanket up to cover her naked breasts.
“Samantha, I’m sorry.” He watched her throat work as she tried to still the panic that raced through her and pulsed visibly at the notch of her throat.
“No, I’m the one to-to be sorry.” She closed her eyes and pulled a deep breath into her lungs. “Y-you surprised me is all.”
James reached out a tentative hand. He smoothed his palm over the curve of her shoulder. Beneath his touch, she trembled. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
She gave a quick nod, but he could tell she was lying.
“You have to believe I would never hurt you.”
She nodded again. This time it wasn’t a lie.
James didn’t move, giving her time to gather herself. Inside, he recoiled in disgust and white-hot anger. What had that monster done to her? He wanted to turn around this instant and sail back to Virginia for the sole purpose of beating the life out of one Damian Wessler. Of course, that would come after he finished beating up on himself for being an insensitive bastard.
He didn’t know all the gory details of what she’d endured, but he knew enough. Bloody hell, the evidence still shook in his bed.
“I’m sorry.” Wide eyes captured his before she forced a small smile. “I startle far too easily.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. Would it be all right if I held you?”
She pulled in a shaky breath. “Of course.”
He moved nearer, ready to retreat should she begin to panic again. Slipping his arms around her, he tucked her beneath his chin and kissed the top of her head. He held her close but not as tight as he would have liked. He was afraid if he tried, she’d shatter like crystal.
After a while, she softened in his arms and leaned her head against his chest. He stroked her back and reclined, still holding her firmly to him. James pulled a blanket over them both and slowly counted the beats of her heart.
* * * *
The sun kissed Tupper’s face for the first time in days. She pulled in great gulps of fresh air as she and the rest of the Scarlet Night crew were given a short respite. Their request for a bit of deck time had been granted. Her once fearsome crew stood squinting in the bright sunlight like a labor of motley moles.
Armed British sailors flanked an open area, giving them no question as to what would happen if any of the crew were to make a misstep.
Allan and Butler glared in her direction. Several others joined in their superstitious grumblings. Let them. She’d explained herself once; she wouldn’t do it again. If they needed someone to blame for the state they were in, she might as well be the scapegoat. It wouldn’t change a damn thing, and she couldn’t give a rat’s arse.
Tupper skirted around them and found Bump. She signed the words, “Are you all right?”
He nodded.
She pointed to her head, asking about his injury. He nodded again, but was distracted, scanning the ship in both directions. A frown darkened his glare. Tupper tapped his arm to get his attention. “What is it?”
‘S.’ ‘A.’ ‘M.’ He made the sign of a question.
Tupper shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know. Last I heard she was alive.” With thumbs up, she tapped her waist, then her chest, with her fists. “I would have heard if something happened to her.”
Bump moved away. Tupper watched his retreating back. She sat in the shade of one of the masts. Twice. In the entire lifetime she had spent with Bump, she had never lied to him, and now she’d done so twice in as many weeks. The reasons now were as valid as the reasons then. All she wanted was to keep him safe. Shield him from the ire of the crew for being her accomplice in bringing Samantha aboard, and now she wanted to protect his misguided heart. Wherever Samantha was, Tupper was sure James Steele was close by her side. What faced them at the end of this journey was enough. Bump shouldn’t have to meet his maker with a shattered heart.
“He’s been as chatty as ever.” MacTavish dropped down beside her and jerked his head toward Bump.
Tupper sent him a side glance. “I didn’t think you were speaking to me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Just my luck,” she snorted. “You’ve forgiven me.”
“I ken why ye lied.” He shrugged, knocking his shoulder against hers. “Ye could’a told me the truth, ye ken.”
“So then they’d be hatin’ you now.” She jerked a chin toward Butler and Allan. “Best not spread their joy around. I was the captain. The biggest share comes with the biggest risk. I knew I was taking a chance. Better it be all on my head.”
“Still. I thought we were mates.”
“We are, ye hairy troll.”
They were both quiet for a moment. MacTavish broke the silence. “Ye ken the worst part in all this?”
“Beside the hanging?”
“Aye, there’s that. Nay, it be too much time te think.” He scratched at his chest. “I ain’t had so much time te woolgather in me whole life.”
“Sorting through regrets?”
“I got none o’ those. Nay, it’s the ‘whatif’s.’ Wondering if ye’d stepped wit yer left foot one day instead of yer right, would ye still have reached where ye sittin.’ Not regrets, really, but if ye said ‘yes’ instead of ‘no,’ ‘no’ instead of ‘yes.’” He dropped his head back against the mast. “Where would ye be now?”
“Maybe it’s a good thing ye never know. Not like ye can go back and do it over again.”
He turned to look at her. “Anything you’d do different?”
Tupper shook her head, then stopped and shrugged. “There was that week-long bender a few years back, where I ended waking up face down twenty miles from where I started, with Gavin’s name entwined with roses tattooed on my arse.”
MacTavish snorted. “I remember it well. Tuk four days te find ye. Coulda been worse. Coulda been my name on yer arse.”
“Both halves and down one leg.” She laughed.
“Ye had a good man there. Tattoo or no.”
Tupper nodded. “I’ve been thinking about him a lot the last few days. I’m glad he ain’t a part of this.”
“Ye did ‘im proud, taking over like ye did. Ye can’t think ye didna have a good run of it.”
Her hands swept the deck. “We’re still sitting here with these tea swillers waiting to swing.”
MacTavish knocked against her again. “But blast an’ go blind, ye bloody stripe-haired bitch, admit it, we’ve had one hell of a ride.”
Chapter 21
Sometime after six bells—Samantha’s new but limited bell knowledge had become a tiny source of pride with her. The only occasions when she was positive about the time were at three, seven, and eleven o’clock.
It was a bit after those six bells next morning when the surgeon James referred to as Stitch returned to remove the sutures from Saman
tha’s hip.
“Looks well healed. A miracle considering the infection, but there’ll be no helping the scar.” He finished quickly. “You can be moving about a might freer now. The rest of the prisoners have been allowed to spend time on deck. Might do you some good, as well. Clean air and sunshine is the best medicine, but take it slow. Your legs will feel like pudding for a few days still.”
Stitch covered her once more with the sheet. “Course you’ll be needing some breeches. I had to cut away the ones you came with when they first carried you into the surgery.” He turned to James, who’d been working and watching from his desk. “I could scrounge her up a pair.”
“Thank you. That would be helpful. She’s not going on deck wearing nothing but my best shirt.”
Samantha smiled as she fussed with the cuffs. In the last few days, she’d been out of his best shirt more than she’d been in. She thanked the doctor and waited until the door closed behind him before she swung her legs out of bed and took her first official stroll.
It was fourteen steps over dangerous terrain of smooth polished wood and thick wool rugs to reach her final destination--James’s lap. The doctor was right. Her legs were as watery as the sea. Grasping the edges of the desk, she reached her goal. Her reward was the feel of his arms circling her.
“Well done.” He kissed her.
“I’ll be climbing the center mast before you know it.”
“I’d wait for the breeches.” He trailed a finger up her thigh.
Samantha shivered out of a sudden rush of anticipation, but James was quick to pull his hand away as if he’d done something wrong. The scene from yesterday morning continued to hang heavy between them. She behaved irrationally, but at the time, coming from a sound sleep, she had little control over her reaction to him coming into the bed. Still, James didn’t deserve the reception he received. He’d been nothing but kind and loving. He’d shown incredible restraint and patience. To panic like that… without cause… She was embarrassed and angry with herself, and more angry at the man whose ugliness still tainted her.
Her fearful reaction to James’s had been born out of months having to defending herself on those horrible nights Wessler chose to visit her bed. She’d been trained to expect the worst. She hated that Wessler’s poison still had a hold upon her, and she wished she could come up with the words to try and explain it to James.
Reaching out to take his hand, she returned it brazenly to where it had been on her thigh. She looked into his summer-sky eyes. “If I trembled, it was because now I’m free to be as loud as I wish in your bed.”
He dropped his forehead to hers. “I hate that I frightened you.”
“I hate it too, but not for the reasons you think.” She wound her arms around James’s neck and kissed him. “I’m sorry for yesterday. You are nothing like him. Not in the tiniest way. I despise the shadow he’s cast across what is only good and wonderful between us. He may have stolen a piece of my soul, but I won’t allow him to touch the piece that belongs to you. It’s hard to find the words to explain. It isn’t like a wound you can stitch back together. I’m not sure if I’ll ever fully heal from what’s happened, but it’s unfair to you—to us—to have it ruin a single second.”
“Nothing is ruined,” he assured her in a whisper, smoothing the hair away from her cheek.
She whispered back. “It is if you’re afraid to touch me.”
He held her gaze and allowed his hand to move higher. “I love you. I’ll never hurt—”
Samantha stopped his words with a fingertip. “You can stop with ‘I love you.’ It’s all you ever need say to me.” With her other hand she guided his touch higher still. “Or better yet, you could show me.”
When his fingers slipped between the folds of her sex, she gave a small gasp. He sucked the tip of her silencing finger into his mouth as he urged her to open for him. Delicious tremors raced along her limbs. His touch was achingly slow.
Samantha moved upon his fingers with tiny shifts of her hips and whimpered. James angled a line of kisses down the side of her throat. He paused to nip at the sensitive bend where her neck curved into the line of her shoulder. The combination of sensations was magical. She pulled the leather thong holding his hair allowing her to bury her hands in its rich thickness and pulling him to her. James murmured his approval against her skin. The timber of his voice rumbled through her.
His feather-light strokes soothed while igniting an unknown urgency inside her. She arched into him. “James…please.”
He lifted his head, captured her lips, and stopped his intimate caresses only long enough to scoop her into his arms and carry her back those fourteen steps—he made them in eight—to lay her on the bed.
She smiled up at him. “I could have walked.”
“You need to save your strength,” he grinned, hovering over her before dipping his head and pulling the tip of her breast into his mouth. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his best shirt, but sucked at her nipple through the fabric in his haste, dampening the fine linen.
“Take it off me,” she insisted, backing away from his impatient mouth. She needed to feel that impatience on her skin. With one simple tug, she was naked, where James was still dressed all the way to his perfectly knotted neckcloth.
“You truly are beautiful.” He made a slow study of her, from the tips of her toes to the cap of her unruly hair. He grazed the angry pink of her scar with a fingertip.
It embarrassed her to see its ugliness. “All except there.” She covered it, but James pulled away her hand.
“Don’t hide it. It’s part of you. A sign of bravery and—”
“Utter foolishness,” she countered.
“No.” He leaned down and kissed the injured skin. “Not many women would have rushed into a battle to fight for a friend. You’re brave and noble.” From her hip, he laid a tender kiss on the flat of her belly, the dip at the juncture of her ribs. The muscles in her abdomen shimmered with pleasure. Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird.
Samantha’s breath raced in anticipation as he concentrated his attention on her left breast. Cupping it, he teased the tight tip with his thumb before taking it between his lips. A wave of pleasure crashed over her. It was almost more than she could bear.
“James…please…” She begged him again, for what she couldn’t have said. Samantha could no longer offer him her innocence, but every cherished feeling, each tender sensation felt new, unknown, undiscovered. In all ways but one, she was still a virgin.
She tugged at his shirtsleeve. James gave a final swirl of his tongue around the edge of her swollen nipple before lifting his heavy-lidded gaze to her. When he licked his lips and smiled like a cat who’d stolen the cream, part of her dissolved into molten honey.
Samantha began tugging the buttons of his waistcoat from their holes, one after the other. “I-I need to see you. Touch you.” Her fingers fumbled with the normally easy task, but he had her shaking with want.
Even in undressing, he deliberately took his time, carefully removing each piece of clothing with excruciating care. “Are you trying to torture me?” she sighed.
He pulled the shirt from his trousers and tossed it to one side. “No. I want to savor you.”
“Or tease me until I become nothing but a trembling pool of desire?” She fingered the defined muscles of his stomach. James took her hand and lowered it to rest on the solid ridge of his erection trapped within the confines of his trousers. When she curled her fingers over the swollen shaft, she could feel the heat of him radiating through the fabric. He closed his eyes and pulled in a great breath before opening them again. “Then I’ll drown in your arms a very happy man.”
He was quicker removing his boots, and finally his trousers, but to Samantha’s impatient sense, it took far too long. But then he stood before her. Strong. Defined. Aroused.
“I chose the most handsome man at the dance,” she murmured.
Samantha left the bed to stand b
efore him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she aligned her body along the solid length of him before lifting her mouth to his.
James ran his hands down her back and over the curve of her bottom, hauling her tight to him. “I much prefer this outfit on you.” His hands smoothed over her skin, fanning the embers into flames once more. Gently, he raised one of her knees and lifted it to rest high upon his hip. The positioning of her moist sex against him made her plead with him once more to hurry.
“Please…”
He backed her toward the bed. In one exquisite move, he had her on her back and positioned himself between her thighs. The strength and power of him surrounded her.
A sudden wave of panic crashed over Samantha. Instinct wove a past thread of fear to tangle with the heat of her current desire. Her body tensed in preparation for an assault. But none came.
James made love to her. Gently. Slowly. With his whole self. Kissing and stroking every inch of her with such profound tenderness, it made her weep. With each touch, he erased all any fear.
When he finally pushed into her, filled her with the solid length of his cock, she shuddered around him. Her body surged into a swell of release that took her breath and left her trembling beneath him.
He found a rhythm, slow, strong, fervent. Each press of his hips burying him deeper. Filling her, fusing him to her like none other, reaching a place within her she had never known.
A new urgency built within her. She ignored the dull pull of her wound and began to move with him, clutching at the slick skin of his back and buttocks. Pulling him deeper, she lifted her hips to meet the strength of his. She sighed his name, urging him faster.
Samantha cried out at the sheer pleasure of sensations racing through her. In response, James moaned deep in his chest, as he was somehow able to fit an arm beneath her and lift her hips into a new position. The new angle of his thrusts undid her. Curling over her, he ground out her name, “Samantha…sweet God, I love you...”