Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
We are no more free agents than the queen of clubs when she victoriously takes prisoner the knave of hearts.
The feel of Gideon’s fingers on her most private place jolted Sara out of her half-dream, and she jerked her mouth from his. “No, you mustn’t!”
His hand cupped her, giving instant relief to the sweet tension he’d built in her body.
“Ah, but I must.” His gaze was dark, knowing, as if he realized exactly what she was feeling.
“You want me to. Let me touch you. Let me show you how it could be between us.” He rubbed her in a most interesting way, making her feel fluid and hot, like the sun-warmed tropical sea.
“Yes,” she breathed, despite her reservations. She closed her eyes to shut out his knowing expression. An irresistible urge to give in to his deft hands possessed her, coupled with a strange desire to run her hands over his body and do to him what he was doing to her.
As he continued to rotate his palm with unerring accuracy over the place that ached for his touch, she splayed her fingers over his muscle-bound ribs and further in, over his chest, matting down the crisp hairs with her questing hands.
His skin, like rumpled velvet, seemed to jump beneath her fingers.
Dragging in a harsh breath, he moved one of her hands lower, past his wide belt to cup the hard ridge in his breeches.
Her eyes flew open. His expression no longer looked knowing, but stark, raw, and needy as only a man could look needy.
He made a guttural sound in his throat as he thrust his hips against her hand.
At the same time, he flattened the heel of his palm against her, and a wave of pleasure hit her at once, so intense she nearly jumped off the trunk.
“Oh, my Lord,” she whispered. Every part of her shook and quivered. Every part of her craved more. Not conscious of what she did, she undulated against his hand, seeking a repeat of the pleasure.
His eyes glittered. “That’s it, sweetheart.
Let yourself enjoy it.” He parted her curls with his fingers, then slid one inside a passage that had somehow grown wet and slick, allowing him easy access.
“Sweet Jesus, you feel so good.” With an almost animal growl, he crushed her mouth under his once more.
Faintly, Sara heard a noise from somewhere above them, the grating of wood against wood, but she thrust the sound from her mind. Then a voice called down from above, “Cap’n? Cap’n, you down there?”
Gideon tore his mouth from hers and jerked his hand back, a curse rumbling from his lips. “Yes, Silas, I’m here. I’ll be with you presently.”
Shame washed over Sara in buckets as she came out of her sensual fog. Good heavens, her hand was on his breeches! And he’d been touching her with an intimacy only allowed a husband!
As she snatched her hand away, the sound of descending footsteps echoed down to them. “I’ve got to talk to you,” Silas said, his words punctuated by the clumping sound of his wooden leg on the steps. “It’s about that woman Louisa—”
“If you come any nearer, Silas,” Gideon barked, “I’ll have you keelhauled, I swear I will!”
The clumping noises halted abruptly. Sara frantically dragged down her skirts, but when she tried to scoot off the trunk, Gideon wouldn’t let her. With firm hands, he held her thighs still.
His gaze locked with hers as he called back up to Silas, “Go to my cabin. I’ll meet you there shortly. I’ve got something else to attend to first.”
Her heart pounded in time to the sounds of Silas clumping back up the steps. She was the “something else,” and if she let herself be “attended to,” she could count on his casting her aside with easy nonchalance once he was done with her.
Well, she wouldn’t let that happen. Not with this man, this unscrupulous pirate. The hatch door slammed closed above and Gideon bent to kiss her again, but this time, she was prepared. Bracing her hands against his chest, she turned her face away. “No,” she whispered. “No more.”
His breath came hot and heavy against her ear as his arm crept back around her waist. “Why not?”
For a moment, her mind was blank. What reason could she give that would make any sense to him? If she protested that they weren’t married, he would simply put an end to that objection by marrying her, and that would be disastrous.
Then she remembered Petey’s plan. “Because I’ve already promised myself to another.”
His body went still against hers. An oppressive silence fell over them both, punctuated only by the distant clanging of the watch bell. But he didn’t move away, and at first she feared he hadn’t heard her.
“I said—” she began.
“I heard you.” He drew back, his face taut with suspicion. “What do you mean, ‘another’? Someone in England?”
She considered inventing a fiancé in London. But that would have no weight with him, would it? “No. Another sailor. I’ve agreed to marry one of your crew.”
His expression hardened until it looked chiseled from the same oak that formed his formidable ship. “You’re joking.”
She shook her head. “Peter Hargraves asked me to . . . to be his wife last night. And I agreed.”
A stunned expression spread over his face, before anger replaced it. Planting his hands on either side of her hips, he bent his head until his face was inches from hers. “He’s not one of my crew. Is that why you accepted his proposal—because he’s not? Or do you claim to have some feeling for him?”
He sneered the last words, and shame spread through her.
It would be hard to claim she had feelings for Petey when she’d just been on the verge of giving herself to Gideon.
But that was the only answer that would put him off.
Her hands trembled against his immovable chest. “I . . . I like him, yes.”
“The way you ‘like’ me?” When she glanced away, uncertain what to say to that, he caught her chin and forced her to look at him.
Despite the dim light, she could tell that desire still held him.
And when he spoke again, his voice was edged with the tension of his need.
“I don’t care what you agreed to last night.
Everything has changed. You can’t possibly still want to marry him after the way you just responded to my touch. ”
“That was a mistake,” she whispered, steeling herself to ignore the anger in his eyes. “Petey and I are well suited. I knew him from before, from the Chastity. I know he’s an honorable man, which is why I still intend to marry him.”
A muscle ticked in Gideon’s jaw. “He’s not a bully, you mean.
He’s not a wicked pirate like me, out to ‘rape and pillage.’” He pushed away from the trunk with an oath, then spun toward the steps.
“Well, he’s not for you, no matter what you may think.
And I’m going to put a stop to his courtship of you right now! ”
Terror struck her. He could do anything to Petey! “No!” she shouted as she leapt off the trunk and ran after him. “No, Gideon! Stop!”
But he was already halfway up the steps. As she raced after him, her dress came down around her shoulders. She stopped to hook herself up, watching helplessly as he vanished through the hatch above.
Bother it all!
She struggled with the hooks. If she didn’t get up there quickly, Gideon would no doubt have Petey thrown overboard or worse. And she couldn’t let him get away with that. Petey was her only hope of escape, and not even that wretch of a pirate was going to hurt him!
Having just come off the port watch, Petey lay in his hammock carving an image of a ship into a bit of old ivory. The crew’s quarters were deserted, for everyone else was either courting the women or serving on watch duty. If he had his druthers, he’d be with them, seeking Ann out.
But that was impossible, and knowing that some foul pirate was even now probably trying to gain her affections put him in a savage mood. He’d taken the only path possible, but it didn’t sit well with him to think that sweet Ann Morris was forbidden to him.
Suddenly, the door to the crew’s quarters shot open, crashing against the wall with such force Petey nearly fell off his hammock. In strode the Pirate Lord himself, looking every inch the devil’s spawn, with such fury on his scarred face that it struck terror into Petey’s breast.
Petey slid warily off his hammock, then backed around it as Captain Horn stalked toward him. “Good even, Cap’n. Is everythin’ all right?”
The captain caught him by his shirt front and lifted him a few inches off the ground until Petey’s face was level with his. “You can’t have her, do you hear? Not now, not ever!”
It was all Petey could do to keep from quaking. “Who do you mean, cap’n?”
“You know who I mean, Englishman.” The pirate’s eyes narrowed. “Unless she lied to me about choosing you as husband.”
Ah, so that was who he was talking about. The little miss. Petey swallowed hard. What a bloomin’ nightmare. “Miss Willis didn’t lie. I asked her to be my wife, and she accepted.”
As the captain moved one hand from his shirt front to clutch him by the throat, Petey tightened his fist on his carving knife.
If any other man had taken him by the throat, Petey would have had him on the floor with the knife in his gut.
But this was the pirate captain. With such a madman he must tread carefully.
“Let him down!” came a voice behind the captain. It was Miss Willis herself, her hair all atumble about her shoulders and her face as white as Petey’s ivory scrimshaw. “Let him go, I say!”
“Stay out of this, Sara!” the captain ordered, his fingers tightening around Petey’s throat. Despite the fact that the pirate still held him up by the shirt, Petey’s breath was half cut off by the pirate’s hold on his neck.
Miss Willis ignored the captain’s words. Coming up behind him, she clutched at his bent arm. “You’re hurting him! Let him down!”
“I’m merely teaching him a lesson,” Captain Horn ground out. “He needs to be reminded of his station, which on this ship is somewhere beneath cabin boy!”