Sincerely,
Misha--your friend in another circumstance.
"Damn you, Misha. You knew how I felt about Angela. How could you?''
Another low growl emanated from the pit of Sam's stomach. Despair and a deep foreboding settled in the core of his heart. If it wasn't already too late, it would be by the time he reached Angela. His precious daughter had been or would be used thoroughly by an aristocratic snob who thought it was his right to abuse women and their hearts.
He would have to be there for Angela, be there to pick up the pieces of her broken heart. Beyond any doubt, Sam knew his daughter loved a devil.
Devil was in for his day of reckoning.
Chapter Ten
Alexi welcomed the tempest that sent salt spray licking the deck and wind pummeling the sails. Gale-force winds challenged his ship and the captain. The Mystic slumped into a deep trough and then rode the next swell. Waves rushed across the deck, sweeping everything that wasn't tied down into the ocean's murky depths.
Two long weeks had passed since the ship had sailed out of New York harbor, and he'd gained no ground with the recalcitrant lady below in his cabin. Angela refused to understand or even listen to his vows of good faith and the privileges of becoming his beloved and protected paramour. She refused to listen to the reasons he gave her as to why she could never become his wife.
He meant to protect and cherish her. He meant to lavish her with gifts.
Wasn't that enough?
She turned a cold shoulder to him each time he walked into his chambers. Lately he'd taken to sleeping on deck, just to ease the ache inside that looking at her caused him. He knew she hurt, too.
Allah, but a hard, furious fight would do him a world of good. He wondered if Misha would oblige him.
"Hit the deck." Misha's loud call jolted him out of his brooding.
The crack of a mast far overhead, which meant rigging hurtling downward, filled him with fear for his men and, strangely enough, renewed energy. Even with the sails trimmed to fight the furious winds, the masts had taken a beating. Another crack echoed loudly, and one mast toppled forward. The men looked for shelter from the bombardment.
Waves washed over the deck, and the ship tilted precariously. The captain eased back on the rudder, barking orders, and the ship righted. By all that was holy, he should go downstairs and see how Angela fared. He dared not. He could withstand the icy tempest more easily than he could fight the frigid glares she cursed him with. She was the most stubborn woman he'd ever run across.
Suddenly he caught a brief glance of billowing skirts, a familiar and well-turned ankle; then recognition slaughtered his self-control. Without thought he started forward, unable, for a few lengthy minutes, to utter a sound or a warning. She had no idea what she was up against.
"Angela, no ..."
Her face shadowed and pale, she appeared on deck, clinging to the railing. What did she think she was about? Surely she would be washed overboard if she didn't go below, and soon. A huge wave washed across the deck. He watched, his heart lodging in his throat as the water swept her feet out from under her.
He'd never known such fear. "Angela," he cried out.
Racing toward her, hanging on to whatever was secured, he felt as though his feet had lead weights tied to them. The rope knotted around his waist to keep him tied to the ship caught on debris. He yanked it loose. Little fool. He would not lose her now.
"Angela, hang on!"
He watched her grope for a handhold, her fingers closing around anything that swept by. She fought valiantly, yet each surge of water pushed her closer to the side of the ship and an icy grave.
"Damn you. You little fool!"
He gave voice to his thoughts; then he swept her from the deck and in one swift movement hauled her against his chest, his hands roaming everywhere, making sure she was all right. He set her aside, studying her beautiful, pale face. Her hair streamed in dripping silken threads down her back and along her cheeks. He brushed them back.
"Why?" He wanted to shake sense into her, and perhaps a little respect for Mother Nature. He meant to hold on to her forever and keep her from harm. If she would only allow him to protect her. "Why did you leave the safety of the cabin?"
Another wave swept by, but he pulled her below deck, closing the door behind them. He felt the shuddering of her body and heard her teeth chattering. Against him her body felt like ice.
"Answer me.'' His fear knew no bounds and rapidly changed to fury. Allah, but he would never forget the sight of her lying on the deck, ocean water swirling around her. He would never forget his fear.
She tried to answer. Her lips moved.
He could not live without her. He swept her into his arms and carried her to his cabin.
"Can I help?" Misha had followed. He stood at the top of the steps, staring at the two of them, gentle understanding in his expression.
"See that hot water is sent down and apprise me of the crew."
Misha nodded. Once again Alexi was alone with Angela and torn between the urge to blister her with a lecture she'd never heard the likes of before or make love to her. "You must learn to obey," he said, brushing her hair from her eyes, holding her face between both hands. "I told you to stay below."
He never wanted to go through anything like that again. She would obey him. In the name of safety, he would see that she did. She had far too much courage for her size.
When they entered the cabin, it was bathed in a gloomy darkness, the only light coming from the lightning flashing across the black sky outside. He strode to the lantern then searched his desk for a match. After several frustrating minutes he found what he looked for, and once again the cabin was aglow in light.
He turned to her, his heart going out to her, his fear now under control. She stood in the middle of the room, water sliding down her hair and her face to pool on the floor. She was soaked through to the skin, but now her chin was tilted upward in a show of defiance.
"What were you doing out there? I told you to stay in the cabin," he repeated himself, his fears leaving him beside himself and slightly incoherent.
He had already guessed the answer to his question. She'd come outside to find him. The darkness and the horrible wail of the storm must have terrified her.
"I..." He watched her swallow, saw her fight the trembling of her shoulders with a stiffness he was unaccustomed to seeing in her. "I went to find you." Still her teeth chattered.
"You were afraid," he said, knowing the truth. He held out his arms to her, offering comfort, nothing more.
She nodded, and he knew she wanted him to hold her but was afraid of their bargain. "It's all right, angel. I would never take advantage of your fear. I promise."
With a strangled half sob she bolted into his arms. Beneath his slicker, he enfolded her in his embrace. Her cold, wet clothes penetrated every pore of his body.
"I didn't know." She sobbed into his chest. "I've never seen anything like that."
"You must be chilled to the bone."
"I've never been on a ship before, in the middle of a hurricane."
"You feel like ice. And, darling, this is merely a summer storm, nothing more. Even now the winds are easing."
Her only answer was a muffled sound and a shiver that swept her entire body then his. She clung tighter, as if she never meant to let go of him. Another time he would have felt a deep male satisfaction; now he was only concerned for her health.
A knock on the door tore his mind from his brooding.
"Water, sir."
"Bring it in." He tried to pull her arms free from around his waist but could not budge her.
Misha followed the cook into the room and pulled the tub out. He assembled the privacy screen and directed the crew carrying kettles of hot water. Steam rose invitingly. Alexi wondered if she'd allow him in the tub with her.
"Anything else?" Misha asked.
Alexi shook his head, his gaze still lingering on the woman shivering in front of him.
<
br /> His body hardened instantly, and this state of need was not unusual. He'd been constantly aroused since rescuing her that long-ago day.
"You've got to get warm," he told her, gently trying to maneuver her to the tub.
Alexi felt her nod of agreement against his chest and thanked Allah for her renewed courage. It would be only a matter of minutes before she became the spitting little tigress he so admired. Ah, but how to tame a tigress? He'd certainly failed so far.
"Come on," he said, and led her around the privacy screens to the bath. "Do you need any help?" he asked, and his voice, he knew, was filled with hope.
She smiled then. The beauty of it hit him in the heart. She'd recovered. Perhaps it would have been nice to have her compliant a bit longer. No, he decided. He would not take advantage of her. When she came to his bed, he would have the vibrant, headstrong woman he'd come to admire.
"Promise to stay on your side,'' she said in a much-recovered and saucy tone.
He grinned shamelessly and shook his head no. "Now that your teeth aren't chartering and your shoulders aren't trembling with fear, all bets are off. I'll do all I can to get you in my bed and in my arms. Nothing has changed, Angela. I still want you."
She squared her shoulders, her arms crossed defiantly in front of her, her chin lifted stubbornly. "Then I won't put on dry clothes, nor will I get in the bath."
The ship rolled slightly with the waves, and the water in the tub sloshed over the edge. She groped for something to hang on to and found Alexi.
"If you wait much longer, you won't have water for a bath," he said, his grin widening. "Then you will have to climb into bed with me to get warm."
She looked at the tub, then the bed, as if weighing her chances; then she slipped behind the screen. He watched her disrobe, her silhouette beckoning to him, her feminine curves lush and ripe. Her long, slender leg stepping over the rim was almost his undoing.
Water splashed over the rim as she slipped into the bath.
He could bear no more. On one heel he turned and left the room. He had a ship to see to and men who might have been hurt by the fallen mast and rigging. What had once been meant to be a pleasure trip had undoubtedly become the longest ocean voyage of his life.
~ * ~
Angela let out the breath she'd been holding when she heard the door to the cabin close shut. She slipped lower into the hot water, willing her shivering to stop. There was, she told herself repeatedly, nothing to fear. Already the winds slowed and the violent shuddering of the ship had almost stopped. Soon they'd have calm waters.
Despite all she told herself, she could not stop the violent response of her body to her stupidity, could not force her teeth to stop chattering. Going outside in the storm had been the most foolish thing she'd ever done. Angela Chamberlain was not by nature a foolish woman. But when the lights had gone out, she'd been petrified, and all she'd been able to think of was Alexi.
For a few fragile moments, she let her head fall back on the tub, and allowed the soothing balm of the water to comfort her. Alexi's arms around her had felt much better than the water. When she'd expected him to pull her sodden clothes from her, he'd acted the gentleman and allowed her privacy.
He'd wanted her. When he held her close, she'd felt the evidence of his arousal against her belly. If anything, the heat of him against her--and knowing what he felt like deep inside her--had warmed her more thoroughly than the bathwater. He could have seduced her then, but he chose not to.
Why? she wondered. Was it the deep-seated honor and the code of loyalty he lived by? He'd made a promise to her, and now he meant to keep it.
Jasmine, his favorite perfume, floated with the steam to swirl around her. The door opened and closed. Alexi had returned. He padded barefoot around the room, hanging up her wet clothes then his own. Through the screen, she could see the outline of his body, watched as he disrobed and donned dry pants and a shirt.
"Angela?"
Alexi stepped around the screen, a huge bath sheet in hand. She moved lower into the tub, her hands covering her breasts. He looked concerned for her.
"You warm enough now?" he asked. He bent over and tested the bathwater. "The worst of the storm has passed by. You should snuggle down in the bed and warm yourself."
"Alexi?" She swallowed hard, unwilling to let go of her values, but wanting him so very much. If he touched her now, she'd come undone.
"No, you misunderstand; as much as I'd like to, I will not join you. I've too much to do topside." He chucked her under the chin and laughed softly. "You want me. I can tell."
She nodded, a tear suddenly slipping down her cheek. "But I won't give in to you. I deserve better than to be a man's plaything. I deserve to be your wife, and I'll settle for nothing less."
For a moment he stiffened, his breath held tight. Then his expression softened, his eyes growing warm with caring. "You would never be my plaything,'' he said softly, the backs of his knuckles brushing her cheek.
"In my eyes--"
"Hush. I would cherish you. When you come to realize how precious you are to me, life will be more satisfactory for both of us."
"You would do the same if I were your wife." She turned from him, unable to continue the discussion. It was a useless pastime. He had made up his mind and wouldn't budge. She felt him withdraw from her. His fingers clenched tight against the rim of the tub.
She sighed softly, her lashes closing as if she could shut the pain away. "I wish you could understand my point of view--my needs."
"Allah, but you are a stubborn woman. I could ask the same of you."
She felt an immediate need to defend herself.' 'You are twice as stubborn, arrogant, presumptuous... The list could go on, and still we would not be able to reach an agreement in this. I will not be your mistress--ever. The moment we reach land I will purchase passage home."
The pulse beneath his jaw jumped rapidly. "With what? You don't have enough money and I will not give you any for that purpose."
"If I'm a whore, I could always sell my favors."
With a fierceness she'd never seen before, he lifted her from the water. He held her at eye level, her breasts pushed against his chest, her feet dangling in midair.
"Never!" Sweeping her into his arms he strode to the bed. They fell upon it.
He held her there with his eyes and his body. Petrified, she could not move, could barely breathe. "You will not sell your favors to anyone," he told her coldly. He did not touch her. He hovered over her, his expression fierce, his eyes determined. "Do you hear me?"
"To anyone but you?" she countered. "Isn't that what you expect me to do? Sell my body to you? In return you will lavish me with gifts." She was shaking, so unnerved by the man she saw above her. She had pushed him too far. She knew it the moment the words were out of her mouth.
"A wife sells herself for respectability and a name. You, I would love and adore with every part of my heart and soul forever." She tried to turn her face away. The pain she saw in his eyes was more than she could bear.
"You have the roles reversed," she told him, trying to maintain some level of rationality when she wanted to yell and scream at him.
"No," he said, and rose from the bed. "I don't." He walked the length of the room and back again, not pausing even a moment to look at her. His hands raked through his damp hair until it stood on end.
My Angel Page 17