She stared at her image, trying to see herself as he might, and then irritably turned from the mirror. She wandered to the drapery-covered window with the intent of drawing it open to the fading daylight, and then it dawned on her suddenly that she’d forgotten to procure flints with which to light the lanterns tonight. She sincerely hoped she could find some within the cabin itself, for she had no desire to remain in total darkness. Shuddering at the thought, she tugged open the blasphemously dark window coverings, and gasped aloud at what lay beneath.
The most beautiful stained-glass window she had ever beheld stood in all its grandeur before her—three full-length panels! The left and right were wholly painted in colorful biblical scenes, but it was the double-wide center pane that caught her attention and held it fast.
There in the middle of the depiction stood a grand apple tree, its limbs outstretched, forming a beautiful green shelter. Beneath it lay the figure of Eve, her dark hair unbound and spread gloriously beneath her like a carpet of black silk. In her proffered hand, she held a shining ruby apple, offering it up to... Adam?
The resemblance between the figure of Adam in the depiction and Christian was striking—and good Lord, he was nude as the day he was born! So was Eve for that matter, beckoning to Adam with the apple like some seductress straight from a preacher’s fire- and-brimstone sermon. Her green eyes were brilliant, haunting in their intensity.
Her gaze was drawn upward. The sky of the depiction was clear glass, a masterpiece, utilizing the blue of the true sky as its color—if it was dark outside, the painting would be as somber as midnight; if it was bright and sunny, Adam and Eve’s world would be as blue as sapphires; and if the weather was foul, then it would draw them both into the stormy tempest. This moment, it was faded a blue-gray, with orange and pink hues streaking as far as the eye could behold. The sun in the horizon was rapidly sinking from view, plummeting into the murky darkness of the sea.
Jessie’s gaze reverted to the nude form of Adam, and she swallowed convulsively as her eyes settled upon that very male part of his anatomy. Such an odd, odd member... and so very, very... erect! She scrunched her nose. And then suddenly, her eyes widened as she recalled a certain something she’d said to Christian.
It boggles the mind to consider why men were not born with horns or other weapons on their person. Do you not agree, my lord? Her heart leapt at the recollection.
Are you quite certain of that fact? he’d asked her.
She couldn’t have known. Her eyes narrowed in outrage and her lips trembled with misery. The cad, he’d been mocking her, even then... How he must have laughed at her naïveté—how he must have rejoiced in her stupidity!
She was a fool.
She was still a fool.
Unable to keep herself from it, she reached out for him, her breath becoming labored and her body stirring wickedly, heating with the Madeira... and something else; as she smoothed her fingers over Adam’s full body. She stopped abruptly at his groin—couldn’t help herself, brazen as it was—feeling with wonder the almost indiscernible raised lines where one color met another. She was awestruck by the artfulness of the glass, by the beauty of the man depicted. Shuddering with the desire that burst to life within her, she caressed the cold glass before her... her heart thundering...
Her eyes closed, and her head fell back, remembering...
Christian’s heart began to hammer.
From his precarious perch just outside the window, he felt the bold caress as though it were on his own body. Heat surged through his veins, its potency just short of heart-stopping.
Christ, how he wanted her, ached and burned for her. His body shuddered at the sight she presented, head back and her face flushed with desire, her bodice undone and exposing her throat. Making certain his feet were secure within the toehold he’d fashioned within the rope, he shifted so the knot he was perched upon wouldn’t cut quite so sharply into his groin.
How many times had he dreamed of that caress? So soft and innocent, and yet lustful too.
Whatever else she was, the woman was passionate—that much he had to give her. The wistful look on her face made him burn all the more fiercely. He, tried to ignore her. While she was otherwise occupied with Adam, he used it to his advantage, peering in at the door through the distorted glass. Damnation, but he couldn’t begin to imagine what she’d barred it with.
He muttered an oath when his eyes finally focused upon the objects before the door. There were what appeared to be five trunks stacked before it, not one, not two, but five. His own two, which were by far the largest, were doubled at the bottom, and three of hers, one large, two small, sat directly above them, braced against the door. How the devil had she managed it?
He knew the very instant she spotted him, for she suddenly leapt away from the glass, shrieking. She fell back upon the floor. Now that she was aware of his presence, he swung into plain view. He peered through the clear glass into the cabin, knocked on the window and smiled.
Jessie seemed to recover quickly enough, scrambling to her feet at once. She stood staring, that hideous gown of hers gaping at the neckline, and he had the sudden urge to shatter his precious stained-glass window—to hell with the cost of it—throw her upon the bed and climb atop her, lift up her skirts without preamble and rut like a blood-maddened bull. He was that badly in need. That provoked. He willed her to open the door, so that he could have McCarney and Tibbs haul him up—so he could go to her and slake his insane need for her, and only her. In all the many months he’d been away from her, he’d not touched a woman. None of them had been Jessie.
“God,” he croaked, his voice hoarse with restraint, and something more as he recalled her cozy familiarity with her damnable cousin. “Jessie... open the door...”
Spurred to life by his request, Jessie suddenly tugged the drapery closed. “Really!” she shouted. “Sleep there upon your bloody rope, for all I care! Or loop it about your neck,” she added flippantly. “I care not which!”
“Jessie! Open the goddamned door!” Now that he knew what was before it, he could quite possibly open it himself, for he’d noted that a few of the trunks were already tilting precariously, but Jessie had placed them there and Jessie would remove them, he vowed.
Having blocked his smug face from view, Jessie went to his massive dark-curtained bed and plopped herself down upon it, trying desperately to ignore him—good Lord, he had caught her fondling his window! Her face heated with mortification.
Such a deep hush prevailed from beyond the curtains that she found herself feeling uneasy as she surveyed the room in its unholy darkness. Why was everything so... so black? she wondered irately. His bed, more suited to a sultan, was curtained in dark midnight blue silks. A beautifully carved armoire in dark wood graced the wall by the door, and a table with wicked claws for legs hunched in the middle of the cabin, its fearful talons gripping the bare wood floor. There were paintings of indescribable value and beauty, bookcases built into the wall with dozens of leather-bound volumes housed within them. And then of course, there were the stained-glass windows...
“You’d think the man was a prince!” she muttered. But then, he was, wasn’t he? He was Prince of Smugglers. She laughed without mirth, cursing herself for a silly hysterical fool. Her gaze reverting to the curtain, she decided it was much too still for her peace of mind, and she rose to peek behind it... to be certain he was gone.
He was still there, smiling knowingly, taunting her, his teeth flashing in mockery. His brow lifted diabolically.
“Oh! You! I hope the rope snaps and you plummet headlong into the ocean and drown, you cur!” Yanking the curtain shut again, Jessie fumed. But his voice when next he spoke seemed unsettled, and she experienced a twinge of guilt for her hateful words.
“Damn it, Jess!” Then more frantically, “Jessie! I’m slipping... damn it... Jess!”
Arms crossed stubbornly, Jessie refused to reopen the drapes, refused to believe him. It was a ruse, she was certain. He was a cad! a cu
r! a lecher! And he sounded no more distressed than a gluttonous toad at home upon his lily pad.
Yet even as she endeavored to convince herself, there came a cacophonous thud against the side of the ship, followed by an awful, endless abrasive sound that concluded with an ominous splash far, far below. Jessie’s heart lurched, and she snatched open the draperies with trembling hands.
Lord, what if he had fallen?
The rope dangled dismally before her eyes, swinging ever so slightly, evidence that he’d been there—but was no more. He was nowhere within sight.
Oh, God—dear God. He had fallen. Hadn’t anyone seen? She glanced up, pressing her nose to the tinted glass, spying no one above—not that she could see a blessed thing through the colored glass! Frantically her gaze slid down again, to the fathomless ocean. She could see very little through the greens and blues and reds of the stained glass... and yet... and yet... she could have sworn that the water rippled away from a foaming center.
It was all her fault! Not daring to waste even a single precious second, she went to the door and began clearing it of obstacles at once.
“Someone! Anyone!” she shouted hysterically. “Please, Christian—Hawk!” she screamed. Lord, what to call the accursed man? “Your captain!” she decided finally. “He’s fallen overboard! Someone, please—help!”
Thank heavens that her own trunks were easy enough to remove, but the other two, his two, were another matter entirely. They were as heavy as sin! Squatting upon the floor, she planted her feet squarely and gave a mighty heave. It moved a little, though at this rate, she thought that by the time she removed the last of the sea chests and made her away above deck to summon help, Christian would be long gone—dead—and at her hands, no less!
Lord, she was a murderess! Tears stung her eyes. The very thought of never seeing him again made her heart suddenly ache. The possibility chilled her, left her bereft.
Giving the trunk one last desperate heave, she shoved it out of the way, and with a groan she tackled the largest of them all, the one that was buttressed so securely against the door, the one that had taken her a lifetime to set into place.
“Dear God,” Jessie prayed aloud, “please don’t let him die—don’t let him die—please!” Her face turned scarlet with her efforts and still the trunk would not budge.
“Someone, please—oh, please, please, help!” she cried out, despairing ever to be free of the cabin. She was desperate to aid Christian. The armoire she’d admired earlier was within reach, and she happened to brace her feet upon it in her despair. Finding anchorage there, she shoved with every last bit of her might. Nailed down as it was, the armoire gave her the much-needed reinforcement and the confounded chest inched slowly but surely away from the door. Her face flushed and her brow beaded from her exertions, she gave the chest a final shove, sliding it just barely out of the way, and then she stood hurriedly, unbolting the door.
Her mouth fell agape as she opened the door.
“What took you so long?”
In one swift, agile motion, Christian shoved away from the wall that faced her, smiling devilishly.
Much too belatedly, she tried to slam the door in his too wicked, too handsome face. His hand swept out to hold it ajar.
“My, but you do seem distressed,” he said much too calmly. “Tell me... where are you off to in such a frantic rush, my love?” The gleam in his cobalt eyes told Jessie that he truly didn’t wish or need an answer to that particular question, and she didn’t offer him one.
His jaw working angrily, he suddenly shoved the door further open, causing her to lose her balance for the tiniest fraction of an instant. One boot on, one conspicuously missing, he came into the room, stalking her as a lion would its prey. Jessie backed slowly away from him, fearing him suddenly.
“Y-You tricked me!”
“You locked me out of my cabin,” he returned smoothly, his glittering blue eyes never leaving her own.
“B-But you t-told me to...” He shook his head slowly in negation and her voice suddenly failed her.
“I told you to stay out of my sight, not to shut me away from my bed.” He grinned then, but it was an ominous, mocking grin, not the least bit reassuring.
“Wh-What were you doing out there anyway?” she asked defensively.
“Why, I was looking to see what you’d barred the door with, of course,” he said. “But tell me... what were you doing at the window?” He smiled that wicked, knowing smile of his.
Jessie ignored the impertinent question, though her cheeks flamed. She fanned herself reflexively, unaware that she did. “How did you get back up?” Her treacherous knees began to wobble. Nor was he wet, she noticed, frowning.
Slowly, ruthlessly, he backed her toward the bed. “How else do you think, Jessamine? At my signal, my men hauled me up.”
“B-But I heard you fall,” she stammered, her legs buckling as the bed came up behind her unexpectedly.
He watched with ill-concealed amusement as she fell back upon it.
“I swear it—I shall scream!”
“And who do you think shall come?” he taunted, his voice little more than a whisper. “Your hobbling cousin? I very much doubt it, Jess. At any rate, you deserve a good lashing, and it was he who first suggested it, ma belle.”
“But you wouldn’t dare!”
Christian’s eyes gleamed with the devil’s own light. “Wouldn’t I?” he said, his jaw clenching.
“N-Nay! Y-You’d not dare!” she stammered, and truly hoped it was so. The look in his eyes, however, confirmed otherwise. He would, indeed, dare, and thoroughly enjoy it besides!
“I wish to God you had fallen!” Where she found the strength and courage to do so, she would never know, but she flew at him in that instant, her hands pummeling his chest. “I heard you fall!” she cried. “I know I did! Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you?”
Christian caught her hands with a single sweep of his own, stilling them against his chest. She felt his heart beating fiercely beneath her fingertips.
“Ah, ma pauvre petite,” he said huskily, “what a dreadful shame for you... Alas, but it was only my good boot you heard plummetin’ into the sea.” He nodded, his eyes glinting with arrogance. “Aye, my love, you did note I was missing one, did you not?” Her eyes shot him with cold contempt and he added, “Aye, I see that you have noticed. Tell me, m’mselle... should I take the price of them out on your pretty little derriere?” He reached back as though to make good his threat, swatting her backside.
Jessie shrieked indignantly and began to struggle anew, twisting her arms to be free of the prison of his grip. In one swift motion, he lifted her and thrust her down upon the bed. He straddled her then, taking his sweet time so as to prove to her how very defenseless she was against him, that she would bend to his will even against her own.
He bent low over her, to look into her eyes, his own eyes gleaming ruthlessly, and she swallowed convulsively, never feeling more vulnerable than she did at the moment. And then his lips came nearer still, until she could feel the heat radiating from them, beckoning... and Lord help her, she wanted him to press his lips to her mouth, mold them to her own. Even as angry as she was with him, she found herself wistfully remembering the way his velvety tongue had felt within her mouth, so warm, so insistent, and her breath quickened.
She wanted to taste his fierce hunger... again... and again... and again... never to stop.
The sweetest ache began again to unfurl within the depth of her body, reaching deep into her soul, tautening the peaks of her breasts and making them ache for his touch.
If only he could touch his lips to them once more, tenderly now. If only...
She flushed crimson at her wanton thoughts.
But then, in that bittersweet instant, he shifted and came closer, brushing his lips against hers so very gently, too gently, almost as though that brief contact were part of his warning.
“I could have sworn,” he whispered, “that I’d told you once already... it wo
uld go all the easier for you did you simply stay out of my way. Do so... and you shall save us both much trouble... Do not... and you shall pay dearly... I swear it. My patience is at its end—doubt it not.”
Her mind dazed with his nearness and his whispered threats, she returned, “Really, m’lord...” She lifted a brow, mocking his imperious gesture. “What more can you take from me that you’ve not already?”
He laughed then, the sound ruthless, his breath searing the tender flesh of her lips. “More,” he swore, the threat no more than a whisper, “more, my naive little princess... so very, very much more.” And with that, he released her abruptly, lifting himself from the bed.
He sat on the edge, ignoring her, lifting his one booted foot to his knee to remove the shoe, and still Jessie dared not move. His boot slipped off, and he tossed it unceremoniously across the room, where it landed with a wrathful thud.
He rose from the bed abruptly and went to pour himself a snifter of brandy, tossing the contents down his throat and pouring himself another. Eyeing the bottle of Madeira that sat beside it, he lifted it, assessing the lack, and said, his back to her, “Well... as long as we are at it, then.” He lifted a clean goblet and poured her another glass of Madeira, bringing it to her and pressing it into her hands.
Then, with his own glass in hand, he strode to, and sprawled backward into, his blue damask throne of a chair. He sat there, ignoring her for the longest time as he finished his brandy. She sipped nervously of her Madeira, watching him all the while, as the sun continued its descent, leaving them finally bathed in little more than dusky shadows.
“You will light the lanterns?” she asked after a long, strained silence.
“Nay.” His gaze met and held hers across the shadows. He shook his head. “I came to sleep... yet here I find myself sitting instead, wondering just what it is I should do with you.”
Jessie sat numbly, not knowing what to say, unable to move, unable even to tear her gaze away from his much too stunning face. In the growing darkness, his features took on a sinister cast; his eyes seemed to glow by the light of the moon, and a shiver traveled her spine. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. What would he do? she found herself wondering—but to her shame, not without exhaling a shattering breath of anticipation.
Kissed; Christian Page 16
