The moment she saw him, she hesitated. He leaned against the rail, trying to look casual, hoping she'd join him. Thrusting her hands in the pockets of the coat, she headed toward him, then stopped with her feet braced as if for battle. He waited for her opening volley.
"Evening," she said, with no inflection.
"Evening," he returned cautiously. When she didn't say anything more, he looked up at the sky. "Nice night."
"Hm?" She looked up, as well. "Oh. Yes, it is."
He kept his face turned upward, but rolled his eyes sideways to read her expression. A frown flirted across her face as she pretended, like him, to gaze at the stars. Finally, she sighed and stepped to the rail, holding it with both hands and glaring at the dark water.
"Look, about earlier. In your cabin." She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry for the things I said ---"
"It's okay. I realize ---"
"Don't interrupt me." She sent him an irritated look. "I stink at apologizing, and will do better if I can get it all out in one go."
He hid a smile at the determined set of her jaw, which contrasted with the uncertainty in her eyes. He wanted to hug her and tell her to forget the apology, but motioned for her to continue.
"Okay." She turned toward him and scowled at his chest. "Where was I? Oh yeah ..." She took a breath and launched into an obviously rehearsed speech. "Ti says when I'm upset, I tend to speak before I think. He's right. The things I said to you earlier today weren't fair. Well, not entirely. You haven't treated me with disrespect, per se, but you do enjoy getting me flustered. You can't deny that." Her voice built up steam. "As for kissing me, you have to admit, that went way too far ---"
"Is this an apology or an admonishment?"
"I'm working up to it," she growled, then sighed in defeat. "I told you I stink at this."
"So you did." He slumped lower against the rail for a better view of her face. Starlight shone on her cheeks, making her eyelashes look thicker. "Take your time."
She frowned. "I lost my place again."
"How about if I help out?"
She gave him a wary look.
" 'I'm sorry, Adrian,' " he said, " 'for anything I may have done to make your stupid blunder even worse, like drive you half-insane by kissing you back. The truth is, I think you're a really hot stud, and I'd love to jump your bones, but I think we'd both be better off in the long run if we stay friends.' "
She choked." 'Really hot stud'?"
"Wait, you're not finished."
"I'm not? Oh, I can't wait to hear what I have left to say after that." Her laugh helped his chest relax.
" 'I think you are one of the sexiest men who has ever lived ---' "
"Your ego is showing."
" ' ---and I dream about you night and day ---' "
"No, those are your dreams, remember?"
" ' ---but I value the other things we have.' " He looked straight into her eyes. "Because, you see, I do respect you, as much as I hope you respect me."
Her shoulders sagged. "I do."
" 'I've enjoyed getting to know you as a friend these last weeks as much as I've enjoyed the prospect that we'll both profit financially from our acquaintance.' "
"Exactly."
" 'So I'm sorry for anything I may have done to jeopardize our friendship.' "
She looked at him, her eyes thankful. "Yes. That's what I wanted to say."
"Okay, then." He straightened and held out his hand. "Apology accepted, both ways, I hope."
"Thank you." She took his hand in a firm handshake.
He winced as pain snaked up from his palm.
"What?" She looked down, taking his hand in both of hers and tipping it toward the light from the chart house.
"It's nothing," he said, too late. She'd already noticed the strip of raw flesh on his palm. "Okay, so I have a slight rope burn."
"Slight?" Her eyes widened with disbelief. "Men! I swear, you're all alike the world over. Too stubborn to admit it when you hurt yourself."
"Unlike some women I know who aren't stubborn at all."
"Come on. I'll doctor you up."
"Will you kiss it and make it better?"
She frowned at him. "I thought you weren't going to flirt with me anymore."
"If you'll notice, I wasn't flirting with you this afternoon and we saw how well that worked. I've decided this is safer."
"You are so warped. As for my kissing your boo-boo, forget it. I will, however, be happy to drop an anchor on your foot to take your mind off it."
"God, I love it when you talk rough."
"Will you love it when I pour antiseptic on your rope burn?"
"Be still, my heart."
Chapter 14
"Make yourself at home," Jackie said as she entered her cabin ahead of Adrian. Shedding her jacket, she hung it on a peg and flipped a light switch. Brass wall sconces came to life, bathing the cabin in soft, golden light. "I'll get the first-aid kit."
Adrian froze when he saw the room. He'd been in the cabin before, the night of the Buccaneer's Ball when Rory had had one of her panic attacks. Jackie had noticed something was wrong and offered them the use of her quarters. That night, however, the room had been dark and he'd been more concerned with Rory than his surroundings.
He must have taken in more than he realized, though, because the cabin exactly matched the setting of his fantasy with Jackie in her pirate boots and him tied to her bed: swagged draperies, gold tassels, wood paneling.
His eyes shifted sideways to the bed, which was set into the wall by the door. A brocade spread tangled with snow-white sheets and a haphazard pile of pillows.
His body hardened in a rush and he turned away.
Okay, you can handle this, he told himself. Uncomfortably warm, he whipped off his jacket and hung it beside Jackie's. To gain some distance from the bed, he circled around a heavy table that dominated the space before a bank of windows and a French rococo fireplace. A thronelike chair sat with its back to the windows and the table appeared to double as a desk. He paused to glance outside and admire the starlit waters of the cove.
Through the partially closed door to the bathroom ---or "head" as Jackie called it ---he could hear her rummaging around. "Great place," he called.
"Thanks." Her laughter tumbled out, as if she doubted his sincerity. "My father had somewhat, um, lavish taste."
Continuing his path, he stopped before a wall of bookshelves and wooden cabinets that brought to mind an English manor library. He noted a multitude of volumes on ships, sailing, and history, but most of the shelves were crammed full of paperback novels. He tipped his head to read the titles, hoping for a distraction from the dangerous thoughts running through his brain.
What he found didn't help at all. The titles all contained such words as "ravished," "lover," "passionate," "embrace." He picked up one, opened the discreet flowery cover and stared at the image beneath of a nude couple making out on satin sheets with only a few vital areas hidden from view.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Jackie said, stepping out of the bathroom.
He slapped the cover closed as he turned and got a further jolt to his system. She'd taken off her bra. Her shirt hung loose enough with the red sash removed that she probably thought he couldn't tell, but ... heaven help him, he could definitely tell. Her breasts swung enticingly as she walked toward him.
He jerked his gaze back to the book. "You read romance novels?"
She chuckled as she set a first-aid kit on the table and came even closer. "No need to look so shocked. Lots of women do."
"I know." His throat tightened with desire and he had to clear it. "I just find it interesting that you're one of them. My sister Alli, the woman most likely to go for gooey love stories, prefers suspense thrillers. And here you are, the woman I'd peg to read action adventure, with a whole bookcase of romance novels."
"Some of them have plenty of action and adventure."
"True. But they spend more time describing what everyone is feeling." He shudder
ed playfully.
"How would you know?"
"I dated the owner of a bookstore for a while. She talked me into trying a few."
"Oh? What'd you think?"
"Damn good stories for the most part." With some really hot sex. "Just, um, not my first pick for reading material."
"I suppose you like hair-raising suspense, like your brother-in-law writes." She went to a stack of straight-backed chairs secured in one corner and carried one to the table.
"When I read fiction, he's one of my favorite authors. Mostly, though, I read nonfiction. Philosophy, mythology, ancient religions, books on the martial arts ---"
"No wonder you dated a bookseller. You needed the friend-of-the-owner discount." Crossing back to him, she opened one of the cabinets, revealing a treasure trove of junk food. "You like dark rum?"
"As long as it's not mixed with a bunch of stuff that makes it taste like a kid's drink." He watched as she bent over to open a lower cabinet that turned out to be a mini refrigerator/freezer. As she filled two highball glasses with ice, his gaze wandered to her firm behind and slender legs, perfectly showcased in tight leggings. He tried to not think about running his hands up the inside of her thighs. ... "Worst hangover I ever had was from drinking trash-can punch made with rum."
"That's what you get for drinking the cheap stuff mixed with too much sugar." She kicked the fridge closed and moved to the table. Hooking the thronelike chair with the tip of her boot, she pulled it out, plopped down, and poured two shots into the cut-glass tumblers. She held one out to him. "To kill the pain."
"What are you going to do, amputate my hand?" He took the other chair and accepted the drink.
"Nothing that drastic." Her laugh sounded slightly diabolical as she opened the first-aid kit. "But I've never received a compliment for my nursing abilities."
"Thanks for the warning."
She took a healthy swallow, exposing her throat briefly, before setting the glass aside. "Okay, let me see your hand."
He sipped cautiously from his own glass. The rum slid down his throat with a blend of smoky, buttery flavors. "Mmm, good stuff."
"It should be. Fifteen-year-old Martinique rum, aged in oak barrels." She made a come-here gesture with her fingers. "Now quit stalling."
Bracing himself, he held his hand out, then hissed when she swabbed it with an antiseptic wipe. "Je-sus!"
Her grip tightened when he tried to pull away. "Oh, it doesn't hurt that bad."
"Well, excuse me, but I'd like to keep what skin I have left on that hand." He tugged harder, then nearly groaned when the tug-of-war made her breasts jiggle.
"Here" ---she held on to him with one hand and reached for the bottle with the other ---"have another drink and quit being such a baby." After filling his glass, she jerked his hand toward her and bent over it.
His gaze slipped to the deep vee of her shirt, which wasn't laced as tightly as it had been earlier. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he noticed how close his fingers were to the opening. He wondered how her breasts would feel nestled in his palm and moaned as his body throbbed with need.
"Lord, you are a wimp." She laughed, massaging ointment into the palm of his hand.
The sensation traveled straight to his groin, and he imagined her fingers stroking him there. He rested the elbow of his free arm on the table and hid his face in his hand. "Talk to me."
"About what?" She blew on his palm.
"Anything! Take my mind off ... the pain. Tell me about Martinique."
"What about it?"
"Have you been there?"
"I've been to nearly all the islands."
"Which one's your favorite?"
"Bequia. But for personal reasons, not because it's any more or less beautiful than the others."
"Oh?"
"My Grandma Merry lives there along with most of my aunts, uncles, and cousins."
"Your mother's Caribbean?" That would explain her exotic features. "I never hear you talk about her."
"My mother's half Caribbean. Her father was a rich white tourist who apparently didn't want to take home a souvenir quite that big." Releasing his hand, she snapped the lid closed on the first-aid kit.
"Tell me about her." He leaned back, shifting subtly inside his jeans.
"There's not much to tell. She dumped my dad when I was five, and I've hardly seen her since."
"Do you see the rest of your Caribbean relatives?"
"Not as often as I'd like." She leaned back as well and plopped her boots on the table with her ankles crossed. Sitting in the captain's cabin, dressed like a pirate, she looked every inch his fantasy.
He tossed back a big gulp of rum and prayed for strength.
"It's weird," she said, "I really enjoyed the few times my dad took me to see them, but it made me sad, too."
"Why sad?"
"I don't know. I guess because I never really fit in. For one thing, my cousins all grew up together, so I was always the outsider. For another, none of my mother's half siblings like her very much." She wrinkled her nose. "They think she's snooty."
"Is she?"
"Oh yeah." She laughed. When he reached for the bottle, she held her glass out for a refill. "But I love Grandma Merry and she always seemed happy to see me. At first." She frowned as if at some memory. "Until my father would do something to tick someone off, then she or one of my uncles would ask us to leave."
"Do you ever hear from your mother?"
"Occasionally." She ran a fingertip around the rim of the glass. "Mostly I just hear about her through my grandmother. Right now she's living in a mansion on St. Lucia with a businessman who divides his time between her and his wife and kids back in the States." She sipped her rum thoughtfully. "You know, this is really depressing me. Why don't we talk about you?"
"What do you want to know?"
"What was your childhood like? I bet it was great."
"It had its moments."
"Like what?' She smiled and waggled her boots in encouragement. He imagined grabbing her ankles and jerking her over to straddle his lap so he could lose himself in that mouth of hers. "Tell me something happy," she said. "What did you enjoy most when you were a kid?"
"A little kid?" He tried to think, but either rum or lust was fogging his brain. "Traveling. I miss seeing new places, meeting people, and life backstage."
"Your parents were actors?"
He nodded, and took another drink. "Not as successful as Aunt Viv, but yes."
"Did you ever think about going into showbiz?"
"Actually ..." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I'll tell you something, but you can't tell my sisters."
"Oh, goodie, secrets." She dropped her feet and leaned toward him, crossing her forearms on the table.
"I'm serious, you have to keep this to yourself." He let his gaze wander over her face, noticing how soft her skin looked. "They'd feel guilty if they knew, and I don't want that."
"Your secret's safe with me."
"In high school, I was in every production the drama club put on. I really took to acting, and my aunt was a great coach. My senior year, I was one of the leads in Guys and Dolls. My aunt's agent happened to be in town, so he came with her to opening night."
"Let me guess." She tipped her head. "He saw you act and offered to make you a star."
"Bingo." He took another drink, hoping the numbness in his brain would spread south.
"You're kidding." Her eyes brightened. "Really? So what happened?"
"I told him no."
"You told him no?" She stared in disbelief. "Why?"
"Because he'd come to Galveston to talk my aunt into returning to Broadway." He studied the melting ice in his glass. "The only way she could leave Galveston was if I stuck around after graduation to finish raising my sisters."
"Jesus. You gave up something that big for your sisters? Do you regret it?"
"Yes and no. I've had a great life. Really," he insisted. "Although ..."
"What?"
&nbs
p; "A part of me can't stop wondering ... what if?" His eyes held hers. "You know?"
"Yeah." Jackie's voice became husky as she looked at him, so close, she could easily reach out and touch him. He had the most perfectly shaped mouth she'd ever seen. The memory of its taste made her ache for another long, deep, wet kiss like they'd shared that afternoon. "What if."
"So what's your big 'what if'?"
She shook her head, and laughed at the thoughts running through her brain.
"Come on." He topped her drink off, his voice a teasing rumble. "I told you one of my secrets. Now you have to tell me one of yours."
"You already know all my worst secrets." Except how badly I want you.
"There must be something," he said as moonlight from the window caught his blue eyes. "Something about you no one knows."
"No way, St. Claire." She tossed back a swallow and when she lowered her glass, she found him watching her with hooded eyes. The room grew warmer.
"What if I tell you another one of mine?"
Her head swam pleasantly. "God, you're an easy drunk."
"This isn't the rum. It's just something I have to say."
Her heartbeat turned slow and heavy at his sudden intensity. "What?"
"I really wish you'd told us no about the cruises."
"Gee, thanks." She laughed, uncomfortably aware of the hard chair against her sensitive skin. "I look forward to working with you, too."
"I wish you'd said no" ---he placed the tip of his finger against her chin ---"because then I could have propositioned you for something a lot more personal. My secret is, I have never wanted any woman as much as I want you."
She went still, her skin tingling at his touch. "You only want me because you can't have me."
"Can't?" He stroked his finger along her jaw, making her yearn. "I wouldn't be too sure. I've never seriously tried."
Danger, danger, her mind screamed, but she couldn't seem to pull away. "Yet I'm supposed to believe you want me more than any other woman?"
"You have no idea. You fascinate me." He trailed his finger down her neck, making her pulse pound. "From the moment I met you. At first it was just physical, which is easy enough to ignore. But the more I'm around you, the more I want to get to know you ... in every way possible."
Don't Tempt Me Page 13
