His Wicked Kiss

by Gaelen Foley

  She wetted her lips with a nervous flick of her tongue and again eyed the crew. “But, Jack—”

  “I’m the one you’d better worry about now,” he warned in a low voice. “Give me back my damned pistol.”

  He waited immovably; the crew paused in returning to their tasks and looked on in palpable tension as the fierce little female stowaway dared refuse the captain’s order.

  Jack flicked his fingers impatiently, beckoning her to hand the gun over; he stretched out his waiting palm.

  The same hand from which she had dug out the splinter. In the old parable, the lion never forgot the kind deed, and spared the youth who had helped him.

  Jack stared at her intensely.

  She agonized over the decision, the war of emotions transparent on her lovely face, but after a long moment, she slowly yielded, handing it over.

  Jack clasped his weapon and thrust it back into its holster. “There. Wasn’t so hard, was it? Now the knife.”

  “No!”

  He flicked his fingers again.

  “It’s mine! You can’t have it!”

  He stared at her.

  “No, Jack, please,” she begged him in a pitiful whisper.

  “Hand it over,” he answered in a hard tone. “You’ve got no choice.”

  “You’re a bully!” she yelled with a flash of renewed temper.

  He raised an eyebrow. But he had ways of getting her compliance. “Hand me that knapsack,” he said to Trahern, who had taken hold of it. The lieutenant handed him the canvas knapsack that Jack had pulled off Eden’s shoulder. “What’s in here, my dear?” he asked her, for the bag was very light.

  When she failed to answer, he opened it and glanced inside.

  Aside from an orange in the side pocket, stolen from his cargo hold, the knapsack contained nothing but some pressed leaves in waxed paper.

  He knew what it was, but eyed her sardonically, trying to prod her into giving up her weapon. “Weeds?”

  He took the orange, tossed it to the Nipper, and then handed the bag back to Trahern. “Throw it overboard.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No!” she cried. “Mr. Trahern, please, you can’t!”

  “Why?” Jack demanded.

  Trahern hesitated, looking from his idolized captain to the lady stowaway and back again, torn between duty and chivalry.

  Eden lifted her chin and pointed to the bits of pressed plants. “Those are not weeds, as you know well. They are botanical samples from my father’s research—plants with healing powers. I am taking them to London to show to Lord Pembrooke.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, Jack. Really.”

  “Captain,” he corrected her, putting her in her place, given the circumstances. He would not be addressed with such insolence in front of his men.

  She lifted her chin. “Captain, they are rare and precious plants that the scientists at the Royal Botanical Gardens will want to seed for their greenhouses!”

  “Fascinating. Trahern, throw it in the ocean.”

  “Yes, sir.” Crestfallen, his lieutenant continued toward the rails.

  “No!” Eden cried.

  “Wait,” Jack ordered.

  “Please.” She gazed at him in exasperation.

  “Very well, Miss Farraday,” he resumed in a consummately reasonable tone. “Give me your knife, and I will spare your weeds.”

  His offer only got him her glare. Then she muttered, “You want it? Fine. Here it is!”

  Without warning, she hurled her machete—it flew through the air and plunged into the mast quite near Jack’s head.

  The crew let out amazed exclamations at her defiant display of prowess, no doubt impressed by her aim.

  Jack’s eyes glowed with pride as he gazed at her for a second. He glanced drily at the large knife still shuddering from the impact, the blade sunk about two inches into the wood.

  The wild woman, his future wife, folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin, still furious, but looking decidedly pleased with herself.

  “Miss Farraday,” he reproached her with an indulgent tsk, tsk. “You stabbed my ship.”

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  Though she held her chin high in a show of grand defiance, Eden knew she was defenseless after having been disarmed. But when Lord Jack started toward her with that strange, murderously tranquil smile on his face, she blanched and spun around, seeking any escape route.

  There was nowhere to flee. Her heart pounded. Her frantic gaze scanned the sun-splashed decks and homed in on the rigging.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he chided, grabbing her around her waist as she tried to scamper up the nearest sturdy rope ladder.

  He pulled her bodily off the rungs of the mainmast shrouds and slung her over his shoulder, plopping her into place with a hearty clap on the rump.

  She let out a small shriek at the indignity and fought him as best she could, but Jack was undeterred, easily restraining her flailing arms and legs. He had the nerve to laugh at her struggles.

  “Put me down, you blackguard—pirate—beast!” she yelled, even as it became very clear which one of them was in charge; but that didn’t stop her from fighting, never mind the fact that all that stood between her and one very large, very powerful, very annoyed ex-pirate was whatever shred of chivalry still dwelled within his breast.

  A dubious hope.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Cap,” a cheeky sailor said with a wink as they passed by.

  Jack shot him a scowl. “Roll a barrel of fresh water into my day cabin. Chit smells like the bilge.”

  “I do not!”

  “Aye, sir.” The sailor snapped to it.

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Food and drink, post-haste,” he ordered another. “Stop kicking me, Eden.”

  “You deserve it!”

  “I’m not the one who stowed away,” he reminded her as he carried her past the great steering wheel of the ship, past a group of gaping, wide-eyed young sailors. Lord Jack maneuvered her in through a door on the quarterdeck.

  “Put me down, damn you!”

  “Such language!” he exclaimed mildly. “You won’t make many fine friends in London talking like that.”

  “You,” she informed him, dangling precariously off the cliff of his huge shoulder, “are an ogre.”

  He set her down on her feet with a plunk, smirked at her in the most deliberately provoking way, and then went back to the door to accept the delivery of the barrel of fresh water.

  Dry-mouthed upon finding herself alone with him, she tugged her father’s borrowed jacket back into place and stole a nervous glance around at the room into which he had absconded with her.

  After so many days in the dim, utilitarian storage areas, she was admittedly impressed by the sprawling stateroom’s smart, masculine style. To be sure, she had come quite a few steps closer to civilization.

  The captain’s day cabin was a handsomely appointed business office with dark wood paneling, brass wall sconces, and a few oil paintings in gilded frames. It had a curious floor covering of stretched canvas that had been painted with black and white squares to resemble marble tiles; from the low, beamed ceiling above hung a pewter chandelier centered over the round worktable in the middle of the room.

  The heavy, claw-foot table, strewn with charts and maps, was part of a suite of mahogany furniture with chairs in red leather upholstery; the main piece, however, dominating the stateroom, was the grand baronial desk. But although the room’s furnishings suggested the establishment of a prestigious London merchant, there was no forgetting they were on a ship in the middle of the sea, for along the back wall, a row of sparkling stern windows revealed an endless horizon of deep sapphire ocean.

  Built-in storage benches below the windows were cushioned with the same red leather upholstery as the chairs. Beyond the stern windows, a narrow jib door led to a private, open-air balcony with a carved, gilded railing and a few low-slung chairs here and there. It
was shady and cool out on the stern gallery, sheltered by the overhang of the poop deck above.

  Turning to Jack again, she watched him roll the barrel of water into the room before closing the door in the cheeky sailor’s eager face. He locked the door then turned to her.

  She took a wary step backward.

  “You, Miss Farraday, are one bloody-minded individual,” he informed her, resting his hands on his hips for a moment. “I could almost admire that, if you weren’t so damned much trouble. But—you’re here now, aren’t you? So I’m just going to have to deal with you.” He trailed a brooding glance over her from head to toe.

  Eden shifted her weight uncomfortably.

  “Right,” he said with a businesslike nod. “Take off your clothes.”

  Her eyes shot open wide. “What?”

  “Take them off and throw them in the ocean,” he instructed, nodding toward the balcony as he prowled across the room.

  “I shall do nothing of the kind!”

  He paused and looked at her, one eyebrow arched. “Pardon?”

  “No!”

  “I gave you an order.” His dark stare sharpened. “Or would you rather I do it for you?”

  “You stay away from me!” she cried, darting around the worktable.

  “Then do as you are told,” he warned, but instead of coming around the table to forcibly disrobe her as threatened, he disappeared through a small door into a roomy storage closet that adjoined the cabin.

  Eden made no move to obey his scandalous order, instead only peering after him as he reached up and brought down a large wooden bathing tub that had been securely stored out of the way on hooks sunk into the bulkhead.

  He backed out of the little room, angling the big tub carefully through the narrow doorway. “What are you waiting for?” he asked when he saw her. “Strip.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  He just looked at her, and it was obvious he wasn’t jesting.

  “Really, my lord! Is this how you treat all your passengers?”

  “You are not a passenger, Eden, you are a thief,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Now, if you would rather not be treated like one and spend the duration of our voyage in the brig, to be turned over to the authorities when we arrive, I suggest you comply.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Quarantine you for the safety of my men? You’re damned right I would. Come, Miss Farraday, you are a physician’s daughter.” He rolled the bathing tub over to a large rectangle of sunlight streaming in through the stern windows. “You know fevers brew down in the hold where you’ve been hiding. Illness kills more men than battle out at sea, and I will not have you spreading disease among my crew. You must wash, and those clothes must be destroyed. Let’s just hope you haven’t picked up any lice, as well, or we may have to cut off all those pretty auburn tresses.”

  She gasped, her hand flying up to protect her long hair, but she remained rooted in place, clutching her jacket closed despite the heat.

  Lifting the seat of one of the red leather window benches, Lord Jack pulled out a fresh white bedsheet, shook out the folds, and then used it to line the bottom of the bathing tub.

  “There,” he said with a devilish gleam in his eyes. “Now you won’t get a splinter in your lovely bottom. Though if you did, I would be glad to get it out for you. Return the favor, don’t you know.”

  Eden narrowed her eyes at him in warning as her cheeks turned scarlet. Her pulse was pounding.

  With some chagrin, she recognized the truth of what he said about observing proper hygiene at sea to avoid any outbreak of disease.

  On the other hand, she also remembered his lascivious threat about how she would pay for her passage if she came aboard his ship, and here he was telling her to get naked.

  It did not bode well.

  Lifting the heavy water barrel easily onto one mighty shoulder—the one she had lately occupied—Jack carried it over to the tub and set it down again. He popped the seal off the barrel’s lid and removed it. “Go on,” he said, glancing at her as he picked up the water barrel again, pouring half its contents into the bathing tub. “I don’t have all day.”

  Eden just stood there, at a loss. Lord Jack had turned this into a battle of wills, but everything was so far stacked in his favor that how could she possibly win?

  When he set the barrel down again, the masterful nod that he jerked in her direction needed no words to order her into the water.

  Yes, she had stowed away, but was she really a thief? She had never thought of it like that; she had known it was naughty but hardly an actual crime. Yet he had threatened to hand her over to the law if she did not do as he said. She glanced in distress from the bathing tub to her captor, realizing that her insubordination so far had only been tolerated because of her sex.

  But if that thought inspired a fleeting sense of gratitude, he ruined it when he dropped casually into the armchair across from the tub.

  Her eyes widened. “Aren’t you going to leave?”

  “Hell, no. Why should I?”

  “But—you don’t mean to sit there gawking at me?” she cried.

  “Oh, my dear, I think I am entitled to it.” He stretched his arms upward and then linked his fingers behind his head, regarding her with a diabolical smile. “Looking at naked women, after all, is one of a man’s few great joys in life, a pleasure sadly lacking at sea. But don’t worry, my dear. You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before. Proceed,” he commanded with a kingly wave of his hand. He sat back again and waited for the show.

  Eden glared at him.

  His eyes danced; his stare caressed her.

  She looked at him imploringly.

  “I told you this was how you would repay me,” he reminded her softly, reckless charm edging his faint smile. “You brought this on yourself, my wild little jungle flower. Go on. It’s just you and me,” he said in a silky tone that had probably bewitched young ladies on several continents.

  Eden was trembling. Horrible, wicked blackguard. Fortunately for her own sake, she bit her tongue instead of uttering her sentiments aloud. Her chin came up a notch. “What then, am I, your entertainment for the journey?”

  “Yes. Something like that.”

  He enjoyed toying with her, she realized. It was written all over his handsome face.

  “Is it so hard for you to obey one simple order?” he inquired, then he reached over and picked up a quill pen off his desk. “Must I flog you into submission?” he murmured, waving the feathery plume back and forth suggestively.

  Eden shivered as she scowled. “You are despicable.”

  “I just saved your arse,” he reminded her with a pointed smile.

  It was clear the captain wasn’t budging; she might as well have argued with the rock of Gibraltar. Her heart was pounding fiercely as she cursed him in her mind. She bit her lip, turning toward the waiting bathtub. If only it did not look so wonderfully inviting. She eyed it longingly.

  Truly, she might have found the strength to make a stand against the barbarian, but she yearned to wash and was too practical to refuse the creature comforts of which she was in such dire need.

  A fact the scoundrel knew full well, she thought, abruptly recalling the many times she had gone swimming au naturel in the jungle with her sweet friends among the Waroa maidens.

  The young Indian girls had known all the hidden places where it was safe to play in the crystal waters. Many a day she had gone with them to escape the heat, splashing about and collecting the gorgeous blooms of water lilies, softening their skin with mud and clay mixtures, and adorning themselves with pearls that they harvested from the oysters that grew in the river.

  Nudity had never bothered her then any more than it had bothered the native girls. Yes, she must think of it like that. She’d just pretend he wasn’t even there.

  Sending him one final look of reproach, Eden turned away, fingering the hem of her long white shirt.

  “Ahem.”

  She glance
d at him over her shoulder.

  He swirled the feathery plume in a little circle in the air, instructing her to turn around again. “Don’t try to hide, my sweet. I’ve paid for this, remember?”

  Eden looked at him in loathing.

  Lord Jack smiled.

  Fine. If he wanted to be so abominably rude, she’d do her best to shock him right back without letting one iota of modesty get in her way.

  Gathering up the remains of her still-defiant courage, she pulled off her boots and stockings and kicked them aside, sending him a withering glance as she did so, then untied the length of cord holding up her breeches.

  Veiling her gaze behind lowered lashes, she took them off. Lastly, she lifted her damp, tattered shirt off over her head.

  She quickly bent and scooped up the whole pile of her clothes, leaving behind only her boots.

  Naked as the day she was born, she walked past him, shooting him a go-to-hell smile as she proceeded out onto the stern gallery, where she dropped all her dirty and allegedly disease-ridden clothing over the rail.

  She watched them fall into the waves far below and for a moment let the wind ripple through her hair and enjoyed the warm kiss of the sun on her bare skin. This, at least, was a good deal better than the cargo hold. The sun, like the very source of her strength, restored her to feeling some small semblance of control over this frightening situation. Taking a deep breath, Eden pivoted away from the railing and strolled back languidly inside.

  Lord Jack’s turquoise eyes had glazed over as she walked toward him. His stare traveled down every inch of her body, consuming her with unnerving intensity.

  Frank, open lust.

  It rather terrified her, but she was too angry to let her fear show. She didn’t grovel to anyone and certainly not to a blackguard like him.

  She stepped into the bath with an expression of cool pride and lowered herself into the water. When she sat, she drew her knees up against her breasts, finally hiding herself from him as best she could.

  With a ragged inhalation, it seemed Lord Jack remembered then to breathe.

  He looked away for a moment as though to collect himself, his hand obscuring his mouth.