Chapter 19 #2
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 na?veté—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 cur! 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!