"For the sake of the lady's reputation, Duncan, leave the door ajar."
"Aye, sir."
"Close it, McPete," Tess mumbled into the pillow. "I'm awake." She lifted her head and turned toward the sound of Dane's voice. Dane was sitting at his desk, bare feet propped on the surface. "And you promised to stay in bed."
He smiled as she sat up and shoved hair out of her face. "I promised only until the morning." Tess glanced to the window, then pushed aside the white netting and climbed from the bed, rewrapping the robe as she walked to him. He poured tea from the service sitting to his left and slid a cup toward her. She ignored it, resting her hip against the desk and checking his bandage, his pupils, and his pulse. The latter was a little fast.
"Does my state of wellness meet with your approval?"
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"Hardly. You should be in that bed, resting. Not doing this." She waved at the ledgers, papers, and instruments littering the desk.
"I am fine, Tess, truly."
She snorted. "Then don't come crying to me when your head starts pounding like a Russian racehorse."
He stared at her, wondering what it was like for her to discover herself thrown back into a time that could only be quite primitive.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
His gaze never wavering, his hand slipped from the arm of the chair and came up with her yellow satchel. Her eyes widened as he dropped it onto the desk.
"Show me the future, Tess."
Her gaze shot between the bag and him as she straightened. "Wh-what? Ah-ah—" She swallowed, and Dane watched as tears bloomed in her eyes, brimmed, then slowly trickled down her cheeks. She trembled, and he saw the pulse at the base of her throat quicken. Slowly he slid his feet from the desk. With a strangled cry of his name, she fell into his arms. Gently he pulled her onto his lap, pressing her head to his chest. She cried, deep, heavy weeping that enveloped him, absorbed into his skin, penetrated into his bones. She struggled to control it, but then it unleashed itself in a fresh wave, and Dane felt the torment she had suffered these past weeks. Because he wouldn't believe.
"Shhh, love, cease, I beg you," he whispered, gently rubbing her spine. " Tis killing me, your tears." Tess lifted her head, swiping at her cheeks.
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"When?" she croaked, then swallowed. "What made you change your mind?"
He sighed, dropping his head back. "I suspected the truth of your words when you first made mention of the islands—"
"But that was before the battle!" she interrupted.
"Aye." He looked down at her. " Twas your conviction, in every word you spoke, that set me to wondering. I found myself making sense of your logic, and I admit, lass, 'twas unnerving to say the least. Yet with the dates you quoted, 'twas all far too accurate for any man to ignore." He smiled into her smug face, fingering a raven lock, then absently bringing it to his nose and inhaling the scent of spiced flowers. "You've a way about you, lass, openly defiant. Even Ram noticed." The brief darkening of his features said he didn't care for that observation. "Coupled with your extraordinary physical abilities and that political discussion with my men — " He paused. "You know what is to come, that we will tax ourselves." She nodded. "And the Naval Forces?"
"In a few years," she answered.
He was thoughtful for a few seconds, then suddenly grinned. "We would have begun this discussion last eve, but you very rudely nodded off when I was about to question you further."
She snuggled cozily. "I'm sorry I did now."
He held her gaze, his expression regretful. "I confess I thought you insane, Tess. I did not want to believe 'twas possible and tried to find a reason for your peculiar behavior."
"It's okay. I considered all this," she waved absently at the cabin, "and you, an eccentric on a fan-
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tasy pleasure cruise. So it took me a while to believe it, too. But why didn't you just write me off as some escapee from the loony bin?"
He chuckled at her choice of words. "Because you, sweet witch—" he tapped her nose " — are not a woman any man with but an ounce of feeling can ignore." Compliments embarrass her, he thought, enjoying her flushing cheeks. She wore her desire like a sensual cloak over her body, and since she'd risen from the bed, he'd tried to ignore it. The woman has naught but to turn those smoke gray eyes on me and I am charred to cinders, he realized, shifting her on his lap and lowering his head. His lips brushed hers, and she moaned his name, leaping up to meet him. To hell with it, he decided, giving up his meager battle. Her hands slid around his neck, and she blossomed beneath him, letting him taste her happiness.
Tongues dueled softly, and Tess leaned back, making him chase her. She laughed, deep and throaty, and he lifted a brow, accepting the challenge. Abruptly he drew her legs over the arms of the chair, imprisoning her in the circle of his embrace as he feasted on her mouth, his fingers loosening the ties to the robe. She curled toward him as his hand prowled beneath the velvet, stroking her bare ribs, then moving forward to smooth over her breast. Her skin was so soft. His thumb brushed her nipple, feeling it plump and harden beneath his touch. Gently he massaged, rotating her breast, and she whimpered against his lips, her fingers plowing into his hair, her body eager and warm for more. He separated the robe and pulled her tighter against him, enjoying the pleasure of her soft bosom pressed to his bare chest.
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She purred in his arms, panting his name into his ear as she licked and nibbled his lobe. A blast of fire ava-lanched down his body. His hand drifted to the deep curve of her waist; over her hip and down the smooth, pale thigh. He heard her breath catch and held her gaze as a callused hand slid between her legs, her look of anticipation making him breathless.
A knock sounded.
"Go away!" they both shouted, the moment frozen, and footsteps rapidly retreated. Tess bubbled with quiet laughter as Dane cursed viciously, shifting uncomfortably beneath her.
Passion cooled by the interruption, she sighed, dropping her legs from the arm of the chair and adjusting the robe. "For once, I'd like to be with you without the entire ship knowing," she muttered as she sat upright.
Her words sent a sharp thrill spearing into his chest. The confession was so matter-of-fact, Dane didn't dare question the depth of it, but 'twas a confession just the same. He suddenly needed to hear more of them.
She glanced meaningfully at the bag sitting on the desk. "Sure you're ready for this?"
Dane closed his eyes briefly and nodded.
Tess left his lap and perched herself on the edge of the desk. Tossing her hair back over her shoulder, she unzipped the bag. The sound made Dane flinch, and he reached out to examine the sack more closely, moving the slide back and forth.
"Ingenious," he whispered, then, satisfied with his perusal, sat back to allow her to continue. An odd sensation swept rapidly down his back as she over-
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turned the bag on his desk. Quickly she started stuffing garments back inside.
"Wait," he said, lifting a small odd-shaped scrap. He held it by the silk ribbons, turning it this way and that, then lifted his puzzled gaze to Tess.
"It's a bra," she explained, snatching it up and placing it against her chest.
His brows rose, then a devilish smile grazed his lips. " Tis a garment I would like to see properly worn," he commented, watching her blush.
"In your dreams, pirate," she teased, dropping it into the bag, then handed him her wallet. "My identification," she said, and at his frown, told him that everyone carried something like it in her time. "It gets you in places, proves who you are. That's a driver's license," she added when he slipped the plastic-coated card free, deciding not to go into the subject of cars just yet.
Dane rubbed his fingertip over the likeness of her, marveling at the clarity. 'Twas amazing, he thought, as she explained the way to capture the images on paper through something called a camera. Then to his astonishment, she showed him ones of her pa
rents and friends.
"Who is this?" he said curtly, gesturing to the photo of a blond young man.
"Just an old college friend," she replied, her eyes twinkling at the spark of jealousy. He tossed the photo aside, then fished in his pocket.
"Have you more like this?" he asked, holding out the silver coin. Her eyes widened, then narrowed sharply.
"So—you believed me before—!" She made a wild
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grab for the quarter, but his hand jerked back out of her reach, her angry momentum causing her to slip off the desk. He stood, his arm shooting out to catch her and pull her flush against him.
"Aye, Tess." He cupped the curve of her jaw with a warm palm, his eyes intense, penetrating. "I swear by the blood of my sister, lass, I have always known you had come to me by a sweep of God's hand."
Tess was still. "Please don't lie to me about this, Dane."
Silver gray eyes begged for the truth. She looked so vulnerable, so fragile, and Dane understood how much it meant to her that he had believed before he'd seen the proof. "Never, love. She softened against him in a way that drove him wild.
"Thank you," she whispered, closing her eyes, her hand covering the one that held her jaw. The coin must have been the clincher, she thought, then looked up. "That's a fourth of a dollar," she told him, giving him a quick, hard kiss, then hopping back onto the desk.
He shook his head as he took his seat, constantly amazed at her resilience.
Tess opened the change purse to her wallet and dumped the contents on the desk, letting him investigate at his leisure, answering his questions about the coinage, its value. He chuckled secretly to himself when he viewed the face of Thomas Jefferson on a nickel, then tossed it aside, but went still as granite when she slipped a dollar bill out. Dane gaped at the likeness of his president.
"The father of our country," she said, watching him carefully.
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He would be most pleased at that, Dane thought, looking over the paper currency embellished with future presidents. Later he would discuss them with her and why they were honored on scrip.
Her wallet in a pile of money, ID's, and old receipts, Tess simply folded her arms and watched. He scrutinized each item, opening travel-sized bottles of shampoo, conditioner, deodorant; sniffing; reading the labels; and she had to stop him when he went to taste the cherry-scented shampoo. He relaxed back into the chair with the travel brochure, his brows furrowed tightly as he studied the miniature map. He opened another fold, then lifted wide eyes to her, straightening.
"This woman is naked!" He shook the pamphlet in her face.
The corner of her mouth quirked. "Not quite. She has on a swimsuit. What one wears to frolic in the water," she defined dryly. God, he looked ready to pop. "A bikini," she added without mercy.
"Ah, Tess, you —ah, you — " He swallowed, unable to ask for fear of the answer.
"Sure. Why not?" She shrugged, enjoying his stumbling.
"Before men?" he exploded. "Like this?" He waved the paper again.
She rummaged in the bag and came out with a hot pink Italian design that would fit in a Band-Aid box. He lifted the scraps and strings, unable to discover the proper angle in which he could imagine—ahh, bloody hell! he thought, tossing it in her lap.
"You may as well discard the thing," he said mat-ter-of-factly. "You will not be wearing it again."
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"And what if I want to?" she said defiantly, trying to keep a straight face.
"Sweet Christ, Tess!*' He leapt to his feet, grabbing the bikini and holding it under her nose. " Tis no more than spinnakers of a child's sail toy!" he raged, then threw it aside and rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the floor. "God's teeth, to think you paraded before a pack of rutting stags in that—that— dressmaker's leavings—!"
"I meant just for you, Dane," she cut into his tirade.
Dane's head jerked up, and he finally noticed the laughter in her eyes. "You did that a'purpose," he accused softly, his shoulders relaxing.
"Guilty as charged," she giggled. Seeing him openly display his jealousy made her feel all warm and buttery inside. "You're heartless, Tess."
"Hey, you wanted to know. Believe it or not, this will be the height of fashion," she taunted, the bikini dangling from her fingertip, and he groaned miserably. "Cost me sixty dollars."
"Sixty?" he sputtered, dropping into the chair. Dane thought of the cargo equivalent to that exorbitant figure and shuddered at the comparison. His gaze rested on the contents from her satchel and he
scowled.
"This is your time, Dane, and I'll play by your rules." She paused, mischief making her cheeks rosy. "Well, most of the time."
Only his eyes shifted. " "Twill be a first, for you have not as yet."
She tried to look indignant. "Are you accusing me
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of improper behavior, sir?"
"For my century."
Her face fell. "Have I embarrassed you that much?"
"Nay, the thought never occurred to me!" He seemed surprised she would ask. Then he caught her hand. "But I fear tis me that has embarrassed you."
She frowned. "How could you possibly?"
"We've shared this cabin, Tess, yet have spoken no vows."
She jerked free. "Don't do this, Dane."
"I must-"
"Look —in the twentieth century men and women don't marry so they can enjoy each other."
"But you are no longer there, Tess." His voice was tight.
"I know that!" she snapped. "Let's just leave it to my upbringing, okay? Jeez," she rubbed her forehead, "I can't believe we're having this conversation. Any man would be delighted not to be chained just to sleep with a woman!"
His eyes narrowed dangerously, his words cool and measured: "I am not like—!"
"I know, I know," she interrupted, her temper suddenly defused. Her expression went all soft and feline as she looked him over. Yeah, he was different all right. "I was well aware of that when we first slept together, Dane."
He flashed her a cocky grin, lopsided and sexy, and Tess wanted to climb all over him when he looked at her like that. "My memory of that night, love, is definitely not of sleeping."
"Mine either," she murmured huskily, slipping off
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the desk. He stared at her, not saying a word as she climbed easily onto his lap. The look on his tanned face was suddenly fierce, agonized, yet so hotly possessive that she frowned, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Dane?"
Abruptly his hand dove into her hair, the other wrapping tightly around her as he claimed her mouth, feasting on her lips as if to draw her inside himself and keep her there. During the past hours a bizarre fear had engulfed the sea captain. Aye, he silently admitted, deepening his kiss. He was deathly afraid of losing Tess~to her own time.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Like a black sabre slicing through azure silk, the Sea Witch plunged across the sparkling waters. Canvas snapped, filling with power, carrying the frigate to her charted destiny. On the quarterdeck, Dane sighted through the glass, scanned the surface, then called out his orders. The boatswain's whistle shrilled, singing across the wind. Bare-chested men in tattered breeches hustled up the rigging to do as they were bid.
"Have you molasses in your veins?" Gaelan bellowed cheerily to the crew. "Stand fast, mates, we've new lands to discover!"
The spyglass poised, Dane measured his first officer. "You seemed rather pleased this morn, Gaelan?"
Gaelan glanced to his right, looking a bit sheepish. "I admit I thirst for solid ground beneath me this voyage, sir."
A ghost of a smile danced across Dane's lips as he raised the glass to his eye. "I daresay you thirst for more than ground beneath you, man."
"Aye, sir. A soft, sweet-smelling lass would be to my liking," he said dreamily. "Wearing those whatever-
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they-are that rustle so delicately, enticing a man to
imagine the warm treasures that lie beyond—" He cleared his throat and straightened when the captain lowered the spyglass and looked at him with raised brows. " Tis difficult not to think of much else, Capt'n," he flushed, "with the Lady Renfrew about— ah — sir."
Dane said nothing, returning his gaze to the sea. Aye, he thought, he had been sorely tested not to keep the woman thoroughly occupied in his bed since they'd met.
Gaelan made a sound of pure misery, then said, "Ahh God. Twill never be soon enough, sir."
Tess stood on the lower deck in a soft cloud of royal blue silk, searching for Dane. She spied him on the quarterdeck, did a sedate spin, then curtsied primly. She felt wonderfully pampered. This morning she'd awakened to a woman's fantasy: a roomful of new, expensive clothes. Surrounding the bed were three sea chests brimming with gowns in silk, lace, brocade, rich velvets in hunter green, black, burgundy, subtly trimmed and elegant. The height of eighteenth-century fashion, she knew, still awed by the extravagant collection. Each gown was accompanied by matching corsets, petticoats, stockings, and dainty satin slippers adorned with little bows or beads. But it was the slip of parchment scrolled with dark masculine writing that touched her most: Welcome to my century, love. Oh Blackwell, what am I going to do with you? she wondered happily, then walked aft.
A sharp oof spilled from Gaelan's lips when the captain, without looking, shoved the spyglass in his stomach and strode toward her.
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"No, don't come down. I can manage," she said, gathering her skirts in one hand and ascending the nearly vertical steps up to the quarterdeck, unaware that every man aboard had paused in his work to view the brief display of trim ankles. Over the top of her head, Dane sent them an icy look meant to maim as he leaned down to help her.
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