A Wedding Story

by Susan Kay Law

  Though he had to admit that his current impatience likely had far less to do with the ship and the contest than it did with Kate.

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flutter of fabric to his right. Damn, he thought, not inclined to share his hideout.

  A slim figure leaned at the railing, braced into the wind. Robes, a deep magenta worked with glittering gold threads, draped her completely, the wind snapping them like the flags overhead. One of that eastern prince’s brides, no doubt, though the women had been rarely seen since they, completely swathed, had been herded on board the day they sailed. Rumor had it the women took their meals in their quarters, the doors guarded by massive men with equally massive swords, only glimpsed when one of them was summoned to the prince’s suite.

  Suddenly she turned his way, as if something had caught her attention. The thin scarf of silk covering her head fell and dark hair streamed back. She was very young, far too young to be a wife, and she was smiling, her lovely face alight with anticipation as she looked toward the stairs from below decks.

  And then her smile vanished as a man lumbered up the stairway and headed straight for her. One of her guards, undoubtedly; he was built like a bull, dark-skinned, bald-headed.

  Uh-oh, Jim thought. Trouble.

  Neither one of them seemed to notice he was there. The guard dwarfed the girl, his size and posture a clear threat. She said something to him; Jim saw her mouth move, though the wind carried the sound of her voice away. The giant shook his head. Then the girl swept by him, heading for the stairs, the guard falling into place right behind her.

  She breezed right by Jim. For an instant her head turned his way. Her expression was serenely composed, her face a vision of lovely, unlined skin and soft, inexpressive mouth. But her eyes shimmered with moisture.

  And then the guard stepped between them, giving Jim a clear view of his powerful back, before the two of them disappeared down the stairway.

  Jim’s muscles clenched. There was no point in going after them, Jim reminded himself. What was he going to do? The girl probably didn’t speak a word of English. And even if she did, she wouldn’t admit to a stranger what was wrong, if there was even something there to admit. It would be utterly pointless for Jim to hurl himself against that brick wall that was her guard. Although it would be a convenient outlet for all the frustration and restless energy that had gnawed at him.

  Jim sprang to his feet. He’d love to go down to the gymnasium and take it out on the punching bag, but there’d probably be other people there, too. Right now he was in the mood to transfer his irritation from the bag to anyone who was handy. It was almost too bad he’d thrown the major off the ship. He would have done nicely.

  He began an easy lope. A few laps around the upper deck should exhaust him enough so that he no longer felt as though he might burst at any moment. Perhaps he’d even manage a decent night’s sleep despite being a few feet away from Kate.

  Eighty or ninety times around the ship should do it.

  The cold stung his cheeks and burned in his lungs. He welcomed the bite, the blood that pumped in his veins. This competition was too sedentary for his taste, too tame, apparently designed to allow the reporters access rather than provide a real challenge.

  Coming around again, nearly back to his original position, a couple blocked his way near the railing. Damn, he thought again; the deck was getting nearly as popular as the grand salon. The two were standing very close together, heads bent, oblivious to his approach.

  And then he realized who they were.

  Feeling foolish, he ducked behind the ventilation pipe and peered around it, spying as blatantly as one of those nasty reporters.

  Kate was in the orchid silk again, though she’d done something to the neckline that showed a hint of cleavage beneath a veil of lace. Count Nobile, only a few inches taller, wore relentless black, save for the brilliant white of his neck cloth.

  Jim watched Kate throw back her head, laughing. The count lifted her hand, pressed a light, utterly correct kiss to the back of it that had Jim’s fists curling until his fingers went numb.

  Enough. He started forward, but he saw Kate shake her head. The Count bowed formally, then turned for the stairs. As soon as he’d gone, Kate turned toward the pipe.

  “You can come out now,” she shouted.

  The wind slapped at him the instant he stepped out. Kate stood exposed, without so much as a shawl to protect her. He tugged off his jacket and slung it around her shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she said, though he had to bend close to hear her words.

  “How long did you know I was there?”

  “Does it matter?” Hell yes, it mattered. It mattered if the only reason she sent the count away was because she knew of Jim’s presence. “The two of you looked…cozy.”

  She smiled slightly. “It’s difficult to hear unless you’re standing close, as you’ve no doubt noticed.”

  Oh, he’d noticed. Noticed that the wind had made a tangle of her hair, blowing it straight back, exposing the line of her jaw and the side of her neck. Noticed that his jacket covered her nearly to her thigh and wondered if it held the heat of his body and whether she felt it. Noticed that if he took but one more step, his body would come up against hers and reason be damned.

  “Friendly, then.”

  Her head tilted, that secretive smile still playing at her mouth, as if she knew something he didn’t. “Basilio has some interesting ideas about the possible final destination of the competition. It seemed wise to listen to them.”

  He made a noncommittal sound. “Let’s get you someplace warmer.”

  “Oh, I’m fine.” Her smile broadened. His stomach dropped with the dip of the ship through the waves. “Better than fine.”

  “Yeah?” His shoulders twitched. If that slick, falsely kind count had anything to do with better, well…

  “Do you know,” Kate mused, “that half the reason I began this venture was because my sisters so clearly thought that I couldn’t? They said I needed an adventure.”

  She stepped nearer. A hint of her scent, sweetness and floral, tangled with the brine of the sea. His throat closed, raising his voice a half note. “They did?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek and he wanted to tell her to stop, that it was his job. “Right before I left, Emily said something else.”

  The wind stung roses into her cheeks. Her eyes were bright as moonlight, gleaming with secrets. “She did?”

  “Yes. I came here in part to prove her wrong, to show her that this whole adventure thing was ridiculous. She insisted I needed the experience. That I needed to stretch myself to discover what I was meant to do with the rest of my life. I was certain she was utterly mistaken. But I have to admit that there was something to it.”

  He was losing the trail of the conversation. How was he supposed to listen and respond reasonably when she was so near?

  “I’ve been giving it a great deal of consideration. And I’ve decided that her other suggestion merits my full and complete efforts as well.”

  “Oh?” His thoughts moved sluggishly, as if he’d sucked down a half bottle of whiskey, but he knew the only thing that intoxicated him was her. “And what’s that?”

  “She suggested,” Kate said slowly, “that I should experience one grand affair.”

  Chapter 18

  “An affair?” he choked out.

  “Yes.”

  I’ll kill him, Jim thought, automatic, simple.

  “Jim?” she asked uneasily.

  All right, so he couldn’t kill him. But maiming…maiming sounded good. “So. You and the count, huh?”

  “The count?” She shook her head. “No, not the count. You.”

  Still plotting in bloody detail how to ensure the count would be of little use to Kate, it took a moment for the word to burst into his brain. You.

  Me. “Kate?”

  “Oh, come now, you can’t be that shocked.”

  The boat
’s running lights flared to life, pure white light that momentarily blinded them. Their sight returned in stages, each other first and then the rest of the world, as if their eyes knew what mattered most.

  “It would be much simpler if it were the count, I suppose. I’m certain he is very experienced in such matters. Uncomplicated, proficient, even routine. He would be the wise choice, wouldn’t he?” She touched his jaw briefly, a searing contact. “It seems, however, that one’s brain does not govern such matters. As much logic might dictate the count, the rest of me appears quite determined to select you.”

  “Me.”

  She’d been so sure, Kate thought. She’d considered so carefully. She did not think it had been vanity alone that allowed her to believe that he wanted her, too. But yet…he’d gone still and white, as if the lights had leached the color from his skin.

  “You,” she repeated, less certain.

  His hand shot out, snagging her around the wrist. “Jim?”

  “Come on.” He towed her behind him, heading for the stairs, and then stopped. “No, no, that’ll take too long.”

  “What?”

  He tossed her an impatient glance. “Do you know how many decks it is down to your cabin?”

  He glanced up and down the length of the deck, as if searching for something. And then he headed for the railing, hauling her behind him like a captive.

  “Jim?”

  Lifeboats, suspended from pulleys, lined the side of the ship. Jim untied the strap securing the tarp covering one of them and flipped back the canvas. He swung over the side and climbed in. “Get in.”

  “What?”

  “Kate,” he said, “I am going to touch you within the next five seconds. If you don’t want it to be right out on the open deck where anyone might see, you’d best get your lovely butt in this boat.”

  Smiling, she placed her hands on the rail. And caught a glimpse of water, very, very far below. “Jim?”

  “It’s all right. It has to be lashed very securely or it would bang against the boat every time we hit a wave.” He held out a hand to her.

  She started to climb over but her skirts got in the way.

  “Three…four…”

  “Wait!” She reached down and rucked up her skirts, exposing a length of lace-clad leg; she figured it was the lesser of two evils.

  “Nice view.”

  Kate tried to scowl at him and failed utterly. She swung a leg up, hooking it over the railing, and could go no farther.

  “Here.” He reached around her waist, plucking her up as if she weighed nothing. The world spun and then she was upright, her back to him, trying to find her balance as the ship dipped and the wooden lifeboat creaked. Her stomach lifted—from the motion, a little fear. From him, and his arm around her waist, and the thought of what he might do to her in the next few moments.

  There were no seats in the boat, just a planked bottom that curved up sharply on each side, oars secured near the edge.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  In answer Jim plopped down, lying flat on the bottom. He tugged her down on top of him in a froth of petticoats and laughter, then he reached up and flipped the canvas back, cocooning them in abrupt darkness. It was warm inside, the sounds of the wind and the waves, the throb of the ship’s engines all muted to an urgent whisper.

  “Jim—”

  “Shhh.” He didn’t move. Seconds ticked by and she felt herself relax, sinking into him. She lay upon him all out, protected by his hard length beneath her. Her head rested against his shoulder and when she turned it toward him, her nose fit between his chin and neck. The smell of him filled her—warm, vibrant male, tinged with the sea. In the absence of movement, of sight, the physical became primary, each point of pressure where his body pressed against hers, each instant of contact acutely felt. His chest lifted and fell with each breath, pushing against her back, lifting her up until her own breathing fell in rhythm with his. His thighs were tight against hers, steel-hard even through the layers of her skirts.

  And against her rump…she didn’t know if it was her imagination or she could feel him in truth, hot and thick, and the wondering was itself exciting.

  And still he didn’t move, only the shift in pressure of his body as the ship swayed in the water, a constant rhythm beneath them, until she thought she might go mad with anticipation. “Jim?”

  He brushed her hair away from her neck, his fingers icy cold, and she shivered. Then his mouth was there, open, hot, and the shiver became a tremble.

  She had no way to judge the time. It was as black with her eyes open as closed. He feasted on her neck, his tongue coming to lick and stroke, his lips nibbling, tugging gently on soft skin.

  His hands inched from her waist toward her breasts while she held her breath until her head grew light. And then he cupped her breasts while a sigh slipped out of her, easy and slow. Warmth spread wherever he touched her.

  He peeled away the lace she’d draped around her neck to disguise where she’d tucked the button plackets of her bodice. His hand slid inside the fabric, easing beneath her shift, gliding into her memories.

  His fingers were warmer now, the skin just rough enough to burnish her skin to a fine, warm tingle. With the flat of his palm he made circles against her nipple, again and again, until she arched into his touch.

  The motion brought her rear harder against him and his hips lifted in reflex. He brought his free hand flat against her belly, keeping her still.

  She might have stayed there forever, caught in the hazy, heated border where desire ebbed and flowed like the ocean, relentless, threatening to drown her. She was awash in it, unable to guess if it would build to a peak or if Jim would hold her there until dawn, captive to his will and the pleasure of his hands.

  Her hands were at her sides and she clamped them against his hips. Her fingers flexed. He was rigid beneath her, the muscles as hard as his hands were gentle, as if he used all his will to keep his touch tender.

  His hand moved from her stomach, tracking down her thigh as far as he could reach. He inched up her skirts, a handful at a time as the lace hem of her petticoats brushed her ankles, her shins, her knees, until they bunched around her waist. And suddenly her clothes frustrated her; they were in her way, a barrier she hated, but she couldn’t think clearly enough to figure out what to do about them.

  “Kate,” he murmured against her neck. Her thoughts thinned out and shifted like dissipating fog. Jake drew his hand up her thigh, the warmth of him burning through the thin cotton of her pantaloons.

  And then he was there, his hand cupping her fully, and she bucked against him hard, causing pleasure to spear through her, a bright stab of sensation.

  “Not yet,” he said. He waited until she stilled, her body loose and pliant. Then he moved only his thumb, whisking an arch above her pubis, near enough to incite, never close enough to satisfy.

  The world narrowed to a single point: his hand, stroking her.

  And then—ah, at last—he began to caress her with his middle finger, gliding easily against her, her flesh plump and slick. She arched into him, a low moan slipping from her throat.

  “Shh.” His other hand moved from her breast to her mouth, smothering the sound. “There’s someone.”

  Kate stilled, random sounds penetrating her haze—the clump of boots, the low rumble of men’s voices. “Who?” she murmured against his hand, the hard callus of his palm rasping against her lips.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered in her ear, the warm wash of his breath arousing in itself. It was as if anything that was him, the simplest touch, the barest suggestion, was a further spur to senses already stimulated to a knife edge.

  There was a low rumble of laughter, a drift of smoke.

  “Crew taking a break,” he murmured.

  They were frozen like that, his hand over her mouth, his finger laid firm against her most sensitive flesh.

  And then his finger began to move again. She bucked against him once, hard, and a moan rose
in her throat.

  “Shhh,” he said again. “They’re still there.” But his finger took up a steady rhythm, spiking sensation through her. Her hips began to circle in rhythm. “Shh.”

  She opened her mouth, touching his palm with her tongue, and air hissed out of him.

  Quiet, she reminded herself. Quiet. And then his finger slid inside her deeply, bringing the heel of his palm hard against her most sensitive spot, and she nearly strangled on a shout.

  She turned her head and took one of his fingers in her mouth. She felt him tense completely beneath her, every muscle going hard. She flicked his finger with her tongue, drawing it more deeply inside.

  And then his other hand began to move, faster now, his finger stroking her deep within, his palm without.

  Wait, she told herself, wait until the men were gone. But the rumble of voices only a few feet away, the threat of discovery—it was so wicked, so beyond anything she’d ever thought herself capable of.

  Jim bit down on her earlobe, a tiny sprite of pain. And suddenly it was all too much: the feel of his finger in her mouth, in her, the bob and dip of the boat, the tug of his teeth, the strain to keep silent. And Jim, always Jim, only Jim, the past and now, the memories and the reality. It all burst in her, white-hot, every sense exploding at once.

  She broke beneath his hands, shuddering against him, crying out into his palm. Too much, she thought wildly. It was too much. Perhaps she would stay here forever, spiraling with the stars.

  She calmed slowly, tiny little aftershocks of pleasure twinging in each nerve ending. Jim’s strokes grew soothing, his kiss against her ear gentle. She drifted in it, a sea of warmth, relaxing against him, replete. There was no choice in it, no control; she simply was where she was meant to be.

  Her bed was hard. And terribly lumpy.

  Reluctantly, Kate pried open her lids. She saw a haze of white only a few inches from her nose, diffuse light glowing through it, black smudging the white.

  And then she came fully awake.

  Lord. Oh, my Lord.