Chapter 18 #2
Her fingers grasped wildly at his back, closing about his queue.
Tugging desperately, she tried to draw him away, twist free of his kiss, if only to catch her breath, but the uncompromising hand at the back of her neck prevented it.
He squeezed her nape and she released his hair.
She was well and duly trapped, yet even as she acknowledged the fact, she was suddenly so very desperate to hold him close to her.
It was like nothing Jessie had ever experienced.
Gone was the gentle coercion Christian had exercised before.
His lips were hard and punishing as they moved over hers, yet intoxicating nevertheless.
She whimpered as his tongue masterfully pillaged her mouth.
She struggled to rid herself of the warm, silky intrusion in her mouth, but his kiss only deepened in response.
He groaned, suddenly softening in his response to her as his other hand sought her breast. She was startled by the gentleness of his fingers as they caressed her.
Her heart leapt, and she fought her treacherous body as it reacted to his touch.
Gasping at the incredible sensations his shocking touch aroused, she tried to will herself to breathe.
Her heartbeat quickened and her breath became more labored still.
She was mortified that he could affect her so, even as angry as she was, but she couldn’t help it, she sank into the mattress, reaching out to clutch him to her, returning his caresses; her fingers stroked his back.
Good God... she couldn’t help herself...
He jerked away suddenly, his look satisfied, yet furious still... so very furious. Jessie’s breath came in labored gasps as she stared numbly up at him.
“Now,” he said through clenched teeth, “tell me again how much you despise me, Jess.”
Jessie was struck dumb, unable to think clearly, much less open her mouth to speak. Her hand went to her throat as she gasped for breath.
“I didn’t think so,” he said smugly, and spun on his heels, leaving her so dazed that she had to wonder what it was he’d even said. Always he had to have the last word! When it finally dawned on her what he’d said to her, her cheeks flamed in anger.
“Blackguard!” she screamed. She reached back and seized the first thing she encountered—a pillow—hurling it at his back. It bounced off him to the floor, and he halted in midstride.
His hand clenching at his sides, he addressed her with controlled deliberation. “I suggest you get some rest, lest you desire more of what I have to offer.” He turned to face her then, his blue eyes glinting dangerously, letting her see the evidence of his arousal.
Her eyes widened.
“I see we understand one another,” he said sharply, pivoting once more. “I’ll send McCarney to Charlestown for your possessions in the meantime.” He opened the door and stepped out.
“Nay—wait, please!” He hesitated in closing the door, and Jessie scrambled from the bed after him. “Ben...”
He turned to face her, and his anger seemed to flare at the mention of her cousin. She forced herself to speak, stepping forward, clutching her gown together.
“B-Ben and I shall go with him,” she suggested, her eyes pleading. “Please... he needs a physician.”
“You’re a fool, Jess!” he swore softly. “He cannot go back!”
“Nay, nay, but listen to me! I shall simply explain—”
“Christ!” he exploded. “You still don’t get it, do you?” He gave her an incredulous look. “What will you explain, Jessamine?”
Her heart leapt. “I’ll think of something... surely... something...” Her voice sounded weak and defeated even to her own ears.
He shook his head. “I’ve news for you, love... After last night, they would as soon hang Ben as listen to explanations.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that what you want for your beloved cousin? To see him hang?”
Jessie shook her head, angry tears of frustration stinging her eyes.
“I didn’t think so,” he snarled. “Now, get some sleep! You’ll bloody well need it!”
Jessie nodded in resignation and sat upon the bed, her eyes misting. God help her, she absolutely refused to weep before him. Again he turned to leave. “Wait,” she pleaded still, more softly this time. “Wh-What will you tell Ben’s father?”
“What would you have me tell him?”
“The truth,” she appealed, her green eyes brimming with tears. “Perhaps he can help?”
He shook his head, his expression softening somewhat. “I doubt it,” he told her. “But if ’tis your wish, then aye, I shall tell him.”
“Do you not think my uncle deserves to know of his son’s condition?” she returned, her outrage returning tenfold. “What if Ben were to die?”
“I’ve seen worse injuries,” Christian informed her curtly. “I rather doubt he’ll expire any time soon—but yes, you’ve a point, and as I said, I shall tell him. Now, get some sleep; ’tis been a long night.” He left then, slamming the door after him.
When Jessie awoke, she was startled to find her trunks littering the cabin floor.
Lord, she must have slept like the dead, for she’d not so much as heard anyone enter.
At second glance, it appeared as though Christian had brought every last article she owned, and she wondered irately why he would have done so.
Surely she wouldn’t be away so long—couldn’t bear to be!
In one corner of the cabin, there was a large cheval glass that had not been there previously.
Under normal circumstances she might have recognized the gesture as thoughtful, but she refused to be grateful to the likes of Hawk—damnable Prince of Smugglers!
Traitor to the Crown. Her face screwed, for she loved a man she should not even like.
Again she wondered how she could have been so witless that she hadn’t known.
She ran a hand through her tousled hair, lifting it out of her face, and then rose with a weary sigh.
Her green silk dress lay sprawled over one of her trunks.
It was more than obvious that Christian had taken the liberty of rifling through her belongings—well, she wasn’t about to dress to please the wretched mongrel, and so she ignored it.
Searching indignantly through the largest of her trunks, noting with some relief that he’d neglected to bring her petticoats, she found the most unbecoming gown she owned—a blue one, almost the shade of his eyes.
She frowned at the comparison, then irately tossed the gown aside.
Again she searched, smiling with satisfaction as she spotted another more suitable one.
It took Jessie little time to dress. She braided her hair into one thick braid, and with a quick glimpse into the cheval glass, decided she looked unappealing enough.
God’s truth, she couldn’t bear any more of his heated glances—nor, for that matter, any more of his kisses. The last had nearly undone her.
Opening the door, she drew in a breath and stepped out of the cabin, making her way to the room where Ben and Jean Paul slept. The door was closed, but Ben and Jean Paul were awake, bickering ceaselessly with one another like cantankerous old men.
“Damnation, Jean Paul,” she heard Ben grumble, “he needn’t have brought her into this.”
“Non,” came Jean Paul’s curt reply, “but he did what he thought was best. You cannot fault him for trying to help us.”
Neither could Jessie for that matter, and some of her anger left her with that realization.
“He knew not where else to turn—nor could he have known we would fare so well.”
“Good God, man! You might have fared well enough, but I? I cannot even rise upon these useless limbs!”
Jessie’s heart twisted painfully at his disclosure, and she closed her eyes, placing her cheek against the door.
“Oui, mon fils, but you will given time.”
There was a strained silence between them, and she thought to use it to her advantage, to make her presence known, but even as she made to open the door, Jean Paul spoke again. “You think I do not know what makes you so angry, but I do. You love her, do you not?”
Jessie held her breath for his reply, but there was none.
“I thought so,” Jean Paul answered low, almost too low for her to hear. “In that case... allow me to point out to you a fact that you are doubtless already aware of. She’s your kinswoman.”
“We’re cousins.”
Another long interval of silence before Ben gave his grudging reply. “Damn you, Jean Paul, you’re getting on my nerves—shut up, already!”
Having heard enough, Jessie knocked faintly upon the door, somewhat shaken. “’Tis me,” she called out, trying to sound nonchalant.
There was a long, impenetrable silence, then Jean Paul’s voice rang out clearly. “Come in, come in, ma petite. Come in!”
She opened the door to find Jean Paul at the port window, facing her, looking drawn, but well enough.
Ben, on the other hand, sat upon his pallet, propped against the wall, his expression grim. The coverlet had been hastily tossed over his limbs, and his shirt was agape. In his hand he held a long, slim piece of oak, and he pretended to study the length of it, ignoring her.
Jessie’s first thought was that Jean Paul should not have risen so soon.
But then, unable to help herself, she quickly returned her gaze to Ben.
She’d never seen a man unclad before, and couldn’t help but stare.
She found herself wondering if that were the way Christian looked without his shirt.
They were similar in build, after all. As though suddenly realizing the direction of her gaze, Ben clasped his shirt together, turning a shade of crimson as he concealed himself from her scrutiny.
Chagrined by her brazenness, Jessie managed a hasty apology, and before either of them could protest her leaving, she turned and left them, closing the door swiftly behind her.