In fact, Harlan had been assured even the most basic things... such as attendance at the university... but this man standing before her had likely had to fight to earn every honor he had achieved. A new sense of respect welled up inside her for him, but it didn’t matter, because he really didn’t like her at all, and he hadn’t felt the least hesitation over telling her so.
The silence between them was deafening.
Sophie peered up through damp lashes to judge his expression. His fury had cooled a bit from his eyes as he stared at her upturned hand, and when he met her gaze, it expressed mostly concern.
“Let me look at it,” he demanded gruffly.
Sophie nodded and offered him her hand, palm upturned.
He brushed it softly with his fingers, and Sophie winced in pain. He tried to blow the ash away to no avail, and then peered up at her with a sympathetic expression.
“It’s full of splinters from the wood,” he told her, and then stared at her until she was forced to avert her gaze once more. Somehow, she couldn’t hold his glance without feeling heat in her cheeks. “Will you trust me to get them out?”
Someone had to do it, and she hadn’t the least idea how to proceed. The last time she had gotten a single splinter in her finger, her mother had stuffed a kerchief in her mouth so she wouldn’t scream, and then had squeezed until Sophie thought her heart would stop, all the while railing about how men had lost entire hands from infections that had set in after getting tiny splinters. She’d been admonished to behave properly—like a lady—and never to slide down banisters like pernicious little boys.
Jack’s expression begged her trust, and she took a deep breath and nodded.
Chapter 11
Taking her by her good hand, Jack led Sophie inside his cabin, kicking the door shut behind them.
Sophie felt a moment’s hesitation as she heard the click of the latch as it closed. Her heart leaped a little at the sound. But he merely dragged her over to his washbasin and released her hand long enough to fill it with clean water. That done, he turned around and seized her good hand, then held his hand out for the other. Sophie stepped forward, and he positioned her in front of him, before the washbasin. He then stood behind her and placed his arms around her, embracing her.
Sophie swallowed convulsively at the feel of him standing behind her, his body hard and quite male. He took her hands in his and began to wash them gently, the gesture such an intimate one that Sophie suddenly found it difficult to catch her breath. He reached up, releasing her only long enough to seize a bar of soap, and then he returned to bathing her hands. The soap slid through their fingers with silken ease, and his big hands moved with amazing finesse. A quiver went through her at the sensation. He washed both her hands but took great care with her injured palm, making certain to clean the area thoroughly but ever so gently, patiently, never speaking a word to her as he worked.
Sophie was mesmerized by the sight of their hands intertwined.
His arms were around her. They were alone and the door was closed. The realization shuddered through her.
The moment seemed to go on endlessly and the air was suddenly thick with anticipation.
But nothing happened ... except that he put the soap away and lifted up a towel, then guided her over to his desk. Still without a word, he lifted her up, as though she were no more than a child, and set her atop his desk.
But Sophie was not a child.
She was a woman.
And she was far too aware of his hands on her ribs, beneath her breasts as he lifted her. Fleeting though the embrace was, it left her breathless and titillated in a way she had never felt before. She watched him light a lantern and turn the flame up so that it was bright enough to see by, and then he dragged his chair before her and sat. Sophie’s heart beat erratically. Her breath quickened.
The lantern cast a golden hue on his face, turned his tawny hair a deep, rich bronze. He was really quite a stunning man, and she couldn’t help but stare. She knew it was far too bold of her, but he wasn’t watching her this instant, and she allowed herself the liberty ...
“This is going to hurt just a bit,” he warned, peering up sympathetically into her eyes.
His green eyes seemed to glitter with the flame, hypnotizing her. She tried to find her voice to speak but couldn’t. Again she nodded, swallowing, far too aware of the man sitting before her ... her hand cradled within his.
He tried to be gentle, Sophie could tell, but tears sprang to her eyes as he began to work to remove the splinters. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and tried not to cry out.
He knew she was trying hard to be brave.
Jack tried not to smile at her expression.
She looked so much like a little girl, with her eyes scrunched shut and her lips tightly pressed, as though bracing herself for her punishment.
Despite the truth of his accusations earlier—she was a spoiled brat—he admired her grit at the moment. Telltale tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t shed them.
Christ, when he’d looked up into those huge wide eyes, he’d wanted to draw her into his arms and hold her, tell her everything was going to be all right.
His emotions warred now as he watched the play of emotions across her face.
On the one hand he wanted to despise her for what she was doing—spying for Penn. On the other, he wanted to care for her, keep her from harm, soothe her. And at the heart of it all was an intense attraction between them that set him on his ass every time he was in her presence.
He didn’t trust her, but even less did he trust himself.
He couldn’t seem to think straight when he was around her. His body took over and his brain turned to mush.
Damned Penn.
“Ouch!”
He hadn’t met to hurt her. His gaze jerked up. “Sorry. I know it hurts, Sophia.”
She nodded, her eyes watering. “It’s all right,” she absolved him, “I know you must.”
He returned to working on her palm, squeezing out the slivers as gently as he was able, unnerved by the way her pained expression made him feel.
“You really did a number on it,” he said.
She laughed softly, nervously perhaps.
He’d like to say it served her right, but he couldn’t find it in himself to wish her harm. Her leg brushed his knee and his body stirred.
Damn it.
What was wrong with him?
He was getting aroused just taking splinters out of her hand. The sweet, feminine scent of her teased him. The softness of her hands preoccupied him, taunting him with images of her gentle caresses. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining the pale skin beneath her bodice ... the rise and fall of her breasts... remembering the taste of her mouth.
Her closed-mouth kiss had been far too brief, and he found himself craving the taste of her on his tongue. She had teased him only, giving him the briefest sense of what she would taste like.
He wanted her.
There was no denying it.
He swallowed thickly and reached down to draw his knife from his boot, trying to ignore the heat simmering in his trousers.
Seeing the blade flash, she cried out and jerked her hand back. “You are not going to use that on me!”
“Actually, I am,” he said, and smiled up at her, firming his grip upon her hand.
Both her hands flew up at his declaration, and her expression turned suddenly combative. “No, you most certainly are not!”
Her temper was a good thing, he decided. He was far more at ease around her when she was being a spitfire. Timidness just didn’t suit her. Nor did it suit him either.
It confused him, brought out conflicting emotions that he’d rather not deal with.
He held his dagger in an open hand. It had been a gift from his father, and to him from his father before him. With its heavy metal handle and curved blade, he was well-aware that it seemed far too dangerous a tool to be using on her tender flesh, but it was all he had. And he was very, very
adept with it.
“It’s up to you, Sophia. Live with the splinters, or let me take them out.” He left it up to her, making no move to return to the task until she gave him leave.
After a moment, she lowered her hands, but kept them out of his reach.
“I’ll just use the tip,” he promised, sensing that she wanted to trust him.
Her huge eyes slanted, and he stared into them, trying to decipher their strange color—greenish-gold at the instant, but a green so dark they were almost black... and dancing flecks of red maybe from the flame of the lantern.
“You won’t let it go in too deep?”
Jack blinked at her question.
The allusion was completely lost to her, but not to him. His body hardened at the images that assaulted him—his body poised over hers, coaxing her to open for him. Damn, it, he wanted to go very deep. He glanced down at his knife, then back into her wide eyes.
She couldn’t know what he was thinking.
Need clawed at him, and he resisted the urge to readjust his jewels because she was staring at him too intently. His body strained against his trousers, and he shifted uncomfortably.
“I’ll … uh … only put the tip in,” he swore, and his voice sounded raw even to his own ears.
If she happened to look down... would she understand what she saw?
Was she as innocent as she made herself out to be?
He wanted to know. He willed her to look, wanting to see her reaction to the need in his eyes and his full erection.
“If it hurts,” he added, clearing his throat, “I’ll... uh ... pull out at once.” He studied her expression. She wanted to trust him, he could see that.
Too bad he couldn’t return that trust.
“Promise?”
“Promise,” he swore, and winked at her. “I’ll be gentle.”
Her brows knit. And then she took a deep breath. “Well... all right,” she relented and offered her palm once more. “But don’t push it in too hard!”
His body hardened completely and unmistakably.
“You ... uh ... have my word.”
Damn, he had to stop thinking about this—that—or he was liable to slice off her hand. He swallowed hard, trying to clear the cobwebs from his suddenly musty brain.
“Forgive me,” she said, concern coloring her voice. “I know I’m being a ninny, but it just seems so ... big!”
Jack choked on her choice of word.
She couldn’t possibly know what she was doing to him with no more than a simple conversation. His hands trembled.
Or maybe she did?
His eyes were drawn to her bodice, searching for some evidence that she shared his bawdy thoughts, but the thickness of her dress completely hid pebbled nipples.
If he reached out to touch those lovely breasts, would her nipples be hard through the layers of her gown?
Like the Princess and the Pea... a man’s fingers knew instinctively what lay beneath.
His thumb itched to brush her nipple with a lover’s touch, take the supple treat into his mouth.
He stuck the handle of his knife into his mouth while he adjusted her hand. It was a poor substitute.
He cleared his throat, and tried to change the direction of his thoughts, reminding himself what he had caught her doing … preparing to burn the proof of her espionage. The splinters served her right.
He peered up at her and found her staring at him, deep in thought.
What was she thinking? Was she wondering where the telegrams were?
She blinked down at him, her expression vulnerable. “Sophia?”
“Yes?”
He went back to working at her splinters. “What were you doing in the kitchen?” he asked outright.
He must have pricked her a bit too hard. “Ow!” she exclaimed, but didn’t jerk her hand away.
“Sorry,” he murmured, glancing up at her, and almost meant it.
“Well...” She frowned at him. “I... ummm... well, you see... I was...”
She was searching for an excuse.
He tried to sound casual, though he was anything but. “Looking for something?”
“I suppose you might say that,” she replied, sounding a bit uneasy. He glanced up to gauge her expression and found her eyes narrowed on him.
He watched her intently.
“What exactly were you looking for?”
Her cheeks turned pink again. “Actually,” she told him, averting her gaze, “I was trying to figure out how to use the oven.” She peered back at him with lifted brows as though she expected a reaction from him.
“You were trying to figure out how to use the oven?”
She nodded once. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Well... you see ... when I was on deck ... I couldn’t help but overhear what they were saying about the cook—Shorty is it?”
Jack lifted a brow. “What about him?” Clever little liar.
She smiled shyly, looking every bit the virtuous little miss, and Jack clenched his jaw. “Well, when I heard he’d been left behind ... I thought I’d surprise everyone and cook breakfast in the morning.”
He didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm from his tone. “Oh, really?”
“Yes.” Her smile brightened, and she seemed oblivious to his skepticism. “You see ... I truly meant it when I said I wanted to make myself useful.” She batted her lashes, looking quite pleased with herself.
She was waiting for him to pat her on the back, he realized, and Jack just wasn’t going to do it.
He didn’t believe her.
“How good of you,” he replied, and dropped her hand. “I think that’s all of ’em,” he said, and stared up at her in disbelief.
She was either a very good little actress, or she was telling the deuced truth.
He just couldn’t tell which.
The evidence, however, seemed undeniable.
For an instant, he considered pulling out the telegrams and confronting her with them, but he wasn’t quite ready to give up his poker hand. There was time enough to figure out how best to handle this. She wasn’t going anywhere.
In the meantime, he decided, Mizz Sophia Vanderwahl was fair game—Harlan be damned. As far as Jack was concerned, with her kiss, she had declared herself available to him. If she had misrepresented herself, well then ... he sure as hell wasn’t about to feel the least bit guilty over taking what she willingly offered.
And if she was telling the truth... he still felt not one iota of loyalty to Penn. He had no respect for the man, so why should he honor the man’s engagement?
Either way, he knew only one thing for certain... Sophia Vanderwahl had the damnable most beautiful mouth he had ever sampled.
Chapter 12
Jack awoke to the smell of bread baking. The tantalizing scent drifted into his cabin, teasing him out of bed. Like a zombie, he made his way into the mess hall, and true to her word, he found Sophie fast at work in the kitchen, and his crew salivating mindlessly at her skirts—and not entirely over the prospect of food.
He smiled at the sight she presented, adorably unkempt, skirts mussed and hair escaping pins as she labored diligently despite the distraction of thirty-five men hounding her heels. He would have stepped in, but she handled them easily enough, putting them to work—Randall gathering silverware and Kell delivering plates, Pete in charge of forming a line for those who had already received their dishes. For their efforts she gave them a smile that endeared her to one and all.
But despite Sophia Vanderwahl’s killer smile, they should have all stayed in bed.
The bread turned out as black as the oven itself and the smoked meat as ashy as carbonized paper.
Peeling away the charred layers of his breakfast, Jack took a glance around the room. It was like looking into a mirror with thirty-some faces—every expression the same. No one wanted to hurt Sophie’s feelings, but the question was the same in every gaze.
How could anyone screw up something so simple?
<
br /> Sophie stood over them, looking as uncertain as a newlywed bride with honeymoon jitters. When no one spoke up, she finally took her own plate and sat in the only empty seat remaining in the mess hall... right in front of Jack, next to Kell.
“I think it is a little burnt,” she told Kell as she sat.
Kell smiled uncomfortably and nodded, pushing a rock-hard piece of loaf into his mouth. “It’s fine,” he told her, his words muffled by the ungodly crunch.
As they watched, he crunched down on his food, and Jack thought maybe it hurt him to chew, because he winced with every bite.
Sophia looked at him then, apologizing with those honey-colored eyes that left him dazed every time he stopped to look into them.
“The fire burned a little too high,” she explained, and shrugged nervously. “I didn’t realize ... until they were already quite ... done.”
Jack coughed.
Overdone, he wanted to say.
He lifted up a piece of incinerated ham and put it into his mouth. It tasted like ash, and he resisted the urge to spit it back out. She was watching him much too intently, and the look in her eyes told him that she really had tried, that it seemed to matter how he responded.
Unsure why it was important to him that her feelings weren’t hurt, he swallowed, wincing as a jagged piece of ham tried to make its way down his parched throat. He attempted a smile for her, and closed his mouth when he looked at Kell’s ash-blackened teeth.
“It’s quite ... good,” Kell offered politely, nodding just a little too enthusiastically.
Jack stifled his laughter.
Kell was a poor liar, he decided, but a better man than Jack was, because Jack couldn’t seem to muster the words to give her the assurances she seemed to need.
Sophie’s brows lifted when she saw Kell’s teeth ... and the black inside his lips... and thank God she broke the ice with a horrified little squeal.
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