My Timeswept Heart

by Amy J. Fetzer

  She moaned softly, her spine shifting at the dis­comfort. It was unfair to leave her sleeping like that, he thought, and gently roused her. She fell back into

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  the leather chair, curling her legs to the side, but didn't waken. He smiled softly and scooped her up, carrying her to his bed, his eyes greedily soaking in the soft swell of her breast as the thin strap dropped from her shoulder. He deposited her in the center of the mattress, the slim column of satin hugging her sculptured body, teasing him with what lay beneath.

  Her eyes fluttered opens briefly. And she looked scared.

  "Don't be mad, Dane," she whispered. "I was only trying to help."

  He sat down on the bed beside her, pulling the sheet over her bare shoulders. "I am not angry, love." She smiled then, and he brushed the web of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You have aided me greatly, and I am thankful. But how did you know 'twas a code?"

  "Daddy taught me," she mumbled with a yawn, snuggling deeper into the feather mattress.

  Oddly wishing he'd known her father, Dane leaned down and placed a soft kiss to her forehead, and she sighed, drifting off with a pleased smile curving her lips. Dane watched her for several mo­ments, wondering what he'd done to deserve a woman like her in his life. When his life was such a bloody mess. She'd been opposed to his seeking out Phillip yet had solved the largest portion of the puzzle for him. All through the night, he realized, glancing at the cluttered desk. He rose and was moving toward the desk when his foot caught on something. It was that gaudy yellow satchel. It was open or torn, he couldn't be certain, and some of its contents were in clear view. Enticing bits of lace and

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  silk spilled from the bag, and he recognized the scrap of black satin and the print of her robe. It jolted his memory, of how it looked draped across her muscled body.

  An opaque bottle, the handle of a brush, and some frayed pale blue fabric seemed to beckon him. He bent slightly, reaching, then immediately straightened, forcing himself not to pry into the la­dy's things. She had assumed he'd done as much before, he reasoned to himself, itching to look. Nay, he decided, then settled behind his desk. She would show him when she wished. Dane opened the rud­der, reading her decoded words. He frowned, paus­ing to finger the evenly tattered paper. The quality was magnificent, no graininess, no dots of pulp wood, and it was ruled with pale pink stripes. He saw the slab of paper with a wire coiled through the top. He lifted it, flipping the sheets. So this was how it was torn so evenly. Ingenious, he thought, closing the tablet. His gaze immediately fell on the scroll printed beneath a coat of arms on the thick board backing. Stuart Hall, Kansas City, MO 64108. Where was this place? And who was this Stuart person? A Scot? A friend of Tess's, perhaps, that had gifted her with the fine paper? The thought annoyed him, and he tossed it and the tablet aside, more important matters calling him as he examined the rudders. Yet his gaze kept straying between the bulky satchel, the writing instrument, and the man's name, the bold print taunting him.

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  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  She was hot. His touch was fire. His mouth hov­ered over hers, teasing her, refusing her the pressure she desired. A perfumed cloak of dampness glis­tened on her body, and she twisted, a soft moan escaping her lips. No one heard. It was lost in the twilight haze of dreams. He held her close, whisper­ing soft words, his warm hand stroking down her hip, seeking the moist juncture of her thighs. She opened for him, and his fingers pushed inside her, rubbing gently, the sensations created nearly painful in their pleasure. She gasped, arching, welcoming him as he shifted above her-Tess found herself abruptly dumped on the cabin floor. The ship lurched, and she grabbed the bedsheets for stability, but the fabric slipped free, and she rolled over, sprawling on her back.

  "What in God's name?" She stood and groped her way to the bed, climbing onto the only stable thing she could find at the moment. She shoved her hair from her face and took a deep breath. God, what a dream! Her body was still locked in that erotic

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  i I

  plane, and Tess fought to get control. She plucked at the damp gown, then dropped back onto the pillows, flinging her arm over her face. It was so real. And good. Damn, she wanted him. And if he walked in this cabin in the next two seconds she would be forced to rape the man, she decided. He didn't. So she climbed from the bed and brushed her teeth, splashing cool water on her face and throat.

  The ship rolled with the waves, and Tess held on to the commode, glancing out the window. It was gray; gray sea, gray sky, but no rain as yet. The door opened, and Tess twisted as Dane entered the cabin, the wind howling through the corridor. She could only stare at him, licking her lips like a hun­gry wolf. He wore a billowy white shirt, open at the throat, and tight, buff-colored breeches tucked in black knee boots. His black hair was wind-tossed and wild. And when he saw her, his smile was slow, crooked, as his hand rested on his hip.

  "So—my lady has finally awakened." His gaze made a lazy stroll over her body as he closed the door behind him. "And here I thought you fancied lying abed all day."

  Maybe with you, she thought, her already sensual thoughts running wild.

  "Ahh, lass, do not look at me like that," he mur­mured huskily, walking toward her.

  "And what way is that?" she replied, her face brightening with guilt as she leaned against the bed­post. He stopped before her, his gaze sweeping over her upturned face to the enticing bit of cleavage exposed, then back to meet hers.

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  "Lovely," he whispered, brushing her hair from her shoulder. "The vision of a man's desire, love."

  Tess's knees buckled, and she reached out. That was all it took. Dane gathered her in his arms, pressing her back against the post, and savagely captured her mouth. Her hunger spilled, flowing over him, fanning the ever-present flame that raged inside the pair. His tongue pushed deeply between her lips, and she flowered beneath him, her hand sliding up his chest, squeezing his breast, then slip­ping around his neck. She held him there, feeling every inch of his long hard body smothering hers. She loved it. Her skin ached for the feel of his hands. Dane's heart thudded against the wall of his chest, the blood rushing in his veins straight to his loins. God's teeth, but he'd thought of little else this morning. And 'twas more difficult, for just to look at the woman constantly tested his restraint. His hands moved to the soft swell of her buttocks, and he ground her against his hardness. She clung tightly, a hand roaming possessively over his ribs, his hip, inviting more.

  His mouth tortured hers, his tongue licking the line of her lips, then devouring them again. He was going to explode with his need of her. His palms filled with the firm curve of her buttocks, he lifted her, mashing her against him, his fingertips meeting between her thighs, gently rubbing there in a motion she answered.

  She was wild in his arms, stroking the taut mus­cles of his back, slipping her fingers into the band of his breeches. She ravaged his mouth, nipping his lip, scraping her teeth over the stubble on his chin,

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  working her way to the vee of his shirt.

  "I had a dream about you," she confessed in a breathless whisper, loosening the ties of his shirt and spreading the fabric. '

  "Invaded your sleep now, have I?" His legs trem­bled.

  She looked up, her smile wicked, feline. "Yeah, and I'll give you three guesses what it was about." Her hand slid between their bodies, covering his solid ridge.

  A half groan, half chuckle rumbled in his throat. "Sweet Christ, woman, you are a bold one."

  "Yeah, and you love it."

  His expression instantly softened, different some­how, and Tess was rocked to her feet at what she saw in those pale jade eyes. No man had ever looked at her like he did, as if he'd die without her.

  "Aye, lady witch, that I most assuredly do."

  "Oh, Dane." Wondrous, heartbreaking joy.

  Her lip quivered, and she was having difficulty swallowing over the knot in her throat. His head lowered slo
wly, the wildness slipping into a moment of incredible tenderness as he kissed her, lazily cher­ishing her mouth, his arms cradling her gently against his body. It was more erotic than the fren­zied minutes just past.

  Dane heard the frantic call, but it didn't register until just before the door abruptly opened. He shifted, shielding Tess from the intruder with his body.

  "Capt'n! The top mizzen just took to the wind-on—begging yer pardon, sir."

  Dane didn't take his eyes off Tess. "If you value

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  your life, Mr, Finch." The door slammed shut be­fore he finished speaking. He kissed her again, then started to move away. She reached. "Stay."

  He made an agonized sound as he cupped her jaw between his large hands, capturing her mouth in a soft kiss/" Tis my duty, love."

  He could have anything he wanted when he called her that, like that. "Is it a hurricane, a typhoon?" His smile was lopsided. "I daresay not like the one you've created in me, lass, but a storm nonethe­less."

  She socked him playfully, then glanced to the win­dow. "Is it serious?" His grin widened. "I'm afraid 'tis fatal." "Dane!"

  He laughed softly. "Nay, 'tis only a squall, but a mean one." He finally mustered the strength to move away from her. He headed toward the door. "Dress, m'lady, and you may come on deck if you believe you can endure the pitching." There was laughter in his voice as he reached for the latch. "I can endure more than you think, Blackwell, and since when do I need your permission?"

  He turned to look at her, his gaze slipping down to her bare feet then back up. The silk shaped her body in a thin veil, clinging to damp muscles, out­lining the bend of her leg, the hollow between her breasts, her taut nipples. The strap fell from her shoulder. She didn't move, holding his gaze. Some­thing stirred deep in his chest, something he couldn't name, making him recognize the power she

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  had over his soul.

  "I would be most displeased if you were tossed back into the seas, Tess. Tis dangerous, these quick bursts." Tess felt there was a double meaning to his words. "I will send an escort for you." She opened her mouth to protest, and he put up a hand. "I beg you to humor me, love. Your safety is all I will think about when I have work to contend with."

  She sighed and smiled, giving him a mock salute.

  "Aye-aye, Captn."

  He quirked a brow, his lips twitching. "Am I to believe you finally understand who is in command of this vessel?"

  "Was there any doubt?"

  He threw his head back and laughed, the rich sound coating her warmly as he stepped through the hatch.

  The knock sounded at the cabin door just as Tess was finished making the bed. "Come in," she called, and Duncan appeared, his face creased in a frown. He slammed the door. Tess frowned back, immedi­ately noticing his displeasure as she plumped the pillow. "What's up?" His gaze slid to her trousers, then back up. "Oh, come on, the ship is rocking like a cradle. You can't expect me to wear skirts out

  there."

  "Nay," he conceded after a moment. His dark expression didn't change much, brows drawn tight, lips pressed into a thin, white line.

  "There's something else bothering you. What is it?"

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  He didn't answer.

  "Spill it, McPete," she demanded, hands on her hips. "What have I done to make you so mad?"

  Duncan's stout body relaxed, and he mashed a hand over his face. " Tis not you that has angered me, lass." His gaze bounced off the bed. She saw it, her cheeks pinkening at the message she read there. "The capt'n should have moved his things to another cabin! An' the man should not be intrudin' on you whenever he desires!" he blasted.

  "It's his cabin, Duncan, his ship, and he's law. Correct me if I'm wrong."

  "Aye, but yer not his bride!" He pounded a fist on the table. "He cannot be shamin' you like this!"

  "Oh, so that's it. Finch tell you what he saw?"

  "Nay, I was standin' behind the dolt."

  "Oh." She briefly glanced to the side, checking her temper. "Let's make one thing clear: I'm not ashamed of anything, and my relationship with Dane is nobody's business, Duncan. Not even yours." His expression said she'd hurt his feelings. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong." She went to him. "Look, just because I want to be with him doesn't mean I want to marry him." His eyes widened, and she realized how that must sound to an eighteenth-century man. "What I mean is he isn't making me do anything I don't want." She smiled a little. "It's rather the reverse."

  "Lady Renfrew!' he choked, flushing cherry red.

  She patted his wrinkled cheek. "I'll clue you in on something, McPete, women think about it as much as men." Then she brushed past him, opened the door, and stepped out. "Besides, he hasn't asked,

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  not that I expect it." The heeling ship forced her to hold on to the rails as she walked the corridor.

  "Would you marry the man?" Duncan said from behind her. She paused, not turning to look at him.

  It never occurred to her. Marry Dane? No. Yes. No! That meant she'd never return to her time. Do you want to? she asked herself, uncertain of her answer. Would she ever have the opportunity to go back? Then be forced to choose? She shook her head. "I plead the Fifth," she said.

  "I beg your pardon, miss?"

  "Can't answer that, Duncan." She twisted to look at him. "I doubt I ever will." She stepped out, the sharp breeze slapping her face, stinging her eyes till they watered, and she immediately grabbed his arm as the vessel pitched. "And if you try to force him into something he doesn't want, I swear I'll run you through," she muttered behind a sweet smile, aware that all eyes were on her. "Is that clear?"

  "Aye-aye, m'lady."

  She spared him a glance. Damn if he wasn't grin­ning.

  Satisfied his little tactics had her thinking on the possibility, Duncan patted her hand. Aye, he thought, I'll have the pair wed soon enough.

  The wind's force plastered her clothing smoothly to her body. The ship dipped with the huge rolling waves, and she widened her stance in her effort to keep upright. A fine mist sprayed her face as the frigate bucked, and Tess dismissed Duncan's wild notions, scanning the area for Dane. In the past weeks, she'd learned a great deal about the Sea Witch. The mizzen, Finch had said, and she looked

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  aft of the vessel. No Dane. She heard his voice issuing commands and lifted her gaze, letting it climb higher and higher. Her breath caught, and her hand covered her mouth.

  Nearly a hundred feet above her, Dane was bare-chested, a powerful arm wrapped around one mast pole, the other struggling to secure a fresh sail. A brass ring through which the ropes threaded was caught in a hooked spike he held. The muscles of his arms and chest and back flexed and bunched as he struggled to secure the canvas. Gaelan and a sailor worked with equal vigor on the opposite end, securing their portion. On the deck, several yards from her, two sailors held a rope, its free end swirl­ing like a snake on the wet wood, and her gaze followed the thick hemp line. It was secured at the top of the mast, and a mere ten or so feet farther down it wrapped around Dane's waist, threaded be­tween his legs and hooked beneath the arch of his foot, drawn back up somewhere near his chest. It was his only security, aside from his arm still grip­ping the large mast boom. The wind taunted his hold, yanking him back and forth from his danger­ous perch. But he held tight. And her breathing accelerated as she helplessly watched. "Duncan! Can't someone else do that?" "The capt'n would not ask a soul to do something he would not." He shook his head, amused at her unnecessary fears. "All thoughts aside, lass, I think he enjoys the danger."

  Even as her heartbeat quickened, Tess could un­derstand that. She walked a four-inch beam for a living, swung from thin poles, defying gravity and

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  hoping her timing was right, that the wood would be just where she anticipated when she sometimes blindly reached behind her. There was no reason to worry, she told herself. He was the captain, experi­enced, used to doing this stuff in such awful weather. She didn't
know her grip was cutting off the circulation in Duncan's arm, her nails digging into his thinly protected skin.

  Dane grunted, sweat beading at his temples, his muscles straining to lift the heavy sail. Two more hands would do him a sight more good, but he couldn't risk it. He adjusted his grip on the spar and yanked, cursing the wind that danced him like a puppeteer's toy.

  "Go down!" he yelled over the wind to Gaelan. The younger sailor began his climb, but the first mate shook his head. "Damn you, boy, 'twas an order, not a request!"

  Reluctantly Gaelan shifted off the spar he strad­dled and caught the webbed rigging, cautiously working his way down. A sudden fierce gust sent Gaelan to hugging the ropes and Dane high in the air, the sail caught in his spike, the rope twirling him like a top.

  "Dane!" Tess shouted, her fear overtaking her common sense not to call for him when he was up there. The wind calmed, and he looked down. Even in the distance she could read his disapproval of her

  garments.

  "Damn breeches!" he muttered, his gaze meeting hers. Alarm, stark and clear, cloaked her upturned features, and Dane knew it was for him alone. A warmth filled him, and he flashed her a broad grin,

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  then turned to his duties, anxious to get below and ease her panic.

  Tess watched his every move as he called on raw strength. His back, thick with ropey muscles, rip­pled and stretched as he hooked the sail and began threading its rigging. Tess admired his physique, tanned, trim, and she wanted to see all of it, touch every square inch of his moist, smooth skin as soon as he got down, and she didn't care who the hell knew.

  Her gaze dropped to the waves, gray and angry. Her eyes widened as the ocean swelled and kept growing.

  "Jesus H. Christ!" she gasped. "Duncan, look!"

  Tess stood helpless as the wall of water seemed to stand still, hovering over the frigate, a liquid devil about to pounce.

  "Stand fast!" Duncan shouted, pulling her toward the companionway when she moved to the mast.