Starlight & Promises

by Cat Lindler

  When she jumped to her feet and dashed to her cabin, he called after her, “And wash your face.”

  Christian stared at her retreating figure. Despite Samantha’s noble birth, she had an allure he was helpless to define. From the moment she had clattered onto his basketball court, he found himself intrigued, fascinated, challenged, and damn it, as hard and horny as a stallion stabled next to a mare in season. She had a mind as sharp as a blade, wit like the crack of a whip. He admired her spirit as much as he lusted after her body.

  Her small, curvy figure, that butterscotch hair and those golden eyes, eyes like a wild cat’s, tormented him. He despaired of catching a whiff of her scent, a hint of lavender entangled with her own uniquely arousing odor. Her image filled his dreams. Samantha gloriously nude and moving in wild abandon beneath him.

  Hard already, he cursed and shifted his erection. The night was shaping up to be longer than he would have wished. He should have remained in town.

  Samantha bounced back on deck and stopped in front of Christian. She nearly stopped his heart. She wore a jade green satin gown that shimmered in the moonlight. It tightly hugged her small waist, pulled into graceful folds across her flat belly, and swept back into a bustle and train. The bodice dipped low, too low in his opinion. Creamy breasts swelled above the material. It wouldn’t take much for that bodice to slip and expose her bosoms.

  Now that evoked an image he would recall in paradise! Short, puffed sleeves capped her slender shoulders and left her upper arms bare. White gloves stretched up to her elbows. Her long hair flowed back and up into a waterfall of curls tumbling down to her shoulders. Topaz earrings twinkled in her ears, and a gold chain with a topaz pendant encircled her neck. The pendant dropped dangerously close to her cleavage, calling his attention to it. Not that his attention wasn’t already fixed on that enticing valley. He resisted the temptation to adjust his trousers in front of her.

  “Well?” she said, spinning slowly in front of him.

  His cock swelled to monumental proportions, and Christian swallowed hard against the ache. “Will you not be cold in that?” he asked in a strangled voice.

  She laughed, a gleeful, tinkling sound. “No, silly.” She flung out a hand clutching a gold cashmere shawl. “I have a wrap. See?” She pulled it around her shoulders and rested her gloved hand on his arm. “May we go now?”

  His gut told him to say no and send her back to her cabin. Despite the intuitive message, the excitement sparkling in her eyes caught and bewitched him. He very much feared the night was going to be exceedingly long.

  Christian drank more wine at dinner than he should have, but the liquor was not what intoxicated him. Samantha sparkled like champagne, and he reveled in her bubbly light. Amusing and full of joy, she proved to be a quick and witty conversationalist. He could scarcely drink her in fast enough. When they waltzed, he held her a little too closely, and the heat of her soft body in his arms threatened to unravel him. His brain wandered uncensored into dangerous waters. He cinched her slim, uncorseted waist, and his devious mind rejoiced that he wouldn’t be required to fight that bloody boned contraption to undress her. Of course he would not, but the thought bedeviled him nonetheless. At that moment he wanted her more than he ever wanted anything—more even than the Smilodon.

  When his hands roamed and brushed her tempting breasts, clearly, he had reached the edge and was losing his footing. Withdrawing into himself, he tried to barricade his mind and body against her allure. When his attempt failed, he aborted their dance, grabbed her hand, and snatched up her shawl, dragging her out of the restaurant.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, breathless and running to keep up with his longer strides.

  He remained silent.

  She dug in her heels, pulling him to a halt. He faced her straight on, the muscles of his jaw tight and stiff.

  Her face fell. “What is wrong? What have I done now?”

  He consciously relaxed the tension in his face. “Nothing. It’s simply time I took you back to the ship.”

  “May we stroll along the boardwalk first?” She peered up into his eyes, her emotions plainly visible in their depths. “I have always dreamt of visiting Charleston and strolling on the boardwalk in the moonlight.”

  I’ll bet you have! He doubted she’d even heard of Charleston before this trip.

  “Please, Chris?”

  She looked so pitiful and … hopeful. He would be a cad to spoil her evening. “Very well, but don that wrap.”

  They sauntered along the boardwalk, passing couples who ambled by or embraced in enclaves shadowed by overhanging buildings. The boardwalk was known for assignations, and Christian felt like a voyeur witnessing the intimacies of others.

  Samantha stopped by the railing and gazed out on the ocean. Moonlight silvered whitecaps on the lapping waves and turned the beach into a sea of sparkling diamonds. She lifted her face to the salty air coming in off the ocean, breathed deeply, and closed her eyes, her curls lifting in the wind. Her shawl slipped down around her waist. Every time she inhaled, her breasts swelled and strained against the satin dress.

  Christian reached the end of his tether. Lust ran through him like a runaway locomotive. Steam would rise from his ears at any moment. He was so hard, his cock was likely to shatter into pieces if he accidentally bumped against the rails of the track. Hot blood beat thickly in his ears until he no longer heard the sound of the waves hitting the beach.

  Turning Samantha into him, he twisted one hand through her curls and tilted back her head; his other arm encircled her waist. Brushing his lips over hers, he slanted his mouth to find the perfect fit. She tasted like wine, strawberries, lavender, and innocence.

  He pulled her closer, pressing her against his body while he ran his tongue across the seam of her lips. They parted, and he swept inside, delving for her essence. Deepening the kiss, harder and more demanding, commanding her response, her surrender. His tongue flickered and stroked, seeking and finding her tongue and dueling with it.

  His free hand slid in a slow caress down her back, cupped her buttocks, and lifted her off her feet, molding her groin to his aching erection. He rocked her against him, wanting more, and groaned low in his throat.

  Her arms swept around his neck. The moan that came from her brought Christian to his senses. What was he doing out here in plain view, bare minutes from laying Samantha down on the boards and taking her like some dockside whore? She was a virgin, an innocent under his protection, and he was taking advantage of her inexperience.

  He slid her down his body, until her feet found the boardwalk, and released her, stepping away and retaining only her hand. “I do believe it’s past time for you to be getting back,” he said in a husky voice, “before something happens we’ll both regret.”

  She nodded, lowered her eyes, and tugged her shawl around her shoulders. Ruddy color spread across her face and neck.

  They walked back to the ship without speaking.

  After leaving her at the top of the gangplank, her small, whispery “Thank you” followed him into the darkness. He stopped at the first tavern to cross his path. Faced with liquor or the attentions of a talented, well-endowed strumpet to dampen his passion, Christian chose a head-banging drunk.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Samantha awoke at dawn to light sifting through the porthole. While she snuggled farther under the blankets and waited for Christian to rouse her in his usual manner, she retreated to their evening together. Christian had looked so devilishly handsome in his black evening clothes. Instead of the brash American she knew—and despised—he showed her a different side of his personality: gentlemanly and cultured, witty and charming. Her senses reeled under his smoldering eyes.

  He had kissed her. Ever since she noted the softness of his lips in contrast to the hardness of his face, she longed to touch them, run her fingers across their surface. But she dared not be so bold. Besides, Christian afforded her no opportunity.

  When his lips touched hers, she becam
e drunk with pleasure. They were soft and firm at the same time, like silk over steel. They roused feelings she never experienced in the fumbling, dry kisses of her past suitors. A flame kindled in her belly, and when his tongue plunged into her mouth, the flame flared into life, its fire licking her with heat, soaring higher as he stroked deeper. Her legs turned to butter, and an ache plagued her woman’s place between her legs, wanting something, anything to ease its distress.

  She found what she wanted when Christian picked her up and pressed that spot to his manhood. She felt his hardness and length—his heat—through her clothes. He rocked her against himself, and she believed she would die from pleasure. Dizziness overwhelmed her.

  Her pounding heart beat against his. His masculine odors of leather and musk and something darker and utterly male. The heady flavors of wine and salt and mystical desire brought into her mouth by his tongue. Moonlight limned the blond highlights in his dark hair, and her image reflected in his half-lidded eyes, stormy with passion. The fire from him mingling and merging with her heat.

  When he set her away, her limbs grew cold, her heart utterly alone.

  Overly warm from her reverie, she threw off the blanket and flipped out of the hammock, landing on her feet. Having learned his lesson, Narcissus now slept on the window seat instead of in the hammock. She patted water on her face, and the heat abated. Glancing at the clock, she saw that an hour had flown by.

  Where was Chris?

  After dressing, she went topside to look for him. Not only was he nowhere in sight, very little was. Fog embraced the ship, shrouding the masts and sails in thick, gray sheets. Weak morning light bleeding through imparted a ghostly glow to objects and sailors about their duties. The fog lay so densely about her, she had difficulty distinguishing the dock at the end of the gangplank. Gulls cried from the quay. Even they were walking instead of flying to find their fish breakfast. She suspected the ship would remain in port this morning.

  Samantha made her way to the galley and helped Jasper Poirier with breakfast. She now enjoyed her time with the ship’s cook. Though hard on her at first, Jasper warmed up as she learned her way around the cramped space and put genuine effort into unraveling the mysteries of cooking. He was Jamaican and British to the core, with an upper-crust, drawing-room accent that would put the stuffiest peer of the realm to shame. A sheen of sweat from the galley fires continually gleamed on his coal black face. Glistening black hair, braided into multitudes of tight, slim plaits, hung about his face, even with his chin. In one ear he wore a gold earring with a shark’s tooth dangling from it. One day he pulled up the leg of his trousers and showed her the scar on his calf he received while fighting off the shark. “Of course,” Jasper said in his cultured tones, “I daresay I had the last laugh.” He tapped the hanging shark’s tooth, set it swinging, and laughed heartily.

  Samantha prepared a breakfast tray for Christian. First she asked around, but no one had seen him on deck. She carried the tray to his cabin and knocked. “Chris, I brought your breakfast.”

  A string of shocking curses followed a loud groan, then, “Begone!”

  She knocked louder. “Have you taken ill? Can I do something to relieve your discomfort?”

  “Cease that infernal racket! And stay the hell away from me!” Heavy feet stumbled across the floor, and retching came from the depths of the cabin.

  When she tried the door, it was locked, so she sought out Garrett and cornered him.

  “Good morning,” he said with his usual captivating smile. “It appears as if we’ll not set sail until the next tide, if the fog lifts by then.”

  “I took breakfast to Chris,” she said, skipping the pleasantries. “He yelled at me and has locked his cabin door. I’m concerned for his health.”

  His gaze flicked to a distant point beyond her head. “I believe your best course would be to leave him alone today. I don’t imagine we’ll see him on deck for several hours.”

  She placed a hand on his arm. “I thought I heard him vomiting. Is he ill?”

  “You could certainly say he feels poorly. Don’t worry. I suspect his condition is minor and will pass quickly. Simply leave him be.”

  She frowned. “Very well, if you are certain he is not seriously ill.” She left, returned to the galley, and spent the remainder of the morning peeling potatoes for luncheon.

  By the time the noon meal rolled around, Christian had still failed to make an appearance, and Samantha searched for Garrett again. She had completed all her work and was in need of a task to occupy her.

  “Will you teach me how to shoot a gun?” she asked him.

  “Why?”

  “If I was capable of defending myself, became competent with a rifle and a pistol, I would be more useful on the expedition. Chris would worry less about my coming along. Since we’ll not sail until the midnight tide, we have time to ride out of town where you can teach me the fundamentals.”

  A touch of uncertainty appeared on his face. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Chris might not like it.”

  She clasped her hands together in front of her. “Please? I want to surprise Chris with my marksmanship.”

  “I suppose it would do no harm,” he said with a shrug.

  While Samantha changed into a riding habit, Garrett gathered up the rifles, revolvers, ammunition, and other supplies. They hired horses from a nearby stable and rode into the countryside, farther inland and away from the fog.

  Christian gained full mobility in the early afternoon. He had missed two meals, and his stomach cleaved to his backbone. It certainly had reason to complain. His innumerable trips to the chamber pot ensured its current empty misery. Along with the food he expelled, he finally purged the liquor from his system. Now only a splitting headache and bloodshot eyes attested to the night’s excesses.

  He grimaced at the notion of food and had a bleary recollection of yelling at Samantha again. Shame pricked him, not a feeling with which he had a close acquaintance. The poor girl. He was either blistering her ears or climbing over her like an octopus. He owed her an apology and fully intended to pursue one as soon as he felt human again.

  Before washing and shaving, he opened the porthole to let in fresh air and empty the chamber pot. The dense fog explained why the ship had not gotten under way. He dressed, climbed up on deck, and prepared to face the day, or what remained of it.

  A knot formed in his chest when he failed to find Samantha. He questioned Delia, Chloe, Pettibone, and Gilly as well as the captain and crew. No one seemed to know where she had gone. His gut clenching, he recalled the previous night with startling clarity and not a small amount of guilt. Had he so frightened her with his lecherous advances that she fled the ship to escape him? She could be alone in town now—lost or hurt or being hurt by a gang of sailors bent on forcing their attentions on any unescorted woman to wander across their path.

  With precious time flying by, he burst into the galley. “Jasper, have you seen Sam?”

  “Good afternoon, Professor,” Jasper said. “I see you remain among the living.”

  Christian glowered and combed a shaky hand through his hair. “Samantha?”

  Jasper grinned, showing a wide expanse of perfect white teeth. “Why, indeed, I saw her earlier. She departed with Garrett. Didn’t say when they would return, but I would not expect them back before supper.”

  With a growl, Christian whirled on his heel and stomped out of the galley. Nasty claws dug into his temper. While he was worrying himself to a nub, Samantha was gallivanting around the city with Garrett. She had disembarked without permission and hadn’t bothered to inform him or anyone else, other than Jasper, of her intentions.

  A sudden thought struck him with the force of a broadside. She was with Garrett, the stud of the Western Hemisphere! The lad had no control when confronted by anything in skirts, and he would find Samantha an irresistible temptation. She had little experience with men, especially men like Garrett. Her naïveté could mire her knee-deep in trouble before
she realized her predicament. Garrett wouldn’t restrain himself simply because Samantha was untouched. Garrett never considered the consequences before plowing ahead in pursuit of his own pleasure.

  Christian fumed and swore vile curses, making the crew edgy. He stalked around the ship like one of the wild cats he studied. When they returned … Well, Garrett would be well advised to find a hole to climb into and Lady Samantha best hold on to the seat of her pantalets.

  Samantha and Garrett found an isolated meadow surrounded by forest where the sun had burned off the fog. Garrett got right to work, setting out the weapons, showing Samantha how to load the rifle and sight the target. She had a good eye, but at first try, the rifle’s kick knocked her off her feet, onto her bottom, and bruised her shoulder.

  “Brace yourself with your legs apart, knees slightly bent,” he said, going through the procedure more thoroughly this time. If he returned her with a dislocated shoulder, Christian would break his neck. “Position your left leg in front and shift your weight onto it. When you fire, keep the stock snug to your shoulder. The impact will rock your body back onto your right leg instead of slamming against you. You’ll remain on your feet with less damage.” He demonstrated. “The recoil will still smart. With your small frame, you have little upper body strength for serious shooting. But if you were forced to shoot something, or someone, you could.”

  She tried a few more times until she complained that her arms ached and she could no longer hold the heavy rifle upright. He then taught her to shoot from a sitting position and while prone, lying on her belly on the ground. In this position, where she could brace her elbows on solid earth, she hit the target almost every time. When she could do no more, he disassembled the rifle and cleaned it.

  They moved on to the Colt .45 revolvers. After explaining how to load the gun, Garrett said, “Stand the same way you would as if you were shooting a rifle. Hold the gun in your right hand with your arm out level with your shoulder, but relaxed, elbow slightly bent. Sight along your shoulder and hand in a direct line to the target. Squeeze the trigger, and when it fires, allow your elbow to bend as the gun kicks back. Your arm will fly up into the air over your head and absorb the impact.”