Mystery in the Moonlight

by Lynn Patrick

  “Ship,” Bryce automatically corrected. “Handling her will be a lot easier than hoisting her sails. Now get over here if you want to take the helm.”

  Not about to wait for him to change his mind, she immediately did as he bade.

  As Caitlin latched onto the wheel’s spokes, she felt a thrill of excitement ripple through her, but whether it was caused by the power of guiding the magnificent sea vessel or by the disturbing warmth of the man’s physical nearness, she wasn’t sure. Bryce hadn’t moved away. He was directly behind her, one hand still on the wheel, his muscular chest lightly brushing her back. She tried to negate his power to distract her by fantasizing herself as the Pirate Queen, but the reality of Bryce’s nearness was impossible to ignore.

  The Queen mercilessly abandoned Caitlin to her own fates.

  Irritated and determined to control her growing discomfort, Caitlin said, “I thought you told me I was tough.”

  “So I did.”

  “Then why don’t you let go of the wheel and let me handle it by myself? I’m pretty sure I can manage to follow your orders since you’re so good at giving them.”

  “That’s because I practice.” Moving to one side, Bryce smiled at her. “I guess practice makes perfect, huh?”

  “Ha!” Caitlin retorted, deciding that she had to ignore everything but the task at hand. “Now, how am I supposed to do this?” She only hoped her voice didn’t sound as shaky as her stomach felt. “Do I sight a particular star or what?”

  “Actually the helmsman follows the orders of the captain or mate on duty.” Leaning a little closer, Bryce raised an eyebrow. “Are you as good at following orders as I am at giving them?”

  Feeling an unwanted thrill shoot through her, she deliberately raised her own brows in return. “I can be when I’m feeling agreeable,” she said, hoping her tone was haughty. “But don’t push me.”

  “Well, I hope you wouldn’t be so disagreeable as to run us into a reef.” He checked the compass. “Just hold her steady where you have her, at two hundred and ten degrees south-southwest.”

  “Are there really reefs around here?” Caitlin asked anxiously, quickly checking the compass herself to make sure she was on course, then peering out into the dark. How could anyone tell what was out there? Suddenly she realized that her hands were sweating and slipping on the wheel. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “Don’t worry, we’re safe for the moment. If I have any fears about your dashing us against the reefs or running us aground, I’ll throw you down to the deck and take over the wheel immediately.”

  Judging by his overly dramatic tone, Caitlin assumed that he was teasing her, but since he’d pulled back, away from the lighted compass, she couldn’t see Bryce’s expression. “How can you be so sure we’re safe?”

  “Anselm is my pilot as well as my mate. He plotted a safe route for this journey using a series of charts. Each chart shows less and less area, but more and more details, along our route.”

  “Like taking a picture close-up?”

  Bryce nodded. “The charts will indicate landmarks, channel markers, reefs, depth readings.”

  “And lighthouses?”

  “Of course. They even identify each lighthouse’s characteristics. Whether or not it will flash, how often it will flash, that kind of thing.”

  He’d moved in on her again, Caitlin noted nervously. And his sea-green eyes seemed to be devouring her. Curse the scoundrel, why did he have to be so handsome with his gold-streaked hair and beard? Even the tips of his eyelashes seemed to glow by compass light.

  And so did the chest hair revealed by the half open shirt he wore. Realizing that she was staring, Caitlin forced her eyes back to his face. Why couldn’t his straight nose have a crook or a lump in it? Or his high forehead a Neanderthal overhang? Considering the way her pulse raced just by looking at the man, maybe she’d have been safer if Bryce had remained behind her.

  Well, perhaps not.

  Swallowing hard, Caitlin glanced down at the compass and realized that she was decidedly off course. “Oh, no. I’m twenty degrees off! What do I do now?”

  “Calm down and turn the wheel counterclockwise.” Caitlin moved the spoke in her right hand to her left. “Nothing’s happening.”

  “You have to give her time to compensate, but you also have to turn her.” Bryce slipped, behind Caitlin, and with his large callused hand covering hers, he turned the wheel a full one hundred and eighty degrees. “That should do it.”

  Sure enough, the prow of the ship responded after several seconds, and the compass indicated that they were back on course.

  “I don’t understand,” Caitlin said shakily, willing the adrenaline that had surged through her at the scare to subside. She gripped the wheel tightly. “I didn’t do anything wrong to make the ship swerve off course. Did I?”

  “No, you didn’t, but the current and the wind did, and you didn’t notice immediately.”

  Guessing that her eyes were wide with fright and hating the thought, Bryce wanted to reassure Caitlin. He preferred her eyes softly rounded with desire, as they had been for a moment the afternoon before.

  “But I don’t want to endanger anyone.”

  He tried to soothe her by saying, “It takes time to know just when and how much to adjust. You have to get the feel of the ship.”

  Wedged up against Caitlin’s slender back, which trembled slightly, Bryce thought about how much he’d like to get the feel of the woman. It was becoming more and more difficult to care whether or not she was Jean Moreau’s mistress and thereby—indirectly though it might be—connected to his brother Ned’s death. Ever since he’d tended to her jellyfish stings, he hadn’t been able to get the feisty young woman out of his thoughts.

  In spite of what he knew about her, Bryce kept finding himself wondering what it would be like to make love to Caitlin O’Connor.

  As a matter of fact, he’d thought of little else in the past twenty-four hours, to the detriment of his own sleep. And that wouldn’t do, he reminded himself. He held too many lives in his hands to take chances merely because he was too tired to make sound judgments. They were heading straight toward a rising storm center, and they were due to make contact with Ralph Hodges—and hopefully Moreau—sometime the next day.

  But even knowing that he should move away, he didn’t. And she didn’t seem any more willing to break the contact than he. Was her trembling due to the fright of thinking that she’d lost control of the ship or to his own nearness? Bryce wondered. Whichever, the light shiver, combined with the movement of the ship, aroused him unbearably.

  She cleared her throat, but it came out sounding like a choking noise. So milady was nervous, he thought, purposely reminding himself that she was Moreau’s “little dove.” Maybe now was the time to take advantage of her temporary weakness and get her to tell him everything she knew about the Frenchman.

  But the thought faded slightly when she asked shakily, “You don’t use the stars for navigation, huh?”

  “Radar’s more accurate.”

  “But not nearly as romantic as following the stars.” Caitlin’s voice had become alluringly husky. Was she doing it on purpose to tease him? he wondered as she added, “Just look at that sky!”

  Her head tilted back, and her silky hair feathered against his neck and the bare part of his upper chest. Bryce caught his breath at the exquisite sensation, and like a man bewitched, he allowed his gaze to follow hers. The night sky was beautiful, deep and mysterious, its waning moon resplendently encircled by starry diamonds of varying intensity.

  “There’s the Southern Cross,” Bryce told her, pointing to a spot across the ship’s prow, his arm coming into solid contact with her shoulder as they rolled with the swell. “And the North Star is behind us.”

  “We can see the Southern Cross and the North Star in the same sky? Where?” He could feel her excitement as Caitlin turned slightly, straining to see past him. She seemed oblivious to the way her breast brushed against h
is chest. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? More than a little aware of the softly intimate pressure himself, Bryce was so mesmerized by the pleasurable sensation that her sudden demand—“Where’s the North Star?”—actually startled him.

  Reluctantly he pulled away a little to show her. “Uh, look over there. See the cup made by the Big Dipper? Well, if you follow—”

  “I found it!”

  Excitedly Caitlin turned to face him just as the ship rolled once more, and somehow rolled her right against his chest. Or had she placed herself exactly where she wanted to be? Bryce grabbed onto the wheel behind her, but his interest was centered on the woman trapped between him and it. And judging by her moonlit expression, her interest was equal to his own. Her eyes were focused on his face. He felt his heart beat raggedly when he noted them growing round with desire.

  How could he not kiss her mouth when it parted so seductively for him?

  Without hesitating, Bryce dipped his head and took what she offered. Her response was instantaneous. At contact she moved into him, pressing her slender body against his own, wrapping her arms around his neck as desperately as if she were drowning. She kissed him with a fervor that set him aflame.

  Forgetting everything but the woman, Bryce let go of the wheel and slipped his arms around her waist, lifting her slight weight to better fit her against him. She clung to him, deepened the kiss, bit into his lower

  Then, with every nerve aroused and enticed by the passion radiating from her, Bryce felt as if he were the one going under, drowning because he couldn’t resist the sea sprite’s spell. Or was she a sea siren, like the Lorelei, luring him toward the dangerous reefs?

  As if by plan, a warning bell rang in the distance, its harsh tone cutting crisply through the silent night. Even so, he tried to ignore it, to concentrate on nothing but the desire running rampant through him. Bryce wanted nothing more than to carry this passionate woman to his cabin where he could finally make love to her.

  What a beautiful sound, Caitlin thought, picking out the pure tones of a bell with that minuscule part of her mind uninvolved in the sense-drugging kiss. She’d always known she’d hear bells when kissed by the right man, hadn’t she?

  Bells?

  Startled, Caitlin freed her lips and stared into Bryce’s beard-shrouded face with something akin to shock. For heaven’s sake, this certainly was a familiar scene!

  Then Bryce seemed to be trying to lift her in his arms. She stiffened, the passion drained from her.

  What in the world had she been doing? What in the world did he think he was doing? Deciding that she’d have to fight him to release her, Caitlin was relieved to hear Thomas’s familiar, if amused, voice.

  “Ah, excuse me, Captain, but it’s midnight and my turn at the helm. Unless you want me to come back later?”

  Bryce almost dropped her in his haste to set her down and check their bearing. Caitlin steadied herself by grabbing onto the wheel and adjusting it herself when she realized that they were once more off course.

  “I’ll do that,” Bryce said gruffly.

  He took over the wheel, though Caitlin was sure that she was getting the ship back in control just fine. She stomped away from him, annoyed further by the fact that she had to pass Anselm, who stood there grinning like an idiot. How long had he been watching?

  “Thomas, take over. Keep her two hundred and ten degrees south-southwest.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Then Caitlin heard Bryce mutter something to Anselm, who took over the watch. The black mate laughed softly. What had the scoundrel told him?

  Anger built within her, the emotion equal to the desire she’d felt in his arms. Caitlin wished she knew which bothered her most—her letting Bryce kiss her and enjoying it tremendously, or his seeming embarrassed when he’d been caught at it. What might have happened if Thomas hadn’t interrupted them? How could she have forgotten even for a moment that Bryce Winslow was a kidnapper and a thief? A modem-day pirate? She was still stewing when he approached the sanctuary she’d sought at the rail. But rather than address the thing really bothering her, she took a different tack.

  “Why did you do that?” she demanded, facing him.

  “Do what?”

  Bryce stopped a cautious foot away from her. His stance was belligerent, feet spread wide and arms crossed. With the waning moon haloing him from behind, he looked magnificent, she thought sourly.

  “Why did you take the wheel from me?”

  “I figured I’d get her back on course faster than you could.”

  “Her?” Caitlin knew her voice rose when she demanded, “You think of the Sea Devil as a woman, do you?”

  “Of course. All ships are female,” he clarified with a hint of laughter that made her stomach flutter. “It’s tradition.”

  “That’s because it’s tradition that men sail them.” Caitlin knew she was deliberately trying to pick a fight to forget the humiliating desire he’d stirred in her, the desire that still lay close to the surface of her emotions, intermingled with her frustration and anger. “Thinking of their sea vessels as female was probably used as a psychological ploy, to make men feel they could have the upper hand with their boats, as they did with their women.”

  “Perhaps.” Even in the moonlight she could see Bryce’s grin widen, renewing a bud of desire in her. “But I’ll give you another chance to handle this ship. You can think of the Sea Devil as a man if that’ll make you happy.”

  “Why would that make me happy? I have no desire to get the upper hand with my men!”

  She could have sworn that some fleeting emotion—regret?—sobered his features before Bryce asked, “You mean, you don’t think it wise to keep the upper hand with a dangerous man like Jean Moreau?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not his mistress? Besides, as far as I’m concerned, you’re far more dangerous.”

  His concerned expression irritated her even further. It confused her, made her want to slip into his arms and absorb his warmth, as though it could comfort her. She thought she’d be undone when he stepped closer and touched her face with a gentle hand.

  “Caitlin, I promise I’ll protect you from Moreau if you’ll tell me everything you know about his operations.”

  She pushed his hand away, but the imprint of his fingers still burned her skin. When would he stop this ridiculous inquisition? When would he believe her? Frustration made her reckless.

  “You really want to know about my association with Jean?” she asked softly, glancing up at him. When he nodded solemnly, Caitlin sighed purposely. “All right. You win. I guess you’ll get the truth out of me yet, so I might as well tell you.” Her mind raced, putting together a ridiculous story. “Actually, Babs and I came to this area to rescue some of our friends.”

  “Rescue?” Bryce really sounded concerned, and he gripped both of her shoulders. “Were they involved in Moreau’s smuggling operations?”

  Caitlin frowned at his words, but Bryce’s touch distracted her from their meaning. It was difficult enough to concentrate on spinning a stupid tale when he was so close. “No, they were left behind long ago, and we had to come get them before it was too late.”

  His grip tightened, sending a shock through her. “Who was left behind? What are you talking about?”

  Swallowing hard, Caitlin tried to ignore the languor that stole through her, starting at the warm touch of his hands. She licked her lips and croaked, “Babs and I are much older than you think. We lived on what you call the lost continent of Atlantis until it sank, after which we escaped to another planet.”

  “Good God, Caitlin,” Bryce said, giving her a shake. His expression was fierce and determined. “Will you please stop making up these nonsensical tales and tell me the truth?”

  She shoved at him, but it didn’t do any good. He only tightened his grip until she had to wince. Then he finally let her go, undoubtedly because he tired of her struggle rather than because of her strength. Stepping away from him, she felt the rail b
ite into her back.

  “I’ve already told you the truth, Bryce Winslow, but in your stupid male arrogance, you won’t believe you could be wrong! You think I’m Jean’s mistress and therefore easy pickings, don’t you? That’s why you tried to make love to me!” she shouted indignantly.

  “I’d hardly call kissing you making love!”

  Caitlin gave him a nasty little smile and, faking a bored expression, said, “Actually, neither would I.”

  Then she strolled away from the handsome pirate whose face was contorted into a mask of fury, vowing that she would find some means of getting away from him at the first opportunity. The situation was becoming too dangerous to handle.

  Heaven help her: she’d wanted him, right in the middle of their argument!

  Chapter Nine

  “Perverted pirate! Captain’s a perverted pirate!” squawked Captain Flint, much to Caitlin’s amusement.

  “Good bird!” she praised, wedging a piece of orange through the cage bars and quickly removing her fingers before the macaw could bite them.

  Having cleaned the parrot’s papers first thing upon rising, she hadn’t been able to resist seducing the brightly colored bird with the fruit. Captain Flint had tried to attack her human caretaker as usual, but at least she’d been agreeable to learning the phrase Caitlin had repeated over and over again for the last half hour.

  A small victory but it put Caitlin in the positive mood necessary for a successful escape. And once she was gone, she hoped the macaw would forever remind Bryce of the captive he hadn’t been able to best.

  “Better not take Captain Flint above today, missy,” Lars said, slowly shuffling into the common area from his quarters, a mug in his hand. “Storm’s brewing overhead.”

  “I know. That’s why I slept down here last night.”

  And why she had to make her escape quickly, before the storm made it impossible for her to do so.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be snug enough anchored in this cove,” Lars mumbled, taking a long swig. “Captain Winslow’s a good man—won’t let anything happen to any of us. We’re snug as bugs in a rug.”